The evening sky had turned a deep indigo by the time Amy stepped out of the police station. She glanced at Sebastian, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Kingsley, thank you."

Sebastian gave her an easy smile. "Oliver adores you. Consider it a professional courtesy. Would you like me to take care of those online articles for you?"

Amy's gaze flickered with intrigue. "You can suppress the news, Mr. Kingsley?"

He arched a brow. "You doubt me?"

"You already know who I am," Amy said quietly. "I'm Alexander's wife. The Blackwoods control Windsor Jewelers. If Alexander wants something buried, few can stop him."

Sebastian looked mildly surprised. "You think Alexander is behind this?"

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Who else would it be?"

Sebastian's expression darkened slightly. The rift between this couple was deeper than he'd anticipated. They were tearing themselves apart without any interference from him.

After a moment, he shrugged. "I offered because I can deliver. Ms. Sinclair, just say the word."

Amy hesitated. "Suppressing the news isn't necessary. But there is something else I'd like your help with."

Sebastian leaned in, intrigued. "Go on."

She murmured something into his ear, and a slow, approving grin spread across his face. "Clever. Far more effective than silencing the press. Consider it done."

Amy smiled genuinely. "Mr. Kingsley, I can't thank you enough."

Sebastian waved a hand dismissively. "If you really want to thank me, take good care of Oliver."

She nodded firmly. "I will."

Even without his help, she had already resolved to give her all to her new role and protect Oliver as if he were her own.

Sebastian checked his watch. "I just flew in and haven't eaten. If you're free, join me for dinner?"

Given everything he'd done for her, Amy couldn't refuse. "Of course. My treat."

Sebastian smirked. "Deal."

By the time they finished dinner, night had fully descended.

Amy excused herself to the restroom and discreetly settled the bill. As she walked back toward the dining area, a sudden barrage of camera flashes blinded her. Reporters materialized from nowhere, swarming around her like vultures.

"Ms. Sinclair, who was the gentleman you dined with? Is he your lover?"

"Ms. Sinclair, rumors claim you're involved with Benjamin Carter. Are you seeing multiple men?"

"Ms. Sinclair, sources say you've climbed the social ladder by being a mistress. Don't you feel any shame?"

"Reports indicate you were questioned by police today. Are you a murderer?"

The reporters formed an impenetrable circle, trapping her with no escape.

Realizing what was happening, Amy stiffened. "I'll address all your questions at a press conference soon."

But the reporters weren't satisfied. They hurled accusations, their voices sharp and relentless. Some even shoved her, their aggression escalating.

Amy stumbled, her feet trampled under the chaos. One of her shoes was lost in the scuffle. Exhausted from the day’s interrogation and now this ambush, she felt her composure slipping.

The world spun around her, the flashes and shouts merging into a dizzying blur.