The Death Notice He Gave His Childhood SweetheartChapter 1
On our wedding day, Joel Mason told me that as the wife of a billionaire heir, I had to develop a thick skin. I had to get used to the cameras.
So, when I miscarried, photos of me—pale and hemorrhaging—were plastered across the front page.
When my parents died in a car crash, paparazzi blocked me at the funeral hall, shoving microphones in my face while I tried to mourn.
Even the birth of our son was live-streamed. The intrusion was so severe I spiraled into postpartum depression. Because my "mental resilience was too poor," I was cursed onto the trending search lists yet again.
Through it all, Joel ignored the public outcry. He simply posted a perfect family photo and stayed by my side.
I thought he was my anchor.
Until our son got into a car accident.
The ambulance sat gridlocked behind a wall of paparazzi. They swarmed the vehicle, flashes blinding the driver, refusing to move an inch.
Desperate, I grabbed a security guard's arm hard enough to bruise. "Drive them away! My son is dying!"
The guard looked down, his expression apologetic but firm. "I can't, Mrs. Mason. These reporters were personally invited by Mr. Mason. We have no authority to remove them."
My grip went slack.
*That's impossible.* Joel was buried in meetings—he wouldn't do something so petty, so dangerous.
But the next second, every lens turned in unison toward the stretcher where my unconscious child lay.
"Mr. Mason's orders are clear. Reporter Henson needs fresh material."
——
"She almost missed the scoop. Good thing the boss arranged enough bodies; we've got the crash site covered from every angle. No blind spots."
A few feet away, Joel scrolled through the photos on his phone, his thumb swiping with critical satisfaction.
"Good. Naomi is up for a promotion; she needs a headline that bleeds."
The reporter next to him gauged Joel's expression carefully. "Mr. Mason, your wife has been keeping a low profile lately. If she stays this quiet, Reporter Henson won't have anything to write about."
Joel's voice cut through the sterile hospital air like a blade.
"If she's too quiet, I'll arrange some trouble for her. Just like today's accident."
Leaning against the emergency exit doors, the blood drained from my face. A chill settled in my marrow, deeper than the winter wind.
All my suffering—every scandal, every invasion of privacy—was orchestrated.