Brendan held Deirdre even more tightly. “Dee… You’re worried about me.”

“You… idiot!” Deirdre’s eyes felt warm. God, she had to admit—being in his arms, by his side, made her feel so, so safe. But if the price of this safety was an armageddon of a media firestorm, then she would rather not have any of it.

“I.. I am not worried about you! I’m just concerned about myself!”

He caressed her hair. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared.”

There was no sign of him letting go. He simply held her tightly against his chest.

His action ignited a stack of kerosene. The mob rioted.

“What the f*ck is this!? Mr. Brighthall, are you protecting a criminal in public!?”

“So, the things people said on the Internet about you were right! Deirdre McKinnon is your lover, so you’re protecting her! How could you do this to Miss McKinsey!? This b*tch pushed her down the stairs to kill her, and you, the f*cking fiance, chose to side with the criminal and protect her instead of helping your own fiancee!”

“Oh, I get