CHAPTER 179: WHITMORE–CLIFFORD SCANDAL

The moment Jennifer saw the photo thrust before her, she knew it was over. She couldn’t comprehend how such an intimate moment had ended up on Phoebe’s phone. But she knew more than anyone else that the photo was real.

Her knees buckled, her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her vision blurred, and her mind fell into a void. Jennifer collapsed, her limbs folding beneath the weight of horror and disbelief.

Seeing this, Jeanne rushed forward. She had already glimpsed some of the photos and heard some of the whispers among guests. She saw phones glowing like fireflies of judgement. Her heart was also pounding, but maternal instinct drove her forward.

Before she could catch Jennifer, her daughter had already slumped to the floor in her flowing white gown, her consciousness slipping away.

"What are you doing, sister?" Jeanne shouted, her voice shrill and breaking. "How could you hit my daughter like that? Your son is no angel either! Did you even look at all the photos?"

Phoebe, breathing heavily, turned towards Jeanne, startled. "Photos?" she echoed, momentarily confused.

She fumbled for her phone and began swiping through the folder. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat. There were dozens of explicit images of James, with various women. Some scenes were undeniably shocking.

Her anger faltered as guilt washed over her. She looked again at Jeanne, who was now cradling her unconscious daughter, her eyes brimming with panic.

William, meanwhile, stood frozen. He had no words or strength to talk. He looked at Jennifer... and that’s when he saw it.

A dark, red stain spreading on the delicate white silk between her thighs.

He blinked several times to confirm. Then his instincts snapped into motion.

"She’s miscarrying."

William, a man hardened by business and betrayal, felt cold clarity descend over him. He’d seen this before... trauma-induced miscarriage. It wasn’t rare. His daughter needed medical attention now.

But he also saw an opportunity out of this. "Jeanne, we need to get her to a hospital. Now," he said urgently, kneeling beside Jennifer. "She’s bleeding."

Without hesitation, he gathered Jennifer into his arms. Her head lolled gently to the side, her body limp and blood soaking into her dress.

"Quickly!" he barked, already running towards the exit.

Jeanne ran after him, pale with fear.

They reached the car park in moments. William gently placed Jennifer in the backseat. Jeanne slid in beside her, placing her daughter’s head in her lap and whispering desperately.

William climbed into the front passenger seat and said to the driver, "Go to the nearest hospital. Drive fast."

The car tore away from the venue, its tyres screeching on the tarmac.

Back inside, Phoebe stood in silence, torn between guilt and reason. She’d slapped Jennifer and the girl had collapsed... and now might have lost the baby. But deep down, Phoebe couldn’t deny a flicker of relief.

"If the child is lost... there’ll be no DNA tests. No messy explanations. No scandal pinned on James. Perhaps... this is for the best." She thought as her eyes drifted back to James, who stood stiffly, staring at the floor, Benjamin murmuring beside him.

A thought came to her. She approached, voice calm and coaxing. "James, listen to me... Jennifer might have had a miscarriage. We don’t know for sure. But this isn’t the time to stand here stunned."

She softened her voice. "Let’s go to the hospital. If there’s any chance to save the baby, we must try."

James looked at her, dazed, as though trying to process her words through a haze of shock.

Phoebe turned to Benjamin. "Mr Chen, would you kindly handle the guests? The bride had left for hospital, and the ceremony obviously can’t proceed. But the food and venue are paid for. Please see it through."

Benjamin gave her a short nod. "Of course. Leave it to me."

Without another word, Phoebe took James’s arm and led him towards the exit. He followed her, like a man moving through water, dragged by a current too strong to fight.

Once they were gone, Benjamin turned to the remaining groomsmen and friends. "We’ll need to address the guests. Apologise. Wrap this up quickly and cleanly," he said.

The group nodded. Together, they moved towards the front, preparing to speak. Behind them, the slides on the stage continued to play ironically.

***

Manchester Royal Infirmary was the nearest emergency facility, and the driver did not hesitate. The moment they arrived, hospital staff took charge. Jennifer was rushed into the ER. It didn’t take long for the doctor to confirm what William had already feared... the baby was gone.

The miscarriage was clean but needed follow-up treatment. Jennifer was stabilised and admitted, but she remained unconscious. The silence of the hospital corridor only deepened the grief clawing through Jeanne’s chest.

In the waiting area, William sat stiffly, eyes fixed on the sterile white tiles. His expression was unreadable... a mixture of worry, regret, and calculation.

"We need to figure out who did this to her," Jeanne whispered hoarsely, rubbing her arms like the chill of betrayal had sunk deep into her bones.

William shook his head. "No... not now. Not yet. We have too many enemies, and right now the damage is already done."

He looked at her for a long second. "We lay low. Observe. Let the noise pass," he said. "If we make a move now, we might play straight into someone’s hand."

He pulled out his phone and called the Hyatt to check the situation. The hotel manager reassured him that the program had ended, the guests were gone, and Benjamin Chen had settled the remaining dues on his behalf.

William exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest easing slightly. But the real storm, he knew, had only just begun.

***

Meanwhile, in the quiet luxury of Clifford Manor, Phoebe had brought James straight home. She hadn’t even considered going to the hospital... not out of malice, but pure pragmatism. In her mind, there was no point mourning the loss of a child whose parentage was now questionable.

The baby’s death, to her, was a cleansing fire. One less problem to contend with.

As for James, she dismissed his behaviour entirely. "Boys will be boys," she told herself. "No one expects loyalty from a man in his youth... not until he’s settled and ready. But a woman? A woman must be clean, loyal, untouched... especially in our circles."

It was a double standard she carried like gospel.

But James didn’t share her indifference.

He stumbled into his room, locked the door, and pulled open the cabinet. He grabbed one half-finished vodka, unscrewed the cap, and took a long, bitter pull.

***

The remaining guests departed the venue one by one, each wearing an expression of disbelief. None had ever attended such a scandalous wedding. Some left wide-eyed, almost delighted by the chaos they’d just witnessed; others immediately began gossiping over the phone, recounting the evening’s events to anyone willing to listen. A few, unsettled, couldn’t help but fear... what if something like this happened to them one day?

Among the attendees were several journalists. Once seated in their cars, they instinctively reached for their phones to call their editors, eager to break the story. But to their surprise, they were informed that a dedicated website had already been created, containing all the compromising photographs. Someone had discreetly sent the link to every major media outlet.

The site didn’t only feature images... it hosted videos as well. A few local online portals had already run the story, and it was spreading like wildfire. On social media, obscure news accounts were suddenly going viral.

This sudden surge of attention put pressure on established news outlets, and soon enough, they too were compelled to report on the scandal. Those journalists who had been present at the event were instructed to submit full coverage of the wedding disaster, complete with eyewitness details.

By midnight, the Whitmore–Clifford Scandal was trending across every major platform. National news channels picked up the story and broadcast it relentlessly.

As traffic to the anonymous website continued to climb, other sites joined the frenzy... reposting the images and videos to capitalise on the attention. Human nature craves gossip, and the allure of leaked footage proved more potent than even legal porn content. People swarmed to these websites.

Within hours, copies of the material surfaced on adult platforms as well. And so, in the space of a single night, the internet was flooded. The faces of James Clifford and Jennifer Whitmore had become immortalised... for all the wrong reasons. It would be a long time before the public forgot.

***

Meanwhile, Greyson Marsh and Florence Mitchell sat in their modest house, unable to sleep. The flickering glow of their TV and mobile screens lit the otherwise dark room. They watched, silently, as the entire spectacle unfolded before their eyes... page by page, headline by headline.

They hadn’t known who, or what, had provoked the wrath of the big boss. But the moment Greyson had been instructed to attend the wedding and press that button, he understood someone’s downfall had already been decided.

They knew better than to ask questions.

Having experienced the reach and ruthlessness of the big boss before, they did what was asked without hesitation. Still, it hadn’t occurred to them that the consequences would be this devastating.

For hours, they monitored the coverage. Every new headline, every reposted image, every tweet seemed to add weight to the avalanche. It was no longer just a scandal... it was annihilation.

Then, just as dawn began to break, Greyson’s phone rang. The caller ID lit up: Miss Raynor.

His heart skipped. Unknowingly, he stood up with his phone and answered immediately.

"Good job," came Eleanor’s calm voice, cool and controlled.

"As a reward, contact Francesca Walters. CEO of EverBuild Solutions Limited. Tell her my name... she’ll know what to do."

She hung up without waiting for a reply.