Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 422

Seeing Wren rise to her feet, the host's voice faltered.

Wren picked up her folder and walked away from the Stellaris table, heading straight for the stage.

The murmurs in the ballroom exploded into an anxious buzz.

The media cameras violently swiveled toward her.

Seated at a side table, Gavin raised an eyebrow, looking exactly like a man settling in to watch the chaotic theater he had orchestrated.

Willow was also in the room.

She wasn't seated at The Head Table, but rather with the Langford Medical project team. Dressed in a flowing, soft white gown with immaculate, understated makeup, she looked the picture of gentle vulnerability. Seeing Wren march forward, a fleeting spark of triumph flashed in her eyes before she quickly ducked her head, playing the role of someone terrified by the unfolding drama.

Clara sat up straighter, whispering to her assistant. "Log exactly what is on that screen. Make sure the video feed is preserved."

Harrison glanced toward the media pit, his expression hardening.

Wren reached the edge of the stage, ignoring the host's microphone.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, locking eyes with the lead organizer.

"Stop the presentation."

Her voice wasn't a shout, but the front-row microphones picked up enough of it to echo faintly through the PA system.

The host froze, his professional smile completely shattering.

"Ms. Whitaker, are you..."

Wren turned her gaze up to the massive screen.

"Without explicit consent from her next of kin, it is illegal to use Ms. Vivian Vance's name, likeness, or professional standing for any public memorial or promotional initiative. My legal counsel has formally notified you of this restriction multiple times in writing."

The ballroom descended into a suffocating silence.

A split second later, the camera shutters erupted like a machine-gun volley.

The lead organizer turned ashen, rushing over from the wings.

"Ms. Whitaker, we can discuss this backstage..."

"You've already made it public," Wren said, fixing him with a stare. "So I have no choice but to correct the record publicly."

Sweat poured down the organizer's face.

He shot a desperate look at Lawrence.

Lawrence was already on his feet.

Gavin leaned over, keeping his voice low. "Lawrence, let it go. Let her throw her tantrum. The media will run with the 'unhinged ex-wife' narrative all on their own."

Lawrence didn't even look at him.

The two of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder, him in a tailored black suit, her in a sleek black gown, separated by just half a step. They looked like a power couple, yet they were radiating the hostility of a battlefield standoff.

Lawrence glared at the lead organizer, his voice a flat, lethal monotone.

"I demanded this segment be cut."

The organizer was practically hyperventilating.

"Mr. Langford, the final execution draft we received..."

"Who authorized it?"

The organizer's eyes darted toward Gavin, then quickly snapped back.

Lawrence's gaze turned murderous.

Wren saw the exchange, but she wasn't about to give him an out.

She opened her folder and pulled out the prepared statement.

"Since you've chosen to broadcast this, I will finish my correction."

Lawrence looked at her.

"Wren, step down. I will handle this."