Chapter 27
Seraphine's POV
A dozen reporters swarmed me, their microphones practically shoved in my face.
"Ms. Seraphine Whitaker, what is your comment on Ms. Brielle Whitaker's suicide attempt? You don't seem very concerned."
"Rumor has it that you pushed her too hard at the press conference, leading to her breakdown. Is that true?"
"Did Ms. Brielle Whitaker attempt suicide because you stole her thunder and she couldn't handle the blow?"
Every question was laced with undisguised malice and leading assumptions, as if I were already the wicked sister who had driven her sibling to death's door.
I straightened my back, my gaze sweeping over them with derision. Of course. This was Brielle's true talent. The suicide attempt wasn't an apology; it was a weapon, designed to use public opinion to roast me over an open fire. She wanted to ruin my reputation, to make it impossible for me to have a place in the Whitaker Group or high society ever again.
My hand tightened around my phone as I scrambled for a strategy. Forcing my way through was out of the question; they would spin it as a guilty escape. Explaining was equally futile; in front of so many reporters determined to twist the truth, any words could be taken out of context.
I took a deep breath, preparing to refuse to answer, when the screech of tires cut through the clamor from the edge of the crowd.
"Move! Everyone, move!"
Several men in black suits forced their way through the reporters, creating a path as they formed two lines. I stood there, bewildered, as a Rolls-Royce pulled up at the end of their formation. Someone in the crowd gasped, "I think that's Mr. Capulet's car!"
A hush fell over the reporters, and they automatically parted, their bravado evaporating in the face of a power they dared not challenge. Octavius emerged, dressed in a long black trench coat, and strode toward me. His face was impassive, but in his eyes, I saw an undeniable flicker of concern.
I stared at him, stunned. What was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be at the baseball field with Quinlan?
I watched as he pushed through the remaining reporters without a second thought, his path fixed on me. Before I could fully react, his arm was around my waist, pulling me into the shelter of his embrace. He turned, using his coat and his body to shield me from the cameras and the blinding flashes.
Pressed against him, I was enveloped in his clean, crisp scent, and the panic that had seized me moments before vanished. He was here for me. It didn't matter why he wasn't playing baseball; what mattered was that when I needed help, he was by my side. Just like so many times in our past life, he always appeared right when I needed him most.
A warmth spread through my chest, and without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his waist under the cover of his coat. He tightened his hold on me, his voice, smooth but unyielding, resonating above my head. "Seraphine is not taking any unscheduled interviews."
A moment of silence. Then, after a beat, a bold reporter spoke up. "Mr. Capulet, why are you refusing interviews on Ms. Whitaker's behalf? What is your relationship?"
I froze, completely hidden within his coat, unable to see a thing. I tried to look up, but he pressed my head against his shoulder. His voice was steady. "Is our relationship any of your business? If you don't want to lose your jobs, all of you will disappear within the minute."
A flurry of panicked footsteps followed, the sound of a hasty retreat. Only then did Octavius release me. The reporters were gone, replaced by the silent, watchful presence of his bodyguards.
He opened the car door for me, his hand protectively over my head as he guided me into the passenger seat. He then walked around to the driver's side and started the engine. I didn't let out the breath I was holding until the hospital gates had disappeared from view.
The car was quiet, Octavius's coat still draped over my shoulders. He drove, sleeves rolled up, revealing the faint prominence of veins on his forearms as he gripped the steering wheel.
"Thank you." I said softly.
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "What's the situation with Brielle?"
I hesitated for a moment before explaining what had happened in the hospital. "She schemed against me, and when she failed at the press conference, she probably couldn't find a way to salvage her image, so she resorted to this suicide ploy."
"And your father made you forgive her?" he asked.
I was taken aback for a second, then nodded. "Yes."
A cold laugh escaped his throat, laced with obvious scorn. "No wonder."
Octavius drove me to Riverside Villa. He killed the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt, and turned to me. "Get out."
I followed him obediently into the house. For some reason, he still seemed unhappy, as if he were still angry about my earlier answer.
"Sit wherever. The reporters are probably not just at the hospital. You can stay here for now." He tossed his trench coat onto the back of the sofa and went to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water. He placed one in front of me.
I sat on the sofa, cradling the cool glass in my hands. "Why didn't you go play baseball with Ms. Powell?"
Octavius didn't answer. Instead, he handed me his tablet. The screen was lit up with a live news feed about the incident at the hospital. Several media outlets had already rushed to publish their stories, each headline more disgusting than the last.
#FEUDING HEIRESSES: SERAPHINE FORCES SISTER'S SUICIDE, LEAVES HOSPITAL COLDLY
#BRIELLE WHITAKER'S MENTAL BREAKDOWN SUICIDE ATTEMPT: SUSPECTED BULLYING BY FAKE HEIRESS
Seeing the twisted words, the anger I had suppressed flared up again.
"I saw the news and came over. I knew there would be reporters at the hospital." Octavius said, raising an eyebrow. "I specifically canceled my plans with Ms. Powell to come help you. How are you going to compensate me?" His tone was playful, as if my earlier silence no longer mattered.
I relaxed immediately. "What kind of compensation does Mr. Capulet want? As long as I can do it, I will certainly satisfy you."
Octavius stared at me, his eyes shimmering with an emotion I couldn't decipher. The next second, he said something that left me utterly stunned. "I want you to like me. Can you do that?"