DIANA
A calculated risk—that's what I'd call my little press tip. And judging by the media circus unfolding on my television screen, it had paid off beautifully.
I swirled the crimson wine in my crystal glass, enjoying the bouquet of expensive merlot as I lounged in my father's mahogany-paneled study. The leather chair creaked beneath me as I leaned back, satisfaction warming my chest more than the alcohol ever could.
The press conference played out exactly as I'd hoped. Reporters swarming like hungry wolves. Hard questions exposing raw nerves. And there they stood—the mighty Alpha Roman Vance and his prodigal mate Vanessa West—forced into the public eye to explain their pathetic little soap opera.
"Let's see how you handle this one, darling," I murmured to the screen, taking another sip.