I forced the corners of my mouth up into something resembling a smile. "No need."
Joel frowned, confused by my lack of gratitude. "It's just two photos, Anna. Are you really still angry? You're my wife. You need to be tougher than this."
My voice came out hollow.
"Forget it, Joel. We aren't built for this honor. I'm tired. Find someone else."
He gripped my shoulders, a flash of panic flitting through his eyes.
"What do you mean, 'forget it'? I said I'd punish the paparazzi. If you're scared, I'll assign more bodyguards to you, okay?"
Years ago, when the media slandered my parents, hounding them until their business collapsed, Joel had comforted me with these exact words.
He comforted me right up until the paparazzi chased their car off a bridge and into the sea.
Joel had stayed by my side for two months after the funeral.
I never suspected that he was the one holding the match that lit the fire.
Looking at his feigned concern now, a dull ache throbbed in my chest.
He stepped into his study to take a call. Through the door, I heard him scolding someone.
"Who told you to be so blatant? Get those reporters out of sight—don't push her too hard yet."
My face stayed blank.