The reporters wanted to ask more questions, but Harry Luke was quicker. "I have other matters to attend to. Let's wait for the results in a week," he said, turning on his heel and leaving swiftly.
Backstage, Harry's expression darkened as he saw the host holding his son.
His eyes flashed with a dangerous glint as he asked in a steady voice, "Who taught you to say those things?"
Shawn wriggled free from the host's grasp and looked up, meeting his father's gaze.
The people backstage, sensing the tension, quickly found excuses to leave.
"No one did. I just know she's my mom. Tina Ives isn't!" Shawn's voice was firm, carrying an unexpected determination.
Harry was skeptical. Could Anna Ives's family be some sort of cult?
His son had only been there a few days, and he was already brainwashed, rejecting his own mother?
Feeling frustrated, Harry handed his son over to the driver, instructing, "Take the young master home."
