The young officer gave a curt nod.

"Ms. Sinclair," the interrogator said, shifting his focus to Amy, "a new witness has surfaced. We'll need to extend your stay here for further questioning."

A witness? If one had existed from the start, this nightmare would have ended long ago. Yet now, conveniently, someone had appeared.

Amy felt as if she'd plunged into freezing waters, her limbs turning to ice. Whoever was behind this had impeccable timing—throwing her to the wolves when she was already drowning. The cruelty of it sent shivers down her spine.

The interrogator remained courteous, but his tone brooked no argument. "Ms. Sinclair, we require your full cooperation."

Amy steadied herself. "Who is this witness?"

The officer shook his head. "For their protection, we can't disclose that. You're free to contact legal counsel or arrange for bail."

Everything was moving too fast. She hadn't even considered hiring a lawyer.

Benjamin was tangled in the media circus, and dragging him in would only make things worse. Samantha was too trusting—one misstep around Alexander, and she'd be in over her head.

Was Alexander waiting for her to break? To lock her away until she confessed? A bitter smirk tugged at Amy's lips.

She lowered her lashes, voice steady. "Understood."

Just as the officer motioned to escort her away, a smooth, velvety voice cut through the tension. "Ms. Sinclair."

Amy looked up. A man in a pristine white shirt stood nearby, exuding effortless elegance. His striking features were softened by a lazy smirk, the undone top button hinting at rebellion.

His lips curved into a perfect smile, but his dark eyes held something dangerous—like cherry blossoms floating on a moonlit lake. Beautiful. Deadly.

"Mr. Kingsley?" Amy blinked. "What are you doing here?"

He wasn't due back until Sunday.

Sebastian's smile deepened. "Oliver mentioned you were in trouble."

Oliver? Amy's breath hitched. After the egg incident this morning, she'd sent him home. With her situation unstable, keeping him close was too risky.

Since this ordeal began, Alexander and Liam had gone radio silent. Not a single call. Yet Oliver? Messages flooded in daily. A stranger showed more concern than her own husband and son, who seemed perfectly content gallivanting with Victoria.

Sebastian stepped closer. "Let's talk outside. I've posted bail—you're free to go."

Amy hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you."

Elsewhere, in a sleek office, Gregory entered to find Alexander watching the wall-mounted screen.

The news played footage of Amy, besieged by a furious crowd, eggs splattering across her coat. She looked utterly alone—hair disheveled, shoulders hunched in defeat.

Gregory averted his eyes, clearing his throat. "Mr. Blackwood, Ms. Sinclair was taken in for questioning. A witness came forward. Without bail, she could be detained indefinitely."

He hesitated. "Should we intervene?"

Alexander turned slowly. "When did this happen?"

"Earlier today."

Alexander glanced at his phone. The screen remained dark. No calls. No messages.

"If she'd rather rot in there than admit fault, then she clearly doesn't want help." A cold smirk twisted his lips. "Let her play the martyr. She can dig her own way out."