Chapter7 Not Letting You Go

Preston’s POV

The door to my office swung open, and my assistant walked in—the same guy who'd greeted Scarlett at the front desk earlier.

He had this stupid grin on his face, like he knew something I didn't.

"Boss, you should've seen her," he said, practically bouncing on his heels. "She was trying so hard to act cool, but I could tell she was nervous. Asked for you by name and everything."

I leaned back in my chair, unable to suppress a slight smile. "Did she now?"

"Yeah, and when I told her you weren't available, she looked genuinely disappointed. I'm happy for you, man. You've been waiting for this moment for so long."

I waved off his congratulations. "Get me a suit. The formal one—the navy blue with the silver tie."

My assistant's smile faded, replaced by confusion. "A suit? But you're already dressed for work. Why do you need—" His eyes widened. "Wait, you're not going to that press conference, are you?"

"That's exactly where I'm going."

"But boss, you never go to those things. You hate dealing with reporters and all that media circus stuff."

I stood up, buttoning my jacket. "I can't just sit here while Scarlett gets torn apart by those vultures. Madison's probably planning something, and Pierce definitely is. Someone needs to have her back."

My assistant hesitated, then nodded. "Right. I'll get your suit ready. Give me five minutes."

I've been searching for her for so long.

And now she was here, walking right back into my life. There was no way I was going to let her slip through my fingers this time.

Scarlett’s POV

By the time I arrived at the press conference, the room was already packed. Cameras lined the back wall, their red recording lights blinking like angry eyes.

Reporters filled every available seat, notebooks open, phones recording, all of them waiting for blood.

And there, center stage, was Madison.

She sat behind a long table draped with white cloth, tissues clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. Her eyes were red and puffy—though I'd bet money she'd used eye drops to achieve that effect. Her voice cracked as she spoke into the microphone.

"I just want to say how deeply sorry I am," she sniffled, dabbing at her eyes. "I know so many people were looking forward to this competition. Young skaters who trained so hard, families who bought tickets, sponsors who believed in us. And now, because of this terrible 事件, we have to postpone everything."

A few reporters in the front row actually looked sympathetic. One woman even reached up to pat Madison's hand. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"Ms.Huntington, we understand this must be difficult for you," a male reporter said gently. "No one blames you for what happened."

Madison nodded bravely, like she was some kind of war hero. "I'm just grateful no one was hurt. That's what matters most."

I was still standing near the entrance, trying to figure out the best way to handle this, when Pierce spotted me. His face twisted into an ugly sneer as he marched over.

"You're late," he hissed, grabbing my elbow hard enough to bruise. "Do you have any idea how bad this looks?"

"Let go of me," I said quietly, trying to pull away without making a scene.

But Pierce wasn't having it. He dragged me forward, his grip tightening. "You're going to get up there right now and apologize to Madison. This whole disaster is your fault, and everyone needs to know that."

"My fault?" I stopped dead in my tracks. "How exactly is any of this my fault?"

"If you hadn't made a scene, hadn't accused Madison publicly, none of this would've happened. Madison was doing just fine before you showed up."

I yanked my arm free, staring at him in disbelief. "Madison was doing fine? She's the one who—"

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Pierce cut me off. "Get up there. Now."

He grabbed my arm again, trying to physically push me toward the stage. Several reporters had noticed the commotion and were starting to turn their cameras our way.

Madison's performance faltered as she watched us, her expression flickering between fake concern and genuine annoyance.

I was about to tell Pierce exactly where he could shove his apology when a voice cut through the murmuring crowd.

"Excuse me, I have a question."

Everyone turned to look at a woman standing near the middle of the room. She was in her thirties, dressed in a sharp red blazer, with her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. I recognized her immediately, one of the reporters Emma had mentioned she'd contact.

Thank god for Emma.

Madison's PR smile brightened. "Of course, please go ahead."

Reporter didn't return the smile. "Yesterday, Scarlett made some serious allegations. She claimed that you, Ms. Huntington, were responsible for arranging the fire at the arena. Police have since discovered multiple explosive devices planted throughout the venue."

She paused, letting that sink in. "Is there any truth to these accusations?"

The room went dead silent.

Madison's face drained of all color, her carefully applied blush standing out like war paint against her suddenly pale skin. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

"I... that's... you can't possibly think..."

Pierce jumped in, his voice sharp. "That's a completely baseless accusation. Scarlett has no proof whatsoever, and making such claims is borderline slander."

Reporter raised an eyebrow. "So you're denying any involvement in the fire or the explosives?"

"Of course I'm denying it!" Madison's voice rose several octaves, her composure cracking. "This is ridiculous. I'm the victim here!"

I couldn't help it—I smiled. Just a little one, but enough to show I knew exactly what was happening. I turned my head toward the stage, watching Madison squirm under the sudden scrutiny.

Her eyes locked onto mine, and I saw real panic there. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"Wait," Madison said, her voice taking on a desperate edge. "You didn't tell me anyone was going to ask about that. Nobody said anything about bombs or fires or any of this before I came here!"

The other reporters exchanged glances, sensing fresh blood in the water. Another hand shot up.

"Ms.Huntington, are you saying your PR team didn't prepare you for questions about the investigation?"

"Ms.Huntington, do you have a comment on the police findings?"

"Ms.Huntington, where were you when the fire started?"

Madison looked around wildly, like a cornered animal. "I don't... this isn't what we agreed on. Pierce, you said this would be simple. You said I just needed to cry a little and everyone would feel sorry for me!"

The room erupted. Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions over each other. Pierce's face went from angry red to mortified white as he realized what Madison had just admitted.

I stood there, still smiling, watching the whole thing fall apart.