Chapter 118
Listening to Donovan's words, I understood clearly—he was pleading for Alicia.
He'd just preempted any argument, which had somewhat diffused my anger.
"Grandfather, let's do as you say. What she did—I can't pretend I don't care. But I hope you'll keep your word."
Donovan's tense shoulders relaxed slightly as he nodded repeatedly. "You have my word. I promise."
After reaching an agreement, I urged Donovan to go back and rest, given his condition.
The hospital room fell quiet again.
I lay in bed, thinking through my next steps.
Now that Ethan had left, I had fewer concerns. With Sophia pregnant and the Percy family's attention focused on her, my chances of leaving smoothly were high.
The biggest obstacle was Leopold.
As long as he didn't interfere, no one would stop me. I should've used Alicia's actions as leverage with him earlier—maybe he would've compromised.
But once I realized that, an unfamiliar bitterness filled me.
Had things between Leopold and me really come down to nothing but scheming against each other?
I laughed softly, a bitter taste in my mouth.
I didn't tell my parents about being hospitalized.
I wasn't injured anyway—no need to make them rush over.
I'd be discharged tomorrow and could visit them then, discuss solutions together.
But plans never keep up with changes.
In just one night, everything spiraled out of control again.
The next morning, I woke up planning to ask the doctor about discharge procedures.
Just as I stepped out, I noticed a young woman in a baseball cap acting suspiciously.
She looked nervous, unconsciously clutching her coat tighter.
Every time she passed a hospital room, she'd peek inside, as if searching for something.
"Who are you looking for?"
The moment I spoke, the woman whipped around.
Our eyes met.
The next second, her eyes lit up. She rushed straight toward me.
"Are you Lucinda Wipere?"
My instincts screamed danger. I studied her warily. "I am. Who are you?"
"Ms. Wipere!" She grew excited immediately, pulling out a wireless lavalier microphone hidden under her clothes and pointing it at me. "I'm a reporter from Silverlight City's Glamour Ledger. I want to confirm—have you seen the video released last night? Is the woman in it you?"
"What video?" I was confused.
I was certain I hadn't filmed any videos.
"From your reaction, it seems like you don't know. But plenty of netizens have identified you. Were you meeting someone at a hotel the night before last?"
Hotel?
My heart sank.
She couldn't be talking about the night I was forcibly sent to Asher's room, could she?
"Ms. Wipere, this has blown up online. Countless people are speculating whether the woman in the video is you. Your supporters are waiting for your response. Do you have anything to say?"
I considered for a few seconds, deciding it was necessary to set the record straight.
"I don't know what video you're talking about, but I can say with certainty it has nothing to do with me."
The woman didn't believe me. Her questions grew sharper.
"You say the video has nothing to do with you, but someone commented that you once broke up someone's relationship."
"They also said you left your previous dance company because you were sleeping around."
"Is any of this true?"
I frowned in displeasure. No professionally trained journalist would ask such blunt, intrusive questions.
Clearly, this reporter wasn't here for my response.
Her goal was to use this for clicks, to make me her career stepping stone.
"You're asking the wrong person. You should ask those commenters to provide evidence proving I did something wrong."
"Do not force the victim to prove her innocence."
The woman hadn't expected this response. Her expression shifted before she continued. "Is Ms. Wipere avoiding my questions?"
"Why avoid them? Could it be those comments are true, which is why you won't respond?"
I said nothing, pulling out my phone to take her picture.
The woman was displeased. "Ms. Wipere, without my consent, please don't photograph me."
I toyed with my phone, smiling slightly. "I'm photographing you because I want to know who you really are."
"Since you know it's wrong to photograph someone without consent, why did you ambush me for an interview without asking my permission?"
The woman was stumped.
Then, somewhat embarrassed and angry, she said, "Don't change the subject. I'm a journalist. I have the right to know the truth and share it with the public!"
"All you need to do is cooperate."
I was done wasting words with her.
Just then, the bodyguards Leopold had arranged arrived.
I gave the order directly. "Escort her out."
Without hesitation, the bodyguards stepped forward, covering her mouth and forcibly removing her.
The woman was furious, her eyes blazing with rage as she looked at me.
I didn't care. I abandoned my plan to find the doctor.
Instead, I sat down in a nearby chair and opened a social media app.
[Shocking! International ballet champion's character questioned—allegedly seduced a foreign company director!]
[Exposed! Talented dancer not only seduced the director but knowingly became a homewrecker, nearly causing another dancer's miscarriage!]
Both topics were trending.
Each post had over a million comments.
[Holy shit, this 'talented dancer'—is it who I think it is?]
[Didn't they hype her up as some long-lost swan princess? How is she also a serial homewrecker? This destroys my worldview.]
[If the woman whose relationship was wrecked is Sophia Guise, then I know which famous businessman this is about.]
[Wonder if this 'talented dancer's' name is listed at certain private clubs? If so, maybe I could save up to experience her services?]
[If she can make a big shot weak in the knees, she must know some tricks. Wonder how much for a good time.]
The comments grew increasingly vile.
Eventually, they devolved into graphic sexual speculation.
The words stabbed into my eyes.
Like some form of self-torture, I clicked on the video.
It showed Asher tearing my shirt.
But it had been edited—my struggling had been removed, leaving only scenes of Asher and me talking.
Worse, they'd used technology to alter our dialogue, turning confrontation into flirtation.
My chest ached with fury.
Suddenly, I remembered when I was shoved into that room, the bodyguard had told Asher to record everything.
I clutched my chest.
So Alicia had released this video?
She couldn't tolerate me this much?
To destroy my reputation, she'd doctored footage and weaponized public opinion to tear me apart?
But hadn't Donovan said Alicia was confined?
No—I had to verify this myself!