By the time they left the hospital, the swarm of reporters was upon them like vultures to carrion.
Curious onlookers had already begun to pester the staff, demanding to know who was admitted and why Ivy had come to visit.
"Hey, Ivy! If she’s your family member, why not transfer her to a better hospital?" one reporter barked. "Don't tell me you're too cheap to spend your hard-earned cash on your own kin. The net's been buzzing with rumors that you've cut ties with your family over too many shady deeds —is that true?"
"Ivy! Look over here!" another shouted, snapping pictures. "You're with a guy as loaded as Mr. Howard, and you can't spare a dime for your family? What's the story behind this family feud?"
Ivy's breath hitched as their words pierced her heart. Who were they to say she hadn't spent money on her family? Why was it always her being interrogated? The past issues had been clarified already.
Embarrassment and pain washed over her, her cheeks burning with humiliation.
If it weren't for her family, she wouldn't be rendered speechless in front of the prying media. How she wished she could shout it from the rooftops—it wasn't she who wanted to leave, but circumstances forced her hand!
Would any of these reporters have fared better if they had grown up in her shoes? If not, they had no right to grill her. She had no desire to be linked to those people; she just wanted to live her life in peace. Why couldn't they just let her be?
Clarified news was being dredged up and thrown in her face again and again.
Balfour sensed her distress. Their hands were clasped tightly, hers slick with sweat—a clear sign of her anxiety.
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