Chapter 8 8

Claire stepped out of the elevator into the lobby.

It was a circus. Flashbulbs popped like strobe lights, blinding her.

Derrick stood in the center of the chaos, holding a massive bouquet of red roses. He looked like Prince Charming.

"Claire!" he shouted, waving to the cameras.

Reporters surged forward, thrusting microphones in her face.

"Claire! Is it true the engagement is on the rocks?"

"Are the rumors about your mental health true?"

"Derrick, is she unstable?"

Derrick stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. It looked protective. It was actually controlling.

"Please!" Derrick shouted. "Give her space! My fiancée has been under a lot of stress. She's fragile right now."

Fragile. The narrative was being spun in real-time. If she got angry, she was crazy. If she cried, she was unstable.

Claire took a deep breath. She didn't fight him. She leaned into him.

She let her body go limp, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, Derrick," she said, loud enough for the microphones to pick up. "Thank you for protecting me."

She looked up at the cameras. She made her lip tremble.

"I'm sorry everyone," she said. "I just... I love him so much. And the pressure of the election... it's just so hard to be perfect."

The reporters softened. Aww.

"But," Claire continued, her voice gaining a strange edge. "I promise you all. Tonight, at the party, you will see the real Derrick. The man behind the mask."

Derrick stiffened. He squeezed her arm hard. "That's enough, darling."

"I feel..." Claire put a hand to her forehead. "I feel faint."

She collapsed.

It was a graceful fall. She went down like a swan.

"Claire!" Derrick yelled. He had to drop the flowers to catch her. The thorns scratched his face.

Chaos erupted. Security guards rushed in.

"Get the car!" Derrick screamed.

As he lifted her, Claire's face was pressed against his chest. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing shallow. She gave him nothing. No whisper, no threat. She was the perfect, unconscious victim, a blank slate onto which he and the press could project their own stories. Her silence was more unnerving to him than any insult could have been.

Robert's security team took over, pulling her from Derrick's arms and hustling her into the waiting limo.

Inside the car, the tint was dark.

Claire sat up instantly. She smoothed her hair.

Piper was in the jump seat, cackling. "That was Oscar-worthy! Did you see his face when you dropped?"

Claire checked her phone. Twitter was trending. PoorClaire. The narrative had shifted. Derrick looked pushy; she looked sympathetic.

"Where to?" Piper asked.

"Brooklyn," Claire said. "Red Hook. I need to pick up my armor."