Warner's POV
I grip Arlene's hand firmly and guide her toward the exit. She presses closer to me as reporters surge forward, their cameras flashing and voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of questions. My security team forms a protective barrier, pushing the crowd back as I navigate us through the mayhem toward the waiting car.
Arlene keeps her head tucked down against my shoulder until I open the passenger door. I help her slide inside, then close the door with more force than necessary. The reporters continue their assault as I circle around to the driver's side, but I make it in without incident.
The dashboard clock glows eight PM in the dim interior.
"Do you need to get home right away?" I ask, studying her face in the soft light.
"It's still early, and everything for tomorrow is already handled," she replies, shaking her head. A strand of hair falls across her cheek, and I resist the urge to brush it away.
