THE BABY CONTRACT

Chapter Seven – Headlines and Hostility

Morning sunlight spilled into the penthouse, golden against the polished marble. Aisha woke slowly, her body still heavy from exhaustion, but steadier than before. For a moment, she almost allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of the sheets, the illusion of safety.

Then the sound hit her.

Damian’s voice—sharp, furious, commanding. It was carried from the living room like a blade.

She slipped from her bed and padded toward the sound. What she saw froze her in place.

Damian stood with his phone in hand, his expression a thunderstorm. On the giant TV mounted on the wall, a headline blared in bold letters:

“MYSTERY WOMAN PREGNANT WITH DAMIAN COLE 'S HEIR?”

Her photo. Grainy, but unmistakable. Taken outside the store the day before. The two gossiping women must have snapped it.

Her stomach dropped.

The segment continued, a chirpy anchor speaking as images of Damian filled the screen.

Sources say the billionaire CEO has been seen with a young woman identified as Aisha Daniels. Neighbors claim she recently moved into his private penthouse. Could the ruthless king of Wall Street finally be settling down?”

Her knees went weak. She gripped the doorframe. “Oh my God…”

Damian turned sharply, his eyes locking onto hers. Fury simmered beneath the surface—not at her, but at the world that dared to touch her.

“Pack a bag,” he said curtly. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” she echoed, bewildered.

“This place is compromised.” His tone was final. “Paparazzi will be camped outside by noon. I won’t have you—or the child—hounded.”

By the time they reached the private garage, flashes were already exploding beyond the security gates. Reporters shouted Damian’s name, microphones thrust forward.

“Mr. Cole, is it true you’ve trapped this girl with a baby?”

“Miss Daniels, how long have you been seeing him?”

“Is this a marriage of convenience?”

Aisha ducked her head, shielding her face. Her pulse raced. The noise was overwhelming, a swarm of vultures tearing into her life.

Inside the armored car, silence finally wrapped around her. But Damian’s jaw was tight, his phone already buzzing with incoming calls.

“Sell the story to the press,” he barked at someone on the line. Only my version. Full control of the narrative.”

She stared at him, horrified. “Your version?”

His gaze cut towards her. “You want to survive this, Daniels? Then you’ll follow my lead. One wrong move and they’ll destroy you.”

They arrived at another residence—smaller than the penthouse but no less luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Hudson, with security guards stationed discreetly at every corner.

“This will do for now,” Damian said, scanning the perimeter.

Aisha walked through the sleek rooms in a daze. Her entire life had been ripped open and broadcast to strangers. Her landlord’s cruelty, the whispers, the collapse—now the whole world was weighing in on her choices.

She turned on him, anger sparking through her fear. “You don’t get it, do you? They’re not just after you. They’re after me. My face, my name. I didn’t sign up for this circus!”

Damian’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was lethal. “You think I asked for this? You think I wanted any of it?”

Their faces were inches apart, the tension electric. His hand lifted as though to touch her cheek—but at the last second, he fisted it at his side instead.

“You’re in my world now,” he said, steel in his tone. “And in my world, survival means control.”

That evening, Damian’s assistant arrived with stacks of reports. Among them was a glossy magazine already rushing to print. Aisha’s face was splashed across the cover beneath the headline:

“Gold Digger or Miracle Bride?”

The words twisted in her chest like a knife. She slammed the magazine down. “They’re tearing me apart, Damian. I can’t live like this.”

For a flicker of a second, he looked at her—not as a burden, but as a woman caught in a storm because of him. His hand twitched, like he wanted to reach for her.

But before he could speak, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted—colder, sharper.

“What is it?” she asked, dread pooling in her stomach.

His jaw clenched. Someone leaked details only a handful of people knew. This isn’t just the press sniffing around. Someone is targeting us.”

Her blood ran cold.

“Targeting… us?”

He nodded once, his eyes like steel. “And I intend to find out who.”