The sea of reporters parted instantly as the Rolls Royce glided to a halt. The engine was silent, but the presence of the car felt like a physical weight pressing against the garden.
The door was opened by a man in a sharp grey suit—Julian Cross, the Legal Shark, looking like a man who was about to dismantle their entire legal standing in five minutes or less. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes scanning the podium with clinical detachment.
Then, a leg emerged.
A long, pale leg, accented by a stiletto heel the color of fresh blood.
Aria stepped out of the car.
The cameras flashed so rapidly the garden was plunged into a strobe-light frenzy. The reporters gasped, several of them dropping their notebooks. This wasn't the "drugged, terrified" victim Bella had described.
