Chapter 8 - Flashbulbs in the Night
The blinding flash of a camera cut through the dim amber light of the hallway, followed immediately by the muffled shouts of reporters pressing against the front glass. Julian cursed under his breath, realizing the press had somehow tracked Richard’s private jet or followed Thomas Miller to the estate.
“You called the press?” Julian accused his brother, stepping aggressively toward Richard.
“Please, Julian, I have more taste than that,” Richard replied, setting his scotch glass down on a nearby console table with a sharp click. “Though someone clearly tipped them off. Mother, did you deploy the PR clean-up crew too early?”
Eleanor shook her head, her face pale with genuine alarm for the first time. “I ordered total radio silence. Nobody outside this estate knew about Clara’s condition.”
“Then someone else in this house sold us out,” Thomas Miller growled, looking directly at the Vance family with burning suspicion. He turned to his daughter, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulder. “Clara, we’re leaving. Right now. I don’t care about the farm or their money. This place is poison.”
“No, Dad, wait,” Clara said, clutching her stomach as another flash illuminated the foyer. “If we run now, we look guilty of whatever narrative they spin tomorrow morning.”
Julian grabbed his suit jacket off the banister, slipping his arms into the sleeves with decisive movements. “Clara is right. If you walk out those front doors right now, the paparazzi will tear you apart to get to the story. Stay here. I’ll handle the press.”
“You can’t handle a media horde alone, Julian,” Richard warned, stepping into his path. “They smell blood in the water. One wrong word and the stock price of Vance Enterprises drops twenty points by the opening bell.”
“I don’t care about the stock price!” Julian roared, his voice finally breaking through his restraint. “My life is falling apart because of this goddamned family and your endless obsession with control!”
Eleanor flinched at the outburst, her eyes hardening. “Watch your tone, Julian. You are still a Vance.”
“Not for much longer,” Julian muttered. He turned to Clara, his expression softening instantly. “Trust me. Just give me five minutes to clear the courtyard.”
Before Clara could reply, the side service door near the kitchens banged open. A young kitchen assistant, breathless and terrified, rushed into the hallway.
“Mr. Vance! Mr. Vance!” the boy yelled, holding up a shattered tablet screen. “It’s already online. Someone leaked the security footage from the east wing!”
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Julian froze. The east wing security cameras covered the private staff quarters—including the hallway where he and Clara had first confessed their relationship months ago.
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