Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 266: Someone really didn’t want this to be easy

[Twenty minutes Ago]

Sitting inside her car with the windows tinted and air-conditioning humming softly, Fiona dabbed the last bit of powder along her jawline. She examined her reflection, then glanced sideways at Venus with razor-sharp eyes.

"Is everything ready?" she asked, her tone cold enough to freeze the air.

Venus nearly jumped. "Y-Yes, ma’am. The media should be arriving any minute now." Her voice wavered like she feared even breathing wrong.

Fiona clicked her compact shut with a snap.

After the humiliating scolding she’d received from Fredrick earlier, she had spent the entire night stewing in bitterness.

Useless, irresponsible and disappointing.

His words echoed like poison in her ears.

But Fiona wasn’t the type to stay quiet and accept defeat. If he thought she was incompetent, then she would prove him wrong—even if she had to tear down someone else to do it.

And Roseline was an easy target.

A perfect target.

She smirked, tapping her manicured nails against the leather seat.

She had already tipped off several media portals—feeding them the "exclusive" that Roseline knew the culprit long before the attack and was hiding information from both the public and the police.

Venus, sitting beside her and nearly vibrating with anxiety, darted her eyes toward the window.

"T-They’re here," she whispered.

The corner of Fiona’s lips curled upward in a wicked smile as she turned to look outside. Reporters were pouring in—microphones raised, cameras flashing, ready to devour the scandal she had served them.

"Let the show begin," Fiona murmured, stepping out of the car with calculated grace.

[Present]

"Miss Fiona, is it true that your mother is still traumatized by whatever she saw?" a reporter called out the moment she approached the crowd.

Fiona immediately slipped into character.

Her eyes glistened, her lips trembled—she delivered the most convincing expression of her acting career.

"She... she is having a very difficult time," Fiona said with a soft sob, voice cracking perfectly on cue. "No one ever expects something like that to happen so suddenly. My mother is still trying to recover from the shock."

Cameras snapped eagerly.

Another reporter stepped forward.

"Miss Fiona, is it true that your mother was the one who saw Mrs. Bennette leaving the venue that night? And is it also true that it looked like she left on purpose?"

The woman who asked the question shot Fiona a subtle, knowing glance—the same journalist Fiona had slipped money and "inside information" to earlier.

Fiona lowered her gaze dramatically, as if struggling to speak. She let her fingers twitch. Let her voice falter and then she looked up with a pained expression that would win her an award.

"I... I don’t want to accuse anyone," she said weakly. "But yes... my mother did see her leaving. And... and it didn’t look like she was confused or panicking."

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

"It almost looked like she meant to go there," Fiona whispered, pressing a hand over her mouth as if horrified by her own words.

The crowd erupted.

Microphones shot closer. Cameras flashed violently. Questions piled on top of each other. And Fiona—standing at the center of the chaos she created—smiled inside.

While Fiona manipulated the cameras outside, the commotion she’d summoned spread through the set like wildfire. Within minutes, it reached Director Wilsmith.

He stormed out of the main building, irritation sharp on his face.

"What on earth is happening out here? Who let the media into the set?" he snapped at his manager, who looked like he was about to faint.

"S-Sir, we... we have no clue," the manager stammered. "They just appeared out of nowhere. The crowd is too much; the guards are struggling to hold them back."

Wilsmith cursed under his breath.

As the director, it was his job to protect his actors from paparazzi vultures—not watch them swarm the gates like a pack of hungry wolves. But what bothered him more was why the media had even shown up in the first place.

He scanned the chaos, and when his eyes landed on Fiona giving interviews with crocodile tears...

Understanding hit him like a punch.

Of course.

This was her doing.

Biting down on his lower lip anxiously, he weighed every possible solution. Clearing out the media. Stopping the interviews. Calling security reinforcements.

But through all the options—one name flashed in his mind like a warning siren:

Anna.

She absolutely could not be dragged into this mess.

"Listen carefully," Wilsmith said, turning sharply to his manager. "Make sure Anna is nowhere near this situation. Keep her away from the entrance and hide her if you must."

The manager nodded frantically and dashed off.

Wilsmith didn’t waste another second. He pulled out his phone and made an urgent call, pacing anxiously as the ringing tone echoed in his ears.

***

[Outside]

Meanwhile, outside the set gates, the chaos only grew louder. Reporters shouted questions, cameras flashed, and Fiona continued to act like the victim in the middle of a scandal she herself had orchestrated.

And she hadn’t even realized yet— Her trap was about to involve more people than she planned.

"Isn’t that Miss Anna’s car?" a reporter suddenly shouted.

Heads snapped toward the entrance as Kevin’s car rolled in.

Within seconds—they swarmed.

Reporters rushed like a stampede, cameras slamming against the windows, microphones jabbing toward the car from every angle.

The manager, who had just rushed out to check whether Anna had arrived, froze in horror.

Shit.

He broke into a run, but it was too late.

The media had already trapped her vehicle—front, back, and both sides.

Inside the car, Betty paled as the flashes blinded them through the windshield.

"Big Sis... Big Sis, what do we do?!" she whispered, panic rising in her voice.

Anna’s heart pounded.

She hadn’t expected anyone to recognize the car.

Not so fast.

Not like this.

But with dozens of cameras pointed at her...

there was no escape.

Outside, Fiona spotted the chaos and her lips curled into a triumphant smirk.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

The reporters were already shouting.

"Miss Anna! Is it true your mother recognized the attacker?"

"Miss Anna! Your mother gave false statements to the police—what do you have to say?"

"Did your family deliberately hide information about the culprit?"

"Is it true Mrs. Bennette left the venue on purpose that night?"

"Is your mother protecting someone? Yes or no?"

Microphones slammed against the window, their voices overlapping, creating a deafening storm.

Anna clenched her fists, breath catching as each accusation felt like a slap.

Betty trembled beside her. Kevin looked ready to bulldoze through everyone.

The manager finally reached the car, yelling, "Move back! MOVE BACK! Give her space!"

But the reporters didn’t budge. If anything, they pushed harder.

Anna could only stare through the glass, trapped and helpless as the very scandal Fiona had engineered now came crashing straight onto her shoulders.

And somewhere behind the crowd...

Fiona watched with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

Her plan was unfolding exactly as she wanted.

"You stay here. I’ll take care of them," Kevin growled, already reaching for the door handle, fully prepared to throw himself into the chaos.

But Anna grabbed his arm.

"No."

Her voice was calm—too calm.

Kevin paused, confused. "Anna, there are too many. You can’t just—"

"They’ll only leave once they get what they want," Anna said quietly.

Both Kevin and Betty stared at her in shock.

"B-Big Sis," Betty stammered, "you said the media had been taken care of. How did they even get in here?!"

Anna let out a humorless smirk, her gaze drifting toward the far left of the crowd, where Fiona and her manager stood hidden behind the reporters, watching gleefully.

"Because," Anna said, eyes narrowing, "someone really didn’t want this to be easy."

Understanding hit Kevin and Betty at the same time.

"Fiona?" Kevin muttered, jaw tightening.

Anna didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

She straightened herself, inhaled slowly, and pushed her fear down—every trembling thought, every panic, every doubt.

Betty grabbed her wrist. "Big Sis, wait—where are you going?"

Anna’s eyes sharpened.

"To end this nonsense before it spirals even further."

"Anna—"

She didn’t let them finish.

Anna pushed open the car door.

The moment her feet touched the ground, the reporters erupted like a hive stirred by a stick.

"Miss Anna! Over here!"

"Miss Anna, is it true your mother lied to the police?"

"Why did she hide the culprit’s identity?"

"Did your family protect an attacker?!"

Questions flew like daggers.

Cameras flashed violently.

Microphones shoved toward her face.

The manager tried shouting, "Back up! Give her space!" but the media ignored him completely.

Anna lifted her chin.

Her heartbeat was thundering, fear gnawing at her edges, but her eyes remained steady as she stepped into the center of the storm.

Fiona’s triumphant smile faltered slightly behind the crowd, and her cunning eyes flickered.

"And what exactly would my mother gain by protecting her own attacker?"

Anna’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade—steady, clear, and cold enough to silence the first few rows of reporters.

Her gaze swept over them, finally landing on the reporter who had looked a little too eager a moment ago.

Their eyes widened with surprise at her boldness.

Another reporter quickly recovered. "But doesn’t she know the person?"

Anna tilted her head, a slow, unimpressed expression forming.

"And what proof do you have?"

The crowd fell silent.

They weren’t expecting a confrontation. They were expecting someone scared. Cornered. Desperate. But Anna wasn’t giving them that.