Chapter 107

Serena's POV

The extended four-hour broadcast of *Battle of the Needle* had just wrapped up with unprecedented ratings. Standing in the buzzing studio, I could feel the electric atmosphere of success hanging in the air. Staff members hurried past, exchanging excited whispers about the viewership numbers that kept climbing.

I made my way through the familiar corridor towards Marlon's office. After such a significant achievement, expressing gratitude to him was both professional courtesy and genuine appreciation.

"Marlon," I said, finding him reviewing some papers at his desk. "I wanted to thank you for your support tonight."

He looked up with a satisfied smile. "This is all you, Serena." He shook his head, impressed. "I have to say, I'm looking forward to seeing the full impact of tonight's broadcast."

Our conversation was interrupted by a commotion outside. Through the window, I could see camera flashes lighting up the darkness like lightning strikes. A crowd had gathered at the television station's entrance.

As I approached the lobby, the scene became clearer. Evelyn Whitmore was surrounded by reporters, their microphones thrust forward like weapons. Her usually perfect composure was cracking under the barrage of questions.

"Ms. Whitmore, why did you try to sabotage Serena Sinclair? Were you afraid of the impact on Whitmore Enterprises?" a reporter demanded.

"Was this a calculated move against StarRiver Group?" another voice joined in.

I watched from a distance as Evelyn's carefully maintained facade began to crumble. Her fingers twisted the strap of her designer bag, knuckles white with tension.

"That's enough!" she finally snapped, her voice sharp with hysteria. "Get out of my way! I'm leaving!"

Nina appeared at her side, the picture of concerned friendship. "Evelyn, please calm down," she said softly, though loud enough for the cameras to catch. "These reporters are just doing their jobs."

The false sympathy in Nina's voice made my stomach turn. I knew that look in her eyes - the same calculated gleam I'd seen countless times. She was performing for the cameras, positioning herself as the voice of reason.

SLAP!

Evelyn spun around, her hand connecting with Nina's cheek in a sharp slap that echoed through the lobby. The cameras went wild, capturing every second of the meltdown.

Before the situation could escalate further, a familiar figure cut through the crowd. Jace Gillard, his expression grim, took Evelyn's arm and began leading her away from the chaos. The reporters parted before him, perhaps sensing that the show was over.

I watched them disappear into the night. The sight of Jace's protective gesture stirred a memory of Eleanor. He ended up not being worthy of all the love Eleanor had for him.

Nina stood frozen, her hand still hovering near her reddened cheek. Despite her earlier performance of concern, I caught the flash of genuine surprise in her eyes - not from the slap, but from Ian's continued absence. Her carefully crafted plan was unraveling, and for once, she couldn't hide her disappointment.

The night air grew heavier with tension as the reporters, like sharks sensing new blood, suddenly turned their attention toward me. Camera flashes erupted in a dizzying constellation, temporarily blinding in their intensity. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nina's reluctant retreat, her steps slow and measured as if waiting for one last chance at the spotlight.

"Miss Sinclair!" The reporters closed in, their microphones thrust forward like weapons. "How do you feel about being sabotaged by Evelyn Whitmore in the competition? Aren't you upset?"

I maintained my composure, though exhaustion tugged at the edges of my consciousness. "The truth has a way of revealing itself," I replied, my voice steady. "I believe the ones who should feel hurt aren't necessarily the ones who were targeted."

The crowd pressed closer, the air growing thicker with each passing moment. More questions came rapid-fire, each reporter trying to outshout the others.

"Why did you keep your identity as Lumi Nova secret? Was there a specific reason?"

I felt a familiar weight settle in my chest - the burden of secrets and half-truths. "My reasons for privacy are personal," I said firmly. "I hope everyone can understand and respect that."

The questions continued, but one cut through the noise with particular sharpness: "What do you have to say to Ian Whitmore? After everything he's done to hurt you-"

"Ian Whitmore and I have gone our separate ways," I interrupted, unable to completely mask the weariness in my voice. "His choices are his own to make, and frankly, they no longer concern me. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's getting late."

But the wall of bodies remained impenetrable, cameras still flashing relentlessly in the darkness. The station's exterior lights cast harsh shadows across eager faces, each hoping to capture one more moment of vulnerability. My feet ached in their heels, and the weight of the day pressed down like a physical force.

"Please," I said, summoning what energy I had left, "it's been a long day, and I'd like to go home."