Camera flashes erupted like a hailstorm, so blinding I couldn't keep my eyes open.
"Stop! Don't!" I shielded myself uselessly. "Stop taking pictures!"
No one listened. I clutched the gown to my body, fingernails digging through the fabric and into my palms.
Through the relentless storm of shutter clicks, I stared in the direction Piers had disappeared, and the hatred inside me grew like thorned vines wrapping around every rib.
Piers Stephens. Everything you did to me tonight, I will repay tenfold in three days.
The whispers and camera shutters wove together into a suffocating net, tightening around me until I could barely breathe.
"That's enough!" A cool, commanding male voice cut through the chaos and tore the net wide open.
I turned toward the sound. "Joseph Simmons?"
He stood tall in a perfectly tailored suit, every line of him sharp and composed, his features carrying an air of cold refinement.
His bodyguards cleared the crowd in seconds. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. "Let me get you out of here."
I blinked, then nodded.
He swept me up in his arms and carried me all the way to his car.