Chapter 203
Chapter 203:
Two officers hauled Liam up. He groaned, his head lolling back. His eyes, swollen to slits, tried to focus on Alistair.
“She… she hit me,” Liam slurred, blood bubbling from his lips. “Domestic… dispute p>
“Unlawful imprisonment,” Chief Miller corrected, his voice flat. He pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. “We received a tip about a kidnapping in progress. And looking at the ether rag and the bruising on Ms. Sterling’s wrists, I’d say the District Attorney is going to have a field day p>
“You set me up,” Liam spat, the realization cutting through his concussion. He looked at Alistair. “You knew p>
Alistair didn’t deign to answer. He simply tightened his grip on Skye’s waist.
“Get him out of my sight,” Alistair ordered.
The officers dragged Liam toward the door. As they passed, Liam lunged, his body jerking against the handcuffs.
“She’s mine!” Liam screamed, the sound tearing through his ruined throat. “You can’t have her! She’s my wife p>
Skye flinched, burying her face in Alistair’s bare chest. The smell of him, gunpowder, expensive soap, and raw masculine heat, was the only thing keeping the panic at bay.
“Ex-wife,” Alistair corrected softly to the room.
They walked out into the hallway.
It was an ambush.
The moment they stepped through the doorframe, the corridor erupted in blinding white light. Dozens of photographers were crammed into the narrow space, cameras clicking like a swarm of mechanical cicadas. Reporters shoved microphones forward, shouting over each other.
“Mr. Thorne! Is it true Liam Kensington kidnapped his ex-wife p>
“Ms. Sterling! Are you injured p>
O𝘳i𝗴𝗂𝘯𝖺l 𝖼o𝘯𝗍e𝗇𝘁 𝘧𝗿o𝗺 b𝘦𝗹𝗻ovе𝗅ѕ.с𝗈𝗆
“What is the nature of your relationship with Alistair Thorne p>
Skye stiffened. She had not expected this. She looked up at Alistair, confusion warring with the drug-induced haze. He had called them. He had weaponized the media before he even opened the door.
Liam, being dragged ahead of them, tried to hide his face, but with his hands cuffed behind his back, he was defenseless against the onslaught. The cameras captured every drop of blood, every bruise, every ounce of his humiliation.
Alistair stopped. He didn’t push through the crowd. He stood there, shirtless, wearing only his suit trousers, with Skye wrapped in his dress shirt. He looked dangerous, primal, and utterly in command.
He raised a hand. The hallway went silent.
A reporter from the City Chronicle, a woman with sharp eyes, seized the moment. “Mr. Thorne, why are you here? This is a domestic incident involving the Kensingtons p>
Alistair looked directly into her camera lens. His eyes were cold, possessive fire.
“Ms. Sterling is my girlfriend,” Alistair declared. His voice was deep, carrying to the back of the crowd without effort. “And anyone who touches her answers to me p>
The silence stretched for a heartbeat, then shattered. The flashes intensified, turning the hallway into a strobe-lit nightmare.