Anya Stone's appearance at the soirée wasn't accidental.
After all, we grew up together. I understood her fairly well.
She’d had genuine feelings for me once.

What you can't have often seems the most desirable.
I was freshly divorced and embroiled in scandal – it was hard notto stir her protective instincts.
Comments flooded social media:
"OMG! That poor civilian! How did he end up with such a trashy wife and such a vile homewrecker?"
"LMAO! Told you Scarlett reeked of toxic femininity! Making her husband kneel and get slapped to assert dominance? What century is this?!"
"Those trash humans are sick! Making the real spouse kneel for them all night? Hope karma bites them hard."

"Artists with such rotten morals should be banned!"
…
The vicious attacks they'd aimed at me? I reflected every single one back.
Meanwhile, my phone blew up with calls from unknown numbers.

I answered one.
"Was this you? Jason?"
"Me? Scarlett, please. Who did you and Liam manage to piss off?"
Scarlett paused, surprised by my sudden intensity, then a low, suggestive laugh came through the line:
"Jason... are you jealous?"
"Do you... still have feelings? We could remarry."
"If... if you accept my baby, promise to raise it as your own... and help me fix this PR nightmare."
I pressed a hand to my chest, taking deep breaths to quell the rising nausea.
Disgusting.
"What else do you want me to do?" My voice was flat.
Her tone shifted, a sickening blend of fake sweetness and cruelty:
"Seeing them attack me like that... it must hurt you too, Jason. Just one last sacrifice? Film a quick video saying it's all lies. Say you're single now. Wish me and Liam well."
A wave of nausea hit me.
She wanted to throw me back under the bus, to face the mob's fury alone, so she and her reallover could finally breathe easy.
Her voice was cold, her attitude entitled, as if Iowed themthis.
She informed me there was a press conference the next day. She wanted me there. I agreed.
I arrived at the venue at 8 AM. Reporters hadn't started filing in yet.
Only Scarlett and I were in the quiet space.
"Jason... after all these years, you're still the one who treats me the best."
She paused, her voice softening, dripping with a smug certainty:
"I'll be good to you. I promise."
Trying to hide affection is like trying to hide a cough – impossible.
Hiding revulsion? Equally impossible.
I looked down, masking everything churning inside me.
Reporters finally entered. The final act began.
Scarlett took the podium first:
"The purpose of today is simple clarification. Jason Williams and I ended our romantic relationship long ago. There is noongoing marriage."
"Liam Thompson and I are currently in a happy, committed relationship. The vast majority of online claims are malicious fabrications."
"He is here today. You may direct your questions to him."
Once again, Scarlett shoved me straight into the firing line without a second thought.
Her message was clear: the leaks were fake, twisted lies. Continued defamation would face legal consequences.
Reporters instantly swarmed me.
A female journalist thrust her mic forward, eyes sharp: "Ms. Davis claims you two are long separated. Is she telling the truth?"
I forced a strained, unconvincing smile onto my face:
"Scarlett Davis is a pathological liar. She was my legal wife. She cheated with Liam Thompson. She got pregnant with his child. I, Jason Williams, swear to every word I've just said under penalty of perjury."
Gasps and frantic murmurs erupted through the room.
Scarlett looked genuinely horrified. She scrambled back to the mic, voice shrill:
"Apologies, everyone! He's having an episode! He suffers from severe delusional disorder – a fixation on possessing me!" She brandished a paper. "I have the medical diagnosis right here!"
Declaring me mentally ill was a classic, effective tactic.
Anything I said could now be dismissed as the ravings of a madman.
She signaled her security. "Escort him out immediately. He is not to speak further."
That's how the world worked. Survival of the fittest. Only the powerful had the right to be heard.
She came prepared.
But I wasn't playing by her rules anymore.
Just as burly hands grabbed my arms, a cold, commanding voice cut through the chaos like a knife:
"Who dares touch him?"
The crowd parted. Anya Stone stood there, radiating icy authority, flanked by an intimidating squad of bodyguards and sharp-suited lawyers.
And right beside her, radiating fury and protectiveness, were my parents.