Mr Billionaire His Last Dinner

Doors swing open.

Cold air rips through her as she exits the police station.

The world erupts. 

"MURDERER!" a sharp scream hits her like a slap.

The sky hung low, thick with the threat of rain. 

She's free to go. Innocent. No case. But the public doesn't care.

Cameras flash, blinding her, and reporters shove microphones toward her. Her ears ring as the shouts increase.

"Desirée, any comment on the ruling?"

"Are you guilty?"

"You were the last person Mildred called-what did you do?"

"Did you kill them? Say something!"

Desirée halts. Blood in her mouth, not hers- a doll slams against her chest, falling face down at her feet, arms twisted, smeared with blood like a body. She steps backward.

Randall's firm hand touches the small of her back- a silent support. She stiffens. Swallows. Don't flinch, don't crack. It feels reassuring and warm amidst her surroundings.

"No comment." Her voice was steady. Randall nods his head in approval.

A cold gust bites at her burning skin. Thunder rumbles in unison with the crowd. Outrage, hate, and grief are palpable.

Multiple copies of her bestselling books along with other merch float through the air, ripping against the marble stairs. 

She sights a book landing open, soon to be soaked by rain. Security struggles to block and hold off the crowd as they walk through.  

A woman breaks past the barricades, eyes wild, face streaked with tears, body trembling.

Security barely caught her as she lunged, her nails dug into Desirée's wrist. 

"Mildred was a mother! A daughter! Her child, an angel!" her voice cracked. "They are dead because of you!"

The accusations collide, drowning her.

"You killed them both!"

"Justice for Mildred and Cecelia!"

"What kind of monster are you?"

"A family is gone and you just get to walk!?"

"You're an evil bitch. You deserve to die!"

Her legs falter. The words latch onto her bones, digging like roots.

"Mummy, did she kill them?" a small voice asks

Something sharp rips through her chest, slowing her steps.

Randall tightens his grip, his touch grounding her and wiping over the bleeding, "Keep moving"

Desirée gulps, reviving her failing lungs. She grips her blazer with trembling fingers and bites her tongue. She raises her chin, steadies her gaze, and squares her shoulders.

"Left foot, right foot, one, two.." The SUV looms ahead. Almost there.

Then, a man lunges. His odor hits her before he nearly tropled her to the ground. Three of the security tackle him. 

More screams. 

Randall breaks her fall and moves to her front as they walk hurriedly.

"Get in" Patra's voice rang out as the SUV door yanked open.

She climbed in. Randall followed. The door slammed shut.

Desirée let out a slow, shaky breath wiping herself with the disinfected wipes Patra handed to her. The words echoed in her head as she replayed everything. 

A scream clawed up her throat, desperate, wild. But who would listen? Who would care?

How could she kill anyone, let alone her ex-client and a child. Why would they think such of her?