Last Chance for Mr Billionaire

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?

Loud voices drowned Desirée's thoughts, as they ripped people apart on the phone.

"No Leonard, you do not get an exclusive interview! You're full of shit, you already ran three segments today dragging her through the mud - Do I look as stupid as you?"

Patra's voice was lethal. She hung up with a curse.

"I wouldn't make that move if I were you. We've had a blissful partnership. You've surpassed your expected growth and returns, how can we be bad for business? Accusations are just that, it is under control, they'll die down and it'll be business as usual."

Jackson was going head to head with a client.

"They aren't going to break you girl," Patra assured Desirée, gripping her hands.

Desirée managed a nod.

The car accelerated, tires rolling over wet pavement as heavy downpour bid them. Just then, an unbothered voice crackles smoothly from the radio. "Breaking News."

Desirée inhales, gripping the door as her stomach knots. Everything was happening too fast.

Randall reached out, patting Desirée's shoulders "You held your ground."

"Not like it mattered." Desirée murmured.

"It always matters," he insisted.

"There you have it, Desirée Ocampo, once a beacon of ambition and empowerment, a darling of the public has found herself in the middle of a scandal that refuses to die down."

"Despite hours of questioning, Ms. Ocampo has been cleared of all criminal charges related to the tragic demise of Mildred Hart and her Daughter Cecelia Hart.

"Her innocence?" The reporter states, "Is up for debate."

"New footage of her last interactions with Mildred has surfaced, reigniting the call for justice. Critics claim her tough love strategy of coaching is deadly but the legal experts say there is no evidence linking her to the crime. Hence she is innocent."

Patra mumbles something about public view, tapping on her phone.

"Innocence holds no power in the court of public opinion as critics and protesters keep fighting to have her face the full wrath of their justice."

Desirée rests her head on her palms, grumbling.

"Protests continue at her place of work and residence, sources say sponsors have been withdrawing and clients backing out of coaching sessions."

"Will this be the end of Ocampo's career, will she be able to come out of this storm? At this point, it will take a miracle to revive her brand and reputation"

She did fantastic work with Mildred who got her life on track. Her hostile behavior and tantrums before she died were surprising.

Witnessing a client lose her light and not being able to save her was hell. Then to be blamed for her death? Too much.

"It matters" Jackson emphasizes with a fierce voice, finally done with his call.

"Fuck them. No one gets to bury you," he says, turning off the radio.

"We're gonna find that miracle" He nods at Desirée. "To hell with them."

"But we need to be realistic" He exhales, palms up in caution.

"They are relentless, charging up not down. It's not looking good, sponsorships are plummeting." Jackson says, his face pinched.

He runs his hand over his face, examining his phone while shaking his head, "...We are hitting... rock bottom."

"And we land, then climb back up" Patra shot in. "Why would you say that now?"

"Definitely," he retorts, turning to Patra,

"Why not? There's no point sugarcoating. We list our problems to find solutions."

Silence filled the SUV wrapping around Desirée like a second skin. She rolled down her window seeking relief, as cold insistent drops of rain fell on her, mirroring her unease.

The best thing to do will be to stay put and strategize. Anything can, will and has been used against her.

Randall pulls his phone out, frowning in thought.

"We have that." He speaks calmly.

"What?" Desirée's eyes flicker to him as Patra stares with a knowing look.

Randall slowly lifts his gaze from his phone to Desirée.

"An offer ...but you won't like it"