Chapter 9 - The Final Broadcast
By Saturday morning, the sensationalist news segment that Sabina had desperately orchestrated to destroy Chadworth Prescott’s reputation was scheduled to air across three major regional networks.
She had positioned herself outside the iron gates of the Prescott estate, wrapped in an expensive white fur coat, dabbing her dry eyes with a lace handkerchief while a reporter breathlessly narrated a tale of corporate tyranny and callous abandonment.
“...allegations of sudden displacement, psychological intimidation, and a billionaire using his vast fortune to silence a grieving fiancée,” the anchor intoned dramatically into the microphone, nodding toward Sabina as she whimpered softly for the cameras.
Across the city, in millions of living rooms, viewers leaned in, captivated by the juicy scandal of the ultra-wealthy.
In his mansion, Chadworth sat in the formal living room with Lorelai and Gemma, a steaming mug of tea in his hand, watching the broadcast play out on the wall-mounted television screen. Rosamund stood nearby, quietly folding a throw blanket, her expression entirely serene.
“Is that the bad lady?” Gemma asked quietly, pointing her small finger at the screen where Sabina was currently dabbed her tearless eyes.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Chadworth said, wrapping a protective arm around his younger daughter’s shoulders. “But she won't be bothering us anymore.”
Just as the reporter on screen leaned in to ask Sabina her final, most dramatic question regarding her upcoming lawsuit, the live broadcast abruptly stuttered.
The anchor in the studio blinked in confusion, his earpiece clearly buzzing with frantic producer instructions. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are... we are receiving an emergency legal dispatch from the legal representatives of Chadworth Prescott.”
On the screen, the live feed from the front gates vanished instantly, replaced by a clear, high-definition video window.
It was the unedited, crystal-clear footage from the living room camera.
Sabina’s shrill, terrifying voice echoed out across every television set in the city, broadcasting directly into millions of homes: “You are nothing in this house! A hired hand! A cleaner of floors! You think because Chadworth tolerates your quiet little routines that you own this place? I am the mistress of this estate now, and when I speak, every single person under this roof obeys—including you, and especially these unmanageable brats!”
The broadcast booth descended into stunned, dead silence.
On the screen outside the gates, the reporter’s jaw dropped open as his phone buzzed violently in his hand with incoming emails containing the full, unredacted security logs, audio transcripts, and legal notices.
Sabina spun around toward the live camera feed, her face turning an ash-gray as she realized what had just been broadcast to the entire nation. Her carefully constructed facade of a victimized fiancée shattered into absolute, irrecoverable ruin. She shrieked, lunging forward to swat at the reporter’s microphone before the network abruptly cut the feed and threw the broadcast to an emergency commercial break.
In the living room of the Prescott mansion, the television screen flickered back to a standard morning news ticker.
Chadworth looked down at his daughters, who were staring at the screen in wide-eyed astonishment, before looking up at him with expressions of profound, unshakeable relief.
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“Can we go back to the garden now, Dad?” Lorelai asked softly, a bright, genuine smile breaking across her face.
Chadworth stood up, extending a hand to each of his daughters. “Always.”
