"Motherfucker," Damian Scott muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing at the social media reel on his phone. The screen's glow cast a harsh light on his handsome face, the tension apparent.

"Let me see." Alistair's demand left no room for argument.

Damian tapped the screen to send the link. Alistair's face hardened upon watching the reel from Lester Harbor Exposed. His sharp gaze flicked back to Damian. "She's pulling the same stunts as your mother. What's your move?"

Chloe stepped in, her eyes darting between Alistair and Damian. "What's going on?"

"Fake news," Alistair said, his voice clipped.

Damian shoved his phone into Chloe's hand. "See for yourself."

Chloe watched the reel, her eyes widening in disbelief. She handed the phone back, a sharp laugh escaping her lips. "Her again? This is what's got you so wound up?"

"I'm done with garbage," Damian snapped. "She's spreading lies about us—today, of all days, when we're announcing our marriage!"

The reel flickered on repeat. The camera captured Gemma resting on a hammock at a luxurious resort, her flaxen waves tumbling past her shoulders.

That smug smile. Any humanity left in Gemma was gone, Damian thought.

The lens zoomed in, catching a predatory glint in her eyes.

"People think they know the truth," she said, lowering her eyes as if considering a delicate matter. "But they don't." Her eyes flickered up. "Damian and I were together when he started an affair with Chloe."

The interviewer, unseen, asked Gemma to continue.

"And," she whispered, "I was pregnant. The stress, the betrayal—it was too much. I lost everything at ten weeks."

"Chloe Carter is a homewrecker."

Gemma paused, letting the words hang like a noose tightening around Damian and Chloe's reputation. The camera captured the slight tremor in her hand as she brushed away an imaginary tear, a subtle gesture cementing her performance.

Comments flooded in beneath the video—outraged accusations and heartfelt sympathy filled the screen. "How could he?" one user fumed, while another offered a virtual hug to Gemma. A few viewers questioned if she was making things up, but their voices were buried beneath a wave of support for Gemma.

"Was she pregnant?" Alistair asked.

"No!" Damian fired back, his face flushing. "Gemma was on the pill when we... when we last... uh..."

Alistair crossed his arms and sighed. "That woman is Saira's product. A bargain bin replica designed to tear my family apart."

Chloe's tongue clicked as she placed her hands on her hips. "I oughta smack her face. She stole my story and made it hers. How unoriginal. Anyone with half a brain can see through her crap."

"It's the same shit Saira flung when I started seeing Vera," Alistair said, bitterness seeping into his words.

Damian's thumb moved over the screen, pulling up another post by Lester Harbor Exposed. This one was worse—old photos of him at The Church, caught in compromising positions with scantily clad women.

The headline screamed: Damian Scott: Player, Manwhore, Cheater! His ex TELLS all.

Damian shoved the phone forward to Chloe and Alistair, frustration flaring. "What about this? What about the damage it's doing? I'm supposed to protect Chloe, for God's sake!"

"You are protective," Chloe assured, stepping closer. She guided his hands to her belly, her touch grounding him, pulling him back from the edge.

"I never wanted this for you," Damian murmured, the regret thick in his voice.

"I can handle it, Dami. People will see Gemma for what she is—a nutjob desperate for attention."

"Just like Saira," Alistair quipped. "Call Vivianne. Tell her to contact Cavalli Media Group."

Damian nodded, dialing his PA. Chloe leaned on him, her face pale, her hand resting protectively on her stomach.

After a quick call with Vivianne, Damian kissed Chloe's head, stroking her hair. "I'll take you home."

He began to follow Chloe out of the room, but Alistair's hand landed on his shoulder, freezing him mid-step. The grip was a silent command wrapped in iron.

"Don't drown your sorrows in martinis and strippers," Alistair advised. "Your family needs you—especially with a baby on the way and a foster child to look after. You saved enough lives. "

"I know," Damian replied, his tone firm. "I'm focused on my family and the future of Scott-Quinn Enterprises."

"You're still a non-executive board member, and stepping down as CFO was, in my opinion, a mistake. Our VP of Strategic Business Development resigned last week. Take the role. It's where you should be."

Damian met Alistair's eyes, the determination evident in his own. "I'm in, but we'll need to restructure. The after-sales team must be decentralized, and I want the group's planning committee under my portfolio."

"We'll finalize it next week."

Damian glanced at his phone. "Our wedding's topping the social news rankings," he said, feeling a release of tension in his shoulders. "Gemma's story is already losing steam."

Alistair's eyes didn't soften, but there was a slight nod of approval. "Cavalli's on it."

Damian breathed calmly. His chest began to unwind like iron chains breaking free. The trust in his family, solid and intertwined like the roots of an ancient tree, took hold, pushing aside his fears.

***

One week later, paparazzi swarmed outside their home. Cameras flashed like predators, ready to pounce when the Lamborghini drove out of the security gates. Damian's grip on the steering wheel tightened, the tension rolling off him in waves.

He hated this—hated the invasion, hated what it was doing to Chloe.

She attempted a smile, but it faltered as another wave of nausea hit her. "They're waiting for me to break. Good luck to them."

"Let them wait until they rot," Damian replied, driving past large estates with palm trees and architecturally designed homes shaped like giant boxes.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Her lips quivered as she leaned into the seat, stroking his arm. The familiar scent of his leather jacket eased her morning sickness.

"Don't think about that," he assured. "We're seeing Doctor Harrington today."

Chloe sipped her bottled water, trying to hold back the nausea that crept into her, aggravated by the relentless attention. Her emotions were all over the place—one moment, she was laughing at Damian's dry humor, and the next, she was wiping away tears from nowhere. But he never flinched, never wavered. She needed his strength.

The silence inside Doctor Kelsey Harrington's office was a welcome relief from the chaos.

In her early fifties, the doctor sat at her desk, her eyes looking up from the screen of her sleek, white laptop. The fine lines at the corners of her espresso eyes hinted at years of caring for expecting parents.

Damian sat with Chloe, his hand never leaving hers.

"My wife's been under a lot of stress," he began, his tone leaving no room for pleasantries. "I need to know it's not affecting the baby."

Doctor Harrington nodded, leaning forward, her gaze shifting to Chloe. "Stress is always a concern during pregnancy, but you wanted to discuss concerns regarding your lifestyle. Is there anything I should be aware of?"

Chloe exchanged a look with Damian before he gave a slight nod. "Will BDSM sex hurt the baby? We role-play, and I submit to him."

Doctor Harrington leaned forward, her fingers drumming her desk. "And what does that entail?"

"Spanking, a collar, the cross," Damian replied, his voice deepening, but there was no shame or hesitation. "I always make sure she's cared for."

"As long as there's no direct impact to the abdomen and both of you are comfortable with the activities, there's no inherent risk. Just avoid anything that could put pressure on her belly," the doctor advised.

"So, we're good?" Chloe asked.

"You're good. But be mindful of your body's changes—positions that were comfortable before might need adjusting now."

Chloe sighed, releasing the tension she'd been carrying. Damian's hand found hers, squeezing it gently. His thumb brushed her knuckles in a silent promise that he would always care for her.

"We'll take it one day at a time," he assured.

Doctor Harrington gestured to the exam bench. "Chloe, let's take a look at your baby's development. Please lie back."

Chloe shifted onto the bench, Damian's hand gripped hers as he sat by her side. Doctor Harrington spread the cool gel across Chloe's stomach, then pressed the ultrasound wand lightly against her skin.

The room filled with the rapid whoosh from the ultrasound machine, amplifying their baby's heart movement. Chloe gasped as the sound wrapped around them, steady and strong. Damian's hand tightened on hers, and he leaned in closer, his breath catching.

"There's your baby," Doctor Harrington said, turning the screen toward them. "Strong heartbeat. Everything looks perfect."

Chloe's eyes filled with tears. "Damian, look. Ours."

They watched in awe at their child on the screen, its head, arms, and legs making small movements in Chloe's womb.

"It's incredible!" Damian grinned, his eyes glued to his child. His other hand moved to her belly, covering the space where their baby grew. "I can't believe it."

Chloe looked up at him as happy tears slipped down her cheeks. "It's real."

Damian pressed his forehead to hers. "Yeah, it's real, babe. You're incredible."

***

A few nights later, Chloe moved through the halls, her bare feet padding the polished wooden floor. Unable to sleep, she wanted to ask Damian about his upcoming Saturday volleyball practice with Mina.

She hesitated outside his office, the door slightly ajar. Stepping inside, she found his chair empty, but the monitor glowed in the dim room. The screen displayed a spreadsheet—neat columns of numbers, precise and clinical, the way Damian always managed his business.

She leaned in closer, scrolling through the rows. The figures were fine, but there was a significant surge in performance during the fiscal year. Her breath hitched as more irregularities jumped out at her.

Her fingers tightened on the mouse. Damian had told her everything was fine—great, even.

But this?

Panic surged through Chloe. Behind her, the floor creaked.

She froze. The scent of Damian's aftershave—fresh with citrus—teased her.

"What are you doing in here?" he growled.

Chloe turned slowly, her throat tightening. Damian leaned against the doorway, the hall light casting his silhouette in sharp relief. Water clung to his skin, a towel slung low on his hips. He stared at her, not the glowing screen behind her.

"Dami, what's going on with Scott-Quinn Enterprises? The numbers—one of your real estate companies... something doesn't add up."

His expression didn't shift, not at first. But those sharp, calculating eyes narrowed.

"You shouldn't be looking at that." His words were slow, deliberate, a warning wrapped in silk.

Chloe's heart pounded. "Are you breaking the law?"

***