Chapter 3
531words
The reporters swarmed like sharks scenting blood, microphones jabbing toward my face.
"Mrs. Kosters! Any comment on these allegations about your... extracurricular activities?"
"What exactly is this disease? Should the public be concerned? Should you even be out in public?"
"How do you look your husband in the eye after this? Has the Kosters family issued a statement?"
Each question stabbed deeper than the last. My hands trembled as rage and humiliation boiled through my veins.
"I did NOT!" I snapped, shoving the nearest microphone away. "Charles was the one who—"
"That's enough." The voice sliced through the chaos like a blade of ice. "Haven't you humiliated yourself enough for one day?"
Charles appeared through the crowd, his face a perfect mask of controlled outrage as he positioned himself beside Vivian.
Vivian collapsed against him with practiced fragility, dabbing at invisible tears. "I tried to reason with her, Charles. I really did. But she wouldn't listen, and now she's trying to drag your name through the mud."
Charles stroked her back soothingly, then turned to me with eyes so cold they could freeze hell itself.
In one swift move, he reached into my coat pocket and yanked out the crumpled medical report.
He held it aloft like a trophy, making damn sure every camera could capture the damning diagnosis.
Camera shutters clicked in a feeding frenzy, lenses darting between the report and my ashen face.
My entire body shook as if I'd been thrown into ice water. The hungry stares of the reporters stripped me bare, leaving me drowning in shame.
"Charles Kosters," I managed through clenched teeth, "you know damn well that night you—"
"Miss Wright," Vivian cut in smoothly, "I understand you're upset, but these wild accusations against Charles?" She shook her head with mock sadness. "Some things, I believe, are simply... in the blood."
She let the silence hang perfectly before delivering her killing blow. "Like mother, like daughter, they say. Perhaps your mother shared your... flexible morals."
The bitch had the audacity to slander my dead mother—right here at her grave.
Something primal snapped inside me. "Shut your FUCKING mouth!" I screamed.
I lunged forward, hand raised to strike.
Before I could connect, Charles's grip clamped around my wrist like an iron vise.
"Are you finished?" he hissed, squeezing until I winced. "Vivian's only stating facts, and you resort to violence? If your mother was so damn pure, why are you so defensive?"
His words cut deeper than any physical blow ever could.
He wasn't just enabling Vivian's venom—he was actively helping her desecrate my mother's memory.
Vivian peeked around Charles with false compassion. "Don't be too hard on her, Charles. She's clearly unstable. But you know," her voice dropped to a theatrical whisper, "doesn't Mrs. Wright seem awfully lonely down there all by herself?"
Her eyes glittered with malice. "Maybe we should be kind and find her some company? I've heard about these fascinating ghost marriages in certain... primitive cultures."
