I froze.
What night ?
The night Elena disappeared ?
"We have discussed this," Julian stepped forward, his hand moving to cover the microphone, but the reporter kept talking, his voice rising.
"The police report from the night of your disappearance mentions a vehicle crash near the bridge," the reporter continued, his eyes locking onto mine. "It also mentions that you weren't alone in the car, Mrs. Thorne."
The room went deadly silent. The constant click-click-click of the cameras stopped abruptly.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked at Julian, panic flaring in my chest. The dossier Diane gave me mentioned the crash, the fire, and the hospital. It never mentioned a passenger.
"Who was in the passenger seat, Elena?" the reporter asked, his voice dripping with insinuation. "Was it a friend? Or was it the person you were running away with?"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
My throat had closed up. I looked at Julian, pleading silently for an answer, for a lifeline. I didn't know the script for this. I didn't know the truth.
But Julian wasn't looking at the reporter. He was looking at me, and for the first time since we walked onto the stage, his mask was gone.
He looked terrified.
Julian moved before I could blink.
He stepped in front of me, his broad back blocking the blinding lights and the reporter's accusing stare. He leaned into the microphone, his voice low and dangerous, echoing through the ballroom speakers like a thunderclap.
"This press conference is over," Julian said.
"Security."
Chaos erupted.
The reporters surged forward, a tidal wave of questions and shouting. Flashbulbs went off in rapid-fire succession, creating a strobe-light effect that made me dizzy. The man in the aisle was still yelling, asking about the passenger, asking about the blood on the dashboard.
"Move," Julian commanded.
He didn't offer his arm this time. He grabbed my wrist, his fingers clamping down hard enough to bruise. He pulled me away from the podium, dragging me toward the velvet curtains.
"Julian, wait, what is he talking about?" I gasped, stumbling in my heels.
"Not here," he snapped, not looking back.
We burst through the curtains and into the backstage hallway. Diane was waiting there, her face drained of all color. She looked from me to Julian, her clipboard clutching against her chest like a shield.
"I didn't know," Diane stammered, her voice high and thin. "Julian, I swear, they didn't submit that question. I vetted everyone."
"Get the car," Julian barked. "Now."
Security guards formed a circle around us, pushing back a few photographers who had managed to sneak backstage. We moved as a single unit, a phalanx of black suits and grim faces, sweeping toward the exit.
My heart was racing so fast I thought I might pass out. Who was in the car? Why did Julian look so terrified on stage? And why, now that we were out of the public eye, did he look so murderous?
We hit the cool night air of the loading dock. A sleek black SUV was idling there, the back door already open. Julian practically threw me inside and climbed in after me.
"Go," he told the driver.
The door slammed shut, sealing us in the heavy silence of the car. The lock clicked with a finality that made me shiver.
As the car peeled away from the hotel, I turned to him. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a cold, hard anger. I had agreed to play a part, I had agreed to be his wife, but I hadn't agreed to be blindsided by a scandal involving a mystery passenger.
"Who was it?" I asked.
Julian didn't answer. He was staring out the tinted window, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle feathered in his cheek. He was adjusting his cufflinks, a nervous tick I hadn't seen before.
"Julian," I said, louder this time. "Answer me. That reporter implied I was running away with someone. Was I?"
He turned to me slowly. The streetlights outside cast rhythmic shadows across his face, slicing his expression into strips of light and dark.
"Stop acting," he said, his voice void of emotion. "You know exactly who it was."
"I don't," I insisted, desperate to keep my cover but desperate for the truth. "My memory is still foggy. The doctors said..."
"Drop the act!" Julian lunged across the leather seat.
It happened so fast I didn't have time to recoil. He crowded me against the door, his hand slamming into the leather headrest beside my ear. He was close, too close. I could smell the expensive scotch on his breath and the faint scent of sandalwood cologne.
"You aren't on stage anymore, Elena," he hissed, his eyes burning into mine. "You froze up there. You looked guilty. And if you look guilty, they start digging. And if they dig, they find him."
"Find who?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
Julian's eyes flickered. For a second, I saw raw pain behind the anger, a deep, gaping wound that he had been hiding behind his perfect suits and cold demeanor.
"The Senator's son" he said softly. "Your lover."
My breath hitched. A Senator's son.
"He died in that crash, Elena," Julian continued, his voice rough. "You were driving. You were drunk. You killed him, and then you ran."
I felt the blood drain from my face. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Silas hadn't told me this. He said Elena was a spoiled heiress who ran away from a bad marriage. He didn't tell me she was a killer. He didn't tell me I was covering up a manslaughter.
"I..." I stammered, unable to form a sentence.
"I paid a fortune to bury that police report," Julian said, pulling back and smoothing his suit jacket. "I bribed the coroner. I bribed the first responders. I did it to save this family, not you. But if you ever freeze like that again, if you ever give them a reason to look at that crash report a second time, I will personally drive you to the police station and turn you in."
He turned away from me, staring out the window again.
"We'd be having dinner with the board soon" he said, his voice cold and distant once more.
"Pull yourself together."
I sat there, shaking, pressing my back against the door. I looked out the window at the passing city lights, blurring into streaks of gold and red.
I wasn't just replacing a missing wife. I was replacing a murderer.
And Julian, the man I was starting to feel a pull toward, the man who had just protected me on stage... he was the one who helped bury the body.