Chapter 121 Jeruel to Diana 

Chapter 121 Jeruel to Diana 
Diana’s POV
While Emily is gone to bring Jeruel to me, Olivia and I continue to sit by the TV, the air thick with anticipation. My fingers drum against the armrest, a sign of the impatience brewing inside me. The low hum of the TV fills the room until, suddenly, Brandon’s face appears on the screen, his smile carefree and untroubled. A surge of anger flares within me as I watch him so casually seated in front of the reporters.
Increasing the volume of the TV, my hand trembles slightly as we hear him speak, loud and clear.
“Mr. Brandon Biden, would you say surviving the gunshot at your wedding with Matriarch Alessandra was luck, or did you skillfully avoid the bullet so it didn’t hit your heart?” The interviewer’s voice cuts through the room, her tone probing, almost eager for his response.
“C’mon,” we hear him laugh before he speaks. 
“I’m not someone with self-defense skills. I’m not a martial arts expert either, so how could I have dodged a bullet? All I did was try to save Alessandra from being shot a second time. I didn’t even know I would get shot in the process. I mean, I didn’t even see who the shooter was,” Brandon answers. His nonchalance makes my blood boil. And I hated him more for this.
The interviewer continues with more questions, reading from what seems like an A4 paper in her hand. 
“If you really mean that you survived the gunshot by luck and didn’t see the face of the shooter, but you do know that one of the shooters was caught by Matriarch Alessandra’s personal guard, right? And that she was also shot? Who do you think she was working for?” The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications.
“This is a critical question, and I’m sure the public wants clarification on this as well. Thank you for asking, interviewer,” Brandon says, his voice unnervingly calm, almost too polite. The way he thanks her before even answering the question feels like a calculated move, a way to deflect and buy time.
My heart races as I await his response, a bitter taste in my mouth as I anticipate his lies.
“On the day of the event, as we all know, Alessandra and I were dancing when we suddenly saw her get shot. Immediately, I saw that Robert had seized a lady in a gown. While I was shot, this lady was suddenly shot too. Unfortunately, she didn’t survive; it was a headshot, so she died on the spot.”
My stomach churns at the mention of the dead woman, another casualty in this sick game. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, as I fight to keep my emotions in check.
“But while we were at the hospital, Robert and the other guards took the body of the dead lady to a forensic pathologist to analyze the body tissues and run a DNA test to identify the deceased. Hence, we found out that this lady was part of a group that had been arrested for a bank robbery some years ago, but they were released.”
Hearing this, I can even see on TV how the interviewer is shocked. Her widened eyes mirror the disbelief that flickers within me, but for entirely different reasons. Hence, she asks more questions, her voice tinged with a new sense of urgency.
“You mean this dead lady and her getaway crew had been in jail before for a bank robbery?”
“Yes, that’s correct, interviewer. They have been jailed before and were released after seven years. Now, they have committed a crime of attempted murder and homicide, and hence, they are wanted.”
The smugness in Brandon’s voice is palpable, as if he’s proud of uncovering this sordid detail. My teeth grind together in frustration. Seeing this interview session, I can only smirk, but it’s a bitter one, laced with the dark satisfaction that comes from knowing how deeply I despise them. Certainly, it’s not just us that Alessandra has vexed. There are more people like us, and they are too blind to see it.
“Mr. Brandon Biden, we don’t know if you’ve heard or read about the murder of Mr. Tyler Harrington.” The interviewer’s question pulls me back to the present, and my body tenses. My heart skips a beat, and I lean in closer, my ears perking up like a rabbit’s, straining to catch every word.
“Yes, I did. I saw it on the news the other day,” Brandon says, his tone indifferent. How dare he speak of Tyler’s death so casually? The very mention of my son’s murder stirs a deep, almost unbearable ache within me.
“You do know that Mr. Tyler Harrington was Matriarch Alessandra’s ex-husband, right?” The camera zooms in on Brandon’s face, his expression open and untroubled. I watch, my breath catching in my throat, as if any second now, he will reveal the truth—the truth that he is hiding, that he knows more than he’s letting on.
For many who marry someone who has been married before, when they are asked about their wife’s previous husband, they usually feel awkward and try to mask their irritation with a forced smile, making them look somewhat awkward.
But with Brandon, it’s different. We can see his genuine smile, as if he holds no negativity against Tyler. But this is a lie. My chest tightens with a mixture of anger and grief. I won’t be deceived. He is, of course, a good actor, but I am an adamant rock who can’t be swayed by his fake, acted genuineness.
“Yes, I know the late Mr. Tyler Harrington was Alessandra’s ex-husband.”
“Do you think Mr. Tyler had anything to do with the attack on Matriarch Alessandra and yourself at your wedding ceremony?” The interviewer’s question hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I hold my breath, waiting for his response, knowing it will be filled with more lies.
We see him pause as if he is thinking about what to say before he eventually replies.
“Well, Mr. Tyler Harrington once attacked us in Alessandra’s mansion. He infiltrated the mansion and pointed a gun at Alessandra and me. We were only saved by Robert that night. So, yes, I think Tyler might have been the one who sent those guys. However, I’d like us to consider the possibility that it might not be him either. I mean, he was in prison at the time this happened. In short, we should just let the police department do their job and wait for their report.”
Scoff.
I’ve said it before, haven’t I? “Every funny move of a cat is to steal meat from the pot,” as an African proverb says. My lips curl into a sneer, the bitter taste of contempt coating my tongue. No matter how much he tries to hide it from the public, I, Diana Harrington, see through him, and I know they decided to murder my son because they think he is behind their attacks.
But I say again, Alessandra is not God, and she must pay for acting like she is. My hands shake with the force of my hatred, the desire for revenge coursing through my veins like fire.
At this moment, I see Emily enter, and right beside her is Jeruel. My heart calms, replaced with a cold, calculated resolve. I smirk as I see her, then say,
“I believe you know why you’re here.”
Emily nods with a seriousness that mirrors my own, and right beside her, Jeruel’s eyes blaze with determination. The fire in her eyes reflects the very same burning within me.
“Emily already briefed me, and yes, I am ready for the task. Brandon Biden must take the fall, and he must be framed,” Jeruel says to me with unwavering resolve. I smirk again, a dark satisfaction settling in my chest.
"Mission begins!" I whisper right away with a buoyant smirk all over my face.