I Married the President

Chapter 394: Chapter 394: The Mistress Who Plays the Saint

"What is this...?" Claire Sinclair took the phone and immediately saw a video.

In the video, a crowd of people—men and women, young and old—stood in outrage. The ones in the front row held up a banner that read: CLAIRE SINCLAIR, GET OUT OF THE MEDIA!

Meanwhile, the crowd was screaming:

"Claire Sinclair is industry garbage!"

"Claire Sinclair took a bribe to whitewash a scumbag! Get out of journalism!"

"Claire Sinclair is garbage! She’s not fit to be a reporter!"

"What is Claire Sinclair? Answer me—"

"The face of home-wreckers!"

...

’What the hell!’

’How did I become the face of home-wreckers overnight?’

Claire Sinclair was caught between laughter and tears. She handed the phone back to Landon Winston. "So, they’re here to protest me. I’ll just go in through the back."

"Yes." Landon Winston silently drove the car to the back entrance of the tower.

But another crowd of protesters was gathered at the back as well.

Sigh...

Claire Sinclair sighed. It looked like there was no way she was getting into Astoria Tower today. ’I might as well head over to Police Headquarters and see what’s happening there.’

With that in mind, Claire Sinclair changed her tune. "Forget it. Just take me to Police Headquarters. I’ll see if Officer Tanner has made any progress."

Landon Winston nodded and drove on in silence.

–

An SUV was parked in front of Police Headquarters. Its front end was severely damaged and crumpled. A glance at the license plate revealed it was Tristan Tanner’s car.

Claire Sinclair made a mental note of it. She had planned to ask Tristan Tanner why his car was so wrecked and why he hadn’t taken it in for repairs as soon as she saw him. But when she did see him, she noticed his forehead was wrapped in gauze. He was clearly injured.

"Officer Tanner, what happened to you?"

Tristan Tanner touched the bandage on his forehead. "It’s nothing. A car hit me on my way in this morning. Guess I’m hard to kill."

Claire Sinclair raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like your luck is even worse than mine. There’s a whole crowd outside the Astoria Daily Tower with banners, demanding I get out of the media."

Tristan Tanner gave her a sympathetic look. "Why don’t you just work out of my office for the next few days? With Harrison Lynch dead, this case won’t be solved anytime soon."

"Sure," Claire Sinclair agreed readily. ’After all, there’s no place safer than Police Headquarters.’

Tristan Tanner glanced at the time and seemed to remember something. "I have to get to a meeting. You can wait in the reception room. If you need anything, just ask for Chandler."

"Oh." Claire Sinclair watched Tristan Tanner leave before heading into the reception room.

She took out her laptop, turned it on, and continued writing the article she hadn’t finished the night before.

An hour or two passed without her noticing. Claire Sinclair’s eyes began to feel sore, forcing her to stop and rest for a bit.

Just then, a temporary chat window popped up on her QQ messenger.

MyIdolGlows: I’m a huge fan, but why would you write an article like that? Reading it made all of us feel so awful. Please, give us an explanation. If you really took that man’s money, I’ll be completely disappointed in you. And it’s not just me—all your other fans will be, too.

She could tell this young fan was heartbroken.

Claire Sinclair felt a pang of guilt. Her fans were such sweet people, and her recent actions had clearly damaged the trust they had in her.

’Fine. I’ll write a statement.’

Claire Sinclair logged onto Weibo and posted a single sentence: "I can’t disclose any more information right now, but I can stake my life and fortune on this: the truth will surface soon."

The moment the post went live, it was immediately bombarded with comments.

[So are you saying you’ve been wrongly accused?]

[You fucking shill! Your life is worthless, go kill yourself!]

[Playing the victim after being a homewrecker. What a sanctimonious bitch!]