Chapter 8

Sienna's POV

I kept my head down as I slipped out of the crowded garden and made my way toward the house. Every step felt heavier under the weight of the stares burning into my back. No matter where I turned, eyes were on me—judging, whispering, dissecting my every move.

I reached the terrace, hoping for a moment of peace, when a group of journalists appeared, cameras at the ready. My stomach dropped.

“Miss Brooks!” one of them called, hurrying toward me. “Can we have a moment of your time?”

I hesitated, my instinct screaming at me to turn and leave. “I’m not giving any interviews,” I said quickly, keeping my voice calm.

“Please, just a few questions,” another reporter chimed in, stepping closer. “We’d love to hear your side of the story.”

My side of the story? That was a laugh. No one cared about my side.

But as I looked at their eager faces, something inside me wavered. The questions didn’t seem hostile—at least, not yet. Maybe this was my chance to regain a bit of control.

“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “But only a few.”

The first reporter smiled brightly. “Thank you! So, how did you and Mr. Hollandale meet?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh, well...” I paused, quickly cobbling together a story in my head. “We met through mutual acquaintances. It was... unexpected but wonderful.”

“And how did you two fall in love?” another journalist asked, holding out a recorder.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. “It wasn’t easy at first,” I said, forcing a small smile. “But Max... Max helped me during one of the hardest times in my life. He was patient and supportive, and I guess, somewhere along the way, we realized how much we cared for each other.”

The words tasted like lies, but I kept going.

“And how have you helped him?” the first reporter asked. “He’s known for being guarded and cold. What changed?”

“Well,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “Max has been through a lot too. We’ve both helped each other, emotionally, I mean. It’s... it’s been a journey for both of us.”

For a moment, the questions seemed manageable, almost harmless. But then they took a turn.

“Miss Brooks, what about the allegations from last year? Do you think your past will affect your future with Mr. Hollandale?”

My chest tightened. “I’d rather not discuss that,” I said, my voice firmer.

“Do you feel guilty about the claims of assault against your former manager, Angela Devon?” another reporter pressed.

“I didn’t—” I stopped myself, biting down on the words.

“Did you really pay off producers to land roles early in your career?”

My breathing quickened. “That’s not true.”

“What about the rumors of your involvement with illegal substances? Or the claims that your sister, Edwina, tried to expose you for misconduct?”

The questions kept coming, faster and sharper, each one a dagger slicing through the fragile shield I’d tried to build around myself.

“I think we’re done here,” I said, stepping back, but they didn’t let up.

“Miss Brooks, do you feel like you’ve redeemed yourself?”

“What about your family? Do you still have a relationship with them?”

My vision blurred as the panic set in. I took another step back, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please... I don’t want to talk about this.”

But they didn’t stop.

“You were one of the most hated actresses in America. How do you feel about that now?”

“Do you think your marriage is just a publicity stunt?”

The crowd of reporters pressed closer, their cameras flashing, their voices overlapping. My pulse thundered in my ears. I couldn’t breathe.

“Leave me alone,” I said, my voice cracking.

And then I saw her. Edwina. She was standing just beyond the journalists, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched the chaos unfold. She’d done this. She’d orchestrated this entire ambush to break me.

“Sienna, just one more question—”

“No!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “I said no!”

But the questions didn’t stop. I could feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill over, when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“That’s enough!”

Max’s voice was sharp and commanding, slicing through the crowd like a whip. He stepped forward, his tall frame towering over the reporters as they instinctively backed away.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” he snapped, his eyes blazing with fury. “Do you think this is acceptable? Harassing my wife like this?”

“Mr. Hollandale, we were just asking questions—”

“Questions?” he interrupted, his tone icy. “This isn’t journalism; it’s bullying. You think you can corner her and throw accusations around like it’s nothing? Not on my watch.”

The reporters exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence clearly shaken.

“Sienna doesn’t owe you anything,” Max continued, his voice rising. “Not her past, not her pain, and certainly not her time. If you have questions, you can direct them to my team. But if I see any of you harassing her again, you’ll be dealing with me directly.”

The journalists mumbled apologies, their cameras lowering one by one.

Max turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?”

I nodded quickly, still too stunned to speak.

“Come on,” he said, placing a hand on my back and steering me away from the crowd.

As we walked back toward the house, I glanced up at him. “Why did you do that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Defend me,” I said quietly. “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugged, his tone nonchalant. “You’re my wife. It’s my job.”

I didn’t believe him—not entirely. But for the first time that night, I felt a small flicker of gratitude.

And I thought I saw him differently.

As we reached the steps, I paused, looking back at the garden. Edwina was still standing there, her smirk replaced by a scowl.

“Are you coming?” Max asked, his voice pulling me back to the present.

I nodded, turning away from Edwina.