Chapter 567 Accusation
"Mr. Russell, you..."
"Do you think a blind man can see what's up there?"
"Sorry, I forgot."
After giving his assistant a good scolding, George started using his smart glasses to read the information. He had to keep up his blind persona and couldn't afford any slip-ups.
In the hotel, he had momentarily forgotten his "blindness" in a panic, but luckily, the only person who saw him was his personal secretary, Ryan.
But he couldn't be too careful.
From now on, he had to be more cautious.
As George read the information, he discreetly glanced at the photo. The young man in the picture did resemble Kieran from the surveillance footage, but something felt off.
"Send someone to track him down immediately," George ordered coldly.
Chase respectfully exited the office, a barely noticeable smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He pulled out his phone and quickly sent an encrypted message: [The fish has taken the bait.]
Emma's calm was shattered on the third day. When she turned on the TV, she saw the wife of a high-ranking official, Maeve Harrington, tearfully accusing her in front of the cameras.
"My husband was seduced by this woman!" Maeve cried, holding up a blurry photo. "This is evidence of their secret meeting at the hotel! Emma not only destroyed my family but also extorted a huge sum of money from my husband!"
Emma listened to the news as if it had nothing to do with her. She took a sip from her coffee cup.
"They even fabricated evidence," she murmured. "Looks like they're well-prepared."
On TV, Maeve continued her performance. "I have the flirtatious texts Emma sent to my husband! She threatened to expose everything if we didn't pay!"
Just then, George burst through the villa door, urgently embracing Emma, who was enjoying some pastries.
"Why didn't you tell me? The whole internet is attacking you, and you didn't say a word?"
"What good would it do? Can you make them stop?"
"I can. I'll make those spreading lies pay."
"Pay? Maeve even presented 'evidence.' Who's going to believe I'm innocent?"
"I'll get to the bottom of this," George said firmly. "Trust me."
Emma's lips curled into a smile. "Alright, I trust you."
Across the city in a luxury apartment, Kieran was leisurely feeding his golden retriever, Sunny, some treats. He watched Maeve's press conference with great interest.
"Sunny, look how passionately Maeve is acting," Kieran said, rubbing the dog's head. "Tears on command—she really is a drama school graduate."
His phone vibrated, displaying "Chase."
"Kieran, George has taken the bait," Chase's voice was filled with glee. "He really thinks Sidney is you."
Kieran chuckled. "Well done. Keep misleading him, make sure he gets further from the truth."
After hanging up, Kieran walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the city's lights. His reflection in the glass was blurry, just like his mysterious identity.
"Give it up, George," he toasted to the empty air. "The pawn will never know who the player is."
Emma sat alone at her computer, carefully examining the "evidence" Maeve provided. The supposed hotel rendezvous photo was clearly photoshopped, her face poorly pasted onto a stranger's body.
"Such amateurish forgery..." Emma bit her lip. "Why would anyone believe this?"
"Ms. Stuart, there's trouble!" The current manager of ML Jewelry urgently called Emma. She could hear the chaotic noise on the other end of the line.
ML was a high-end jewelry store, rarely this noisy even during celebrations.
What was going on?
"What happened?"
"Please come quickly, there's a disturbance!"
At that moment, hundreds of angry women had gathered outside the flagship ML Jewelry store. They held banners reading "Mistress Must Die" and "Whore Get Out of the Jewelry Business," completely surrounding the store. The leader, holding a megaphone, shouted hoarsely, "Friends! This shameless woman seduced other people's husbands! Now she dares to open a jewelry store to scam money!"
"Smash her store!" The crowd roared.
Security guards struggled to maintain order, but the furious mob had broken through the defenses. Glass display cases were shattered, expensive jewelry trampled underfoot. Some even pulled out red paint, writing "Whore" in bold letters on the pristine walls.
Emma, having received the manager's emergency call, remained calm. After making a few phone calls, she drove to the scene alone. As she stepped out of her car, the entire crowd fell silent.
Emma, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit and high heels, exuded confidence. Facing the angry mob, she didn't retreat but walked forward with her head held high.
"It's her! The shameless mistress!" A middle-aged woman with curly hair recognized her and screamed.
A dozen women immediately surrounded her, one reaching to grab her clothes. Emma's eyes flashed, and she swiftly pinned the woman's wrist, subduing her with a quick move.
"Who gave you the guts to touch me?" Emma's voice was low but icy. "I, Emma, walk the straight path. Anyone who dares lay a finger on me today will face the consequences!"
Just as the situation was about to spiral out of control, the roar of engines approached. Three black Maybachs sped to the scene, stopping at the edge of the crowd. The doors opened in unison, and over twenty bodyguards in black quickly formed a line.
Michael calmly stepped out of the middle car, dressed in a dark gray tailored suit, exuding elegance and authority. He surveyed the crowd, his gaze quieting the restless mob.
"Ladies," Michael's voice was gentle yet commanding, "attacking a Miss before the truth is revealed is hardly appropriate, don't you think?"
Michael walked to Emma's side, subtly shielding her. Emma noticed that his bodyguards had already discreetly secured key positions around the scene.
Michael turned to Emma with a reassuring smile. "Sorry I'm late."
Emma's eyes showed a hint of confusion. "How did you..."
"I've noticed Wanda getting close to George lately," Michael explained in a low voice. "I had someone keep an eye on her, and it seems it paid off."
Michael snapped his fingers, and the bodyguards swiftly moved to control the leading troublemakers.
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