William's Pov.
She is my woman, for fucks sake. My head boils, racing from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, threatening to rip through my veins.
I grip the edge of the chair, mails pressing into the leather, trying to hold myself back from storming up that stage and dragging Clarissa off it.
"What is Mrs Moon doing, just standing there?" A judge says from somewhere in the row.
His voice echoes faintly in the background of my mind, but it's enough to feed the fire already burning in my chest.
"Yes, exactly. Wasn't she acting like a tigress about to devour contestant number 1080 minutes ago? Now look at her, like a pitiful drenched puppy." Another judge joins in, his voice slick with Mick annoyance.
My fingers twitch at my sides. 'Drenched puppy?' I thought, frowning. The urge to smash something is unbearable. How dare they speak about her like that?
