Chapter 8 8

Security! Evander yelled.

Four large men in black suits pushed through the press. They surrounded Gisele.

Evander pointed a shaking finger at her. She stole that jewelry. She is trespassing. Remove her. And search her bag.

Gisele clutched her small clutch. The hard drive wasn't in there-the virus was already planted-but her dignity was.

Evander, stop, Gisele said, her voice wavering for the first time. Don't do this.

You gave me no choice, he said coldly. He turned his back on her to attend to Daneen, who was now peeking through her eyelashes.

The head of security grabbed Gisele's arm. Come with us, Miss.

No. Gisele tried to pull away. I have an invitation.

The guard yanked her. The movement was rough. She stumbled in her heels.

Thief! someone in the crowd shouted.

Jealous ex! shouted another.

The narrative was shifting. Daneen was the victim. Gisele was the crazy aggressor.

Gisele reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a notarized copy of the original copyright filing for the Sunny brand, dated three years ago.

Read this! she shouted to the reporters. Look at the date!

Daneen saw the paper. She miraculously recovered from her faint. She lunged.

No! She's crazy! That's a forgery!

Daneen grabbed the paper. She ripped it from Gisele's hand. In the struggle, Daneen's long, manicured nails raked across Gisele's arm, drawing blood.

Ah! Gisele cried out.

Daneen tore the paper in half, then into quarters, throwing the confetti onto the red carpet. She stomped on it with her white heels.

See? Trash! Daneen screamed.

Evander stood there. He watched Daneen assault Gisele. He watched the blood welling on Gisele's arm. He did nothing. He just shielded Daneen from the cameras.

Gisele looked at him. The man who promised to protect her.

You are a coward, she whispered.

The guard grabbed her other arm. He twisted it behind her back. Let's go.

Gisele struggled. The guard was too strong. He dragged her backward.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over them. A man stood up from the front row of the VIP section. He was tall, wearing a black trench coat that seemed to absorb the light. He hadn't moved until now.

Farrell Pennington. The Investor.

He didn't shout. He just walked onto the carpet. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. He had an aura of violence that made the security guards hesitate.

He stopped ten feet away. He looked at Gisele, then at the guard holding her.

Let go, he said. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried.

The guard frowned. Who are you?

Farrell didn't answer. He just took one step forward. The guard released Gisele instantly, as if he had been burned.

Gisele fell to her knees, gasping.