Facing her venomous provocation, Quentin didn't even flinch. His voice remained lethally calm. "So, you are officially claiming to be Mrs. Hayes?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned his head. His eyes locked onto Preston, who was marching briskly toward the commotion. A faint, razor-sharp smirk tugged at the corner of Quentin's mouth.
"Perfect timing. Mr. Hayes is right here. Why don't we ask him to verify if this woman is his wife?"
All the color drained from Jenna's face, leaving her deathly pale.
But the scene had already spiraled out of control. There was no brushing this off anymore. The press demanded an answer today.
Helplessly, she looked at Preston.
Preston's eyes darted to Chloe on pure instinct—and caught her staring right back at him.
Her gaze was like a stagnant lake, devoid of ripples yet concealing an unfathomable depth of emotion. The sight made Preston's chest tighten in sheer panic.
Right then, Jenna wrapped her hands around his arm and let out a pathetic, pleading whimper. "Preston..."
What should have been a trivial matter had morphed into a massive spectacle. The reporters could smell a scandal brewing, their eyes gleaming with predatory excitement.
Preston slowly tore his eyes away from Chloe. He raised his hand and placed it gently on Jenna's shoulder.
His face was pale, his voice low and mechanical. "Jenna is indeed my wife."
The moment the words dropped, the crowd erupted into cheers and envious chatter. The press eagerly hurled their congratulations.
"Wow! The rumors are true! Mr. Hayes really does dote on his wife!"
"This is so sweet! It's his first time ever confirming her identity in public. He really protected her well! I'm so jealous!"
Those cheerful voices slammed into Preston like physical weights, crushing his chest until he could barely breathe.

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