A dance with the villian
Two men stepped out, blending into the crowd like professionals, while the others stayed inside.
They weren’t subtle, but then, they didn’t have to be. Their message was clear: We’re watching.
I adjusted my sunglasses, a futile attempt to shield myself from recognition. But the whispers started anyway.
“Oh my God, it’s her! Hyperion’s wife!”
Click. Click. The cameras came out. Phones pointed in my direction.
That’s who I was to them: Hyperion’s wife. Not Dr. Lilian Kane, the surgeon who once saved lives, the woman who fought for her place in the world. No. Just the wife of a man the world worshipped. How ironic.
Bab Populer