Chapter 7 Rescued by the Heir

The hotel worker walked out of the party room with me, and suddenly, all the noise and excitement behind us just stopped. It felt like we stepped into two totally different worlds.

I slowly stopped walking. Everything that just happened was weighing heavy on my mind.

The hotel guy looked at me with worry and whispered, "Mrs. Blackwood, the private room is right over here."

I kept my face calm, but inside I felt like I was drowning. "I don't feel good," I said quietly. "I want to go home and rest. Please tell Mr. Vale thanks for everything."

"Mrs. Blackwood!" The hotel worker quickly stepped in front of me. "There are news reporters everywhere outside right now. If you go out the front door, they'll swarm you."

I stopped and thought about it. The last thing I needed tonight was more drama. "Okay," I said after thinking. "I'll find another way out."

Reporters. God, they were like hungry animals looking for fresh meat.

But I headed toward the main door anyway. I knew avoiding them was impossible. The news about my family's money problems and Damien's fake illness had been all over the papers for weeks. Add tonight's crazy accusations, and of course they'd be waiting for me.

The second I walked into the main lobby, several reporters rushed at me like wolves.

"Mrs. Blackwood! You haven't been out much lately. Why did you come to the Vale Industries party tonight?"

"What do you think about your family's money troubles? How are you going to fix it?"

"People say Mr. Blackwood didn't come tonight because he was having dinner with his new girlfriend. What do you say about that?"

One guy shoved a phone right in my face, and I couldn't help but look at the screen. The headline made me sick: "Damien Blackwood Spotted with Rising Model Isabella at Intimate Dinner."

Isabella. I knew her. A model who'd been getting famous lately. Pretty face, perfect body, that cold attitude that guys seemed to love.

Yesterday, it was some young girl, today, it was Isabella, a Rising Model. Different woman every day. That was just how Damien was. Nothing surprising there.

I'd stopped caring about his affairs a long time ago, but standing there, I wondered if any of these reporters even knew what happened inside the party tonight.

Like he could read my mind, one reporter suddenly answered his phone, and his whole face lit up with excitement. He practically stuck his recording thing in my mouth.

"We just heard that someone accused you tonight of hurting an innocent woman and making her disabled for life, all so you could marry into the Blackwood family. What do you say about that?"

Suddenly, more reporters came from everywhere, like ants finding sugar. The camera flashes were blinding, and I felt trapped in the middle of all of them.

"Did you really do those things?"

"What was the victim's name?"

"Did she have something going on with your husband?"

"Does Mr. Blackwood know what you supposedly did?"

"Is this why he won't help save your family's business?"

The questions came so fast that they overlapped each other. The flashes kept going off, making spots in my eyes. I could barely breathe with all of them pressed so close around me.

The hotel security and staff looked scared that things were getting out of control. They quickly moved in to make a wall between me and the reporters, helping me get to the exit.

I didn't say one word to any of them. I was afraid my voice would shake if I tried to talk.

Finally, I made it to my car in the parking garage and collapsed in the back seat. "Thank you," I told the security guard who helped me. "Could you please call me a driver? I can't drive myself right now."

"Of course, ma'am. Just give me a minute."

I nodded and pulled my shawl tighter around me. I suddenly felt so small and weak. I was already feeling sick before the party, and the wine I had at dinner wasn't helping. My head was pounding, and I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.

Before I knew it, I fell asleep right there in the back seat.

I don't know how long I was out when someone knocking on my window woke me up. Through the glass, I saw a young guy in regular clothes who looked like a ride-share driver.

I gave him my keys and told him my address, then closed my eyes again, hoping to sleep through the ride home.

The car started fine and left the parking garage. But we hadn't been driving long when I felt us stop.

"Mrs. Blackwood, I think your car just broke down," the driver said, turning to look at me.

I opened my eyes. We were on a quiet street with lots of trees. The bare winter branches made crazy shadows under the warm streetlights, and I saw it had started snowing again. The snowflakes fell quietly, making everything look peaceful. It was totally different from all the chaos of my night.

"Mrs. Blackwood! Mrs. Blackwood! Mrs. Blackwood!" The driver called my name a few times before I really focused.

"Oh," I said, still feeling fuzzy. "Don't worry about me. You can go. I'll call for help myself."

He looked relieved, grabbed his folding bike from the trunk, and disappeared faster than I thought possible.

Suddenly, I was completely alone. Just me, my broken car, and the falling snow. It was so quiet after everything that happened.

I couldn't help thinking this was exactly the kind of situation where something bad usually happens in movies. It felt like the universe was setting me up for disaster.

Right on cue, I heard motorcycle engines in the distance, getting closer. Several bikes pulled up around my car, surrounding it. Seven or eight men of different ages got off, took off their helmets, and walked straight toward me.

They started banging on my windows and trying the door handles. My head hurt so bad I could barely keep my eyes open, but I was definitely awake now.

This had to be connected to tonight's accusations. Someone decided I deserved some street justice, and I had no idea who was behind it.

When they saw the doors were locked and couldn't see inside clearly, several men turned on their phone flashlights and pressed them against the windows.

I could hear their voices through the glass.

"There's definitely a woman in there, but she looks passed out or something."

"Maybe the witch is already dead!"

"Let's see what she looks like up close!"

One of them picked up a rock from the side of the road and smashed it right into my passenger window. The glass cracked and pieces fell in my lap, but I forced myself to stay perfectly still. If they thought I was unconscious or dead, maybe they'd just leave.

Someone reached through the broken window, probably trying to check if I was breathing.

That's when a bright white light suddenly blazed from behind them, along with a loud car horn. It was so bright it seemed to scatter the falling snow everywhere.

The men turned around to see a sleek black car that had somehow appeared without anyone noticing.

When one of them got a clear look at the license plate, his face went completely white. Before anyone could say anything, he frantically waved for the others to get back on their bikes. They took off so fast they almost crashed into each other.

The street was quiet again, with just the soft sound of snow falling on two parked cars.

I heard a car door open and close, then footsteps walking toward me. Someone was coming with what sounded like an umbrella.

When my car door opened, I looked up to see elegant hands coming from under a dark gray wool coat, reaching out toward me.

I slowly looked up, and there, holding a black umbrella to keep the snow off both of us, was Caspian Vale. His face was sharp and clear in the dim light, and he was looking at me with an expression I couldn't figure out.

I felt totally confused. Why was it him again? Why did he keep showing up exactly when my world was falling apart?

But somehow, him being there didn't feel wrong. If anything, it felt like the first thing that made sense all night.

Without really thinking about it, I reached out and put my hand in his. My fingers were cold, but his palm was warm and steady as he helped me out of the car.

The umbrella made a small, safe space for both of us, blocking out the falling snow. The black top and wooden handle felt familiar somehow, like something from a dream I half-remembered.

"Thank you, Mr. Vale," I said, looking up at his face. For the first time all night, I felt something other than emptiness or pain. There was something in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat.

But as soon as I said those words, all the energy that had been keeping me standing suddenly disappeared. The world started spinning, my knees gave out, and I felt myself falling forward.

The last thing I remembered was falling against his chest, feeling how warm his body was as everything went dark.