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Hotel Exit
"Okay, let's get going," Mike said, signaling. Two bodyguards lifted the bags while the others shifted into position.
"Cherry, can you handle all the flashlights?" Mirabel asked softly.
"Yes, Mum," Cherry answered with a brave little nod.
"Good girl," Mirabel whispered, squeezing her hand. She already knew Charlie would stay strong.
"Mirabel, I'll see you tomorrow in Las Vegas," Tracy called, her voice tinged with sadness.
"Oh… okay," Mirabel replied, her chest tightening.
The family stopped briefly as the guards split into two flanks, forming a human shield around them. Police were straining to hold back the crowd, but the distance to the car was only thirty feet. Thirty feet — yet it felt endless.
As soon as they stepped forward, the questions came like bullets.
🗣️ "Are these your kids?"
🗣️ "Is it true the kids have two fathers?"
🗣️ "Who is the father?"
🗣️ "What are their names?"
🗣️ "Are both men the father?"
Mirabel kept her eyes down, ignoring the barrage. Cameras flashed in their faces; fans pressed forward with magazines, cards, even wrapped boxes, desperate to touch her. Some chanted her name in adoration, others sneered in anger. The air was feverish, a storm of devotion and betrayal.
From the sidelines, Mina watched from a tinted window of a parked car, smirking to herself. This wasn't what I expected… but it works. Some fans hate her now, others love her harder. Either way — win-win for me.
Back in the crowd, the police struggled to widen a path. The manager's voice rang sharp above the chaos: "No signing, no gifts, no questions today!"
But Mirabel shook her head. "Just get the kids inside the car. I won't run from this."
Reluctantly, four guards escorted Cherry and Charlie into the vehicle. Mirabel exhaled when she saw them safe behind tinted glass. Then she turned back to the fans, took a marker from an outstretched hand, and began signing.
"Thank you," she murmured to a girl, taking the small stuffed-animal hat she was offered. She pulled it over her head, managing a tired smile.
The crowd roared louder, but then a reporter shoved through, thrusting a mic in her face.
🗣️ "Are they your kids?"
Mirabel paused. Then, clearly: "Yes. They are."
The shouting intensified.
🗣️ "Can you tell us their names?"
Her jaw tightened. "No. I won't answer that." She smiled at a fan instead, taking a gift bag and thanking her gently.
🗣️ "Who is the father of the kids?"
This time Mirabel stopped dead. Her grip on the marker tightened. She looked at the reporter, unreadable, then dropped the pen and walked straight to the car. She waved to her fans as the guards closed in.
The car door shut. The driver pulled away. Outside, fans turned on the reporter, fury in their eyes, ready to tear him apart for pushing too far.
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In Las Vegas
"Announce a press conference for tomorrow," Mirabel told her manager as soon as she arrived.
"Understood," the manager replied, already on her phone.
Mirabel dropped onto the sofa with a groan. "This is so frustrating."
"Mum, are you hungry?" Charlie asked, padding up to her.
"Yes, baby. Mum's starving."
Charlie's little chest puffed with pride. "I'll make us lunch then." He trotted toward the kitchen.
Mirabel's heart softened. Of all the chaos, her son's quiet confidence was her anchor.
Her phone buzzed. Lucian.
She hesitated, then picked up.
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