Her Mistake

I was sitting by the long table set on the dais. Several microphones were aimed at me like weapons. I had never felt any kind of discomfort while facing reporters and answering their questions… until now. The scene seemed almost familiar—this setting, the crowd of agitated reporters sitting in front of the podium, their anticipation satiating the air inside the hall. The only thing that didn't seem to fit was the woman sitting next to me—Estelle.

I twisted in my seat, slowly scanning the beam stretching her red-tinted lips, the ridiculous cleavage that almost made her seem desperate for attention, and the large sparkling diamond on her finger. I had nothing to do with the ring, and I could only guess she either bought it herself or it was a gift from my father to help the false story look more “natural.”

I kept my hands in front of me, fingers intertwined. I saw Estelle giving me a meaningful glance before clearing her throat. “Your hand,” she grunted.

“What about it?” I strained thro