**Chapter 9** Brandon’s demeanor was a storm cloud as he snapped, “Vivian is sick. Didn’t you know?” His voice was laced with a dangerous edge, a menacing undertone that sent chills down Millie’s spine. The bitter irony of his words made her want to laugh. So this was his belief: that she was purposefully instigating a confrontation with someone who was unwell. How little he truly understood her. A silence fell between them, pressing like a vice, and when Millie didn't respond, the press turned their eager gazes toward Vivian, hounding her with relentless questions about the scandal of a marriage in shambles. It was as if they were waiting for the first drop of blood in a feeding frenzy. Brandon’s focus shifted back to Millie, and he barked, “Millie!” He expected her to stand up for Vivian, just as he always had: to play the part of the dutiful wife willing to gloss over the chaos that surrounded them. But today was different. The will to appease him had evaporated, leaving behind a sense of liberation. She could feel the weight of the air around her, thick with unresolved tensions, as she turned her back on him. There was no longer any obligation to obey. A dull ache still throbbed in her stomach as she spoke, reluctantly admitting, “I came to visit a friend.” Her voice lacked the warmth she once possessed, a shield she used to protect her secret—her pregnancy. That was not a truth she was ready to share, especially not before the divorce papers were signed and sealed, and certainly not with the crowd’s prying eyes fastened upon her. She had offered a cursory response to Brandon’s earlier demands, with the hope that would suffice. But as she attempted to retreat, the reporters closed in like vultures, desperate for any morsel of drama. “Mrs. Watson, people online are urging you to step aside and let Mr. Watson be with Vivian. What do you say to that?” one reporter called out, their voice mingling with the insatiable hum of the gathering. “Vivian doesn’t have long. Are you really going to continue fighting her?” another chimed in, their curiosity more like a predator’s hunger than genuine concern. The questions washed over Millie like an oppressive wave, but she held her ground. She refused to engage with them any longer; all she wanted was to escape, to distance herself from the chaos swirling around her. The crowd, exhilarated by the drama of the moment, showed no signs of yielding. Brandon remained a stoic figure, silent amidst the uproar—his presence an invitation for someone in the throng to push Millie roughly aside. The jolt caught her off guard. She stumbled, instinctively shielding her belly as she lost her balance. In what felt like a slow-motion nightmare, Millie crashed to the ground, her back hitting the pavement with painful force. The cameras erupted with flashes that captured every agonizing angle of her fall, each click a reminder of her vulnerability. Instinctively, she turned her eyes towards Brandon, searching for a flicker of empathy or support. But his expression was a cold mask—unmoving, unreadable. It was in that crushing moment that reality hit her like a wake-up slap: he wanted her to clarify things to the press. He craved her to explain away the misunderstandings—that this was all about kindness, about concern for Vivian, not the betrayal of their marriage. Clutching her belly, Millie felt the sting of betrayal mix with the pain in her body. She lowered her head, and despite her turmoil, a faint smile edged its way onto her lips, a bittersweet mask for the storm that raged inside her. The sky above was a brilliant blue, beams of sunlight filtering through the scattered mass of humanity surrounding her—but none of it touched her heart. Taking a deep breath, Millie steadied herself. She rose slowly from the ground, determined to reclaim her power in a world that had just reminded her how fragile it could be. The game was changing, and she was done being the pawn.