148 | the big decision.


It was the paparazzi. I knew it now. The paparazzi was the reason we got into the accident.

Our driver, Dame, who was highly injured but was still the one to get back consciousness faster than Shayla had, was making me worried. Shayla was still unconscious — and in the operation theater, the seatbelt had dug into her skin so deep that we had to pull her from the car with the seat belt attached, as in, we had to essentially tear the seat belt from the car. There was a huge gash on her forehead that was oozing blood when I carried her out of the car, but apparently the doctors had found a huge blow on her head too. It must have smashed into the ceiling, they said when they were reeling her in. I cried. What else could I do? I got out with a broken arm, multiple non-fatal gashes. I was in a private room, staring out the window — wondering why Shayla hadn't woken up yet when Dame had.

When he had woken up, the first that Dame had said was paparazzi. "They are the cause of
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