Chapter 19
1308 Words
The storm started without thunder.
Just a slow, creeping unease in the corners of Calla’s world—silent glances, hushed conversations behind doors she wasn’t supposed to hear, and Damian, slipping further into himself by the hour.
She tried to hold on to him, but it was like gripping water—he was there, but distant. Warm, but unreachable.
And then it happened.
Everything unraveled.
Two Days Later – Vale Holdings, Executive Conference Room
The board meeting was supposed to be routine. Financial forecasts. Expansion strategies. The usual.
But then Celeste walked in.
Dressed in all black. No invitation. No smile.
The room fell into stunned silence as she placed a thick file on the table and turned to the executives with that dangerous smirk.
“I believe you’ll want to see this,” she purred.
And with a flick of her manicured fingers, she shattered every illusion Calla had built.
Calla’s phone rang seconds after
It was Lydia.
“You need to get to Vale Holdings. Now.”
“Why?”
“There’s a storm brewing. And your name is all over it.”
Calla’s stomach dropped.
She arrived thirty minutes later to chaos.
Security tried to keep her out until Damian himself appeared, eyes blazing.
“What is going on?” Calla demanded.
He didn’t answer.
He just handed her the file Celeste had delivered.
Inside: a background check. Photos. A sealed juvenile court record. Names she hadn’t heard in years.
And one document she’d buried deep—
A psychiatric evaluation.
Her mother’s.
Labeled: UNFIT. ABANDONED CHILD. SCHIZOAFFECTIVE DISORDER.
Calla’s vision blurred.
Celeste hadn’t just dug into her past. She’d dragged it into the light.
Calla ran
Not because she was guilty, but because being seen was suddenly too much.
She ended up in the penthouse bathroom, dry heaving into the sink, fingers clenched so tight her nails broke the skin.
When Damian found her, she was still shaking.
“She found my mother’s record,” Calla whispered.
“I know.”
“She made it public?”
He hesitated. “She leaked enough to start a wildfire. The rest is spreading.”
Calla covered her mouth.
Damian stepped closer. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say. You’re the perfect billionaire husband, and I’m the orphan girl with a crazy mother and a locked file cabinet full of secrets.”
“Don’t.” His voice was low, fierce. “You don’t get to call yourself less than.”
“I was in foster care, Damian. Group homes. I ran away three times. I changed my last name just to make it stop. And now the whole world knows.”
He stepped closer, but she backed away.
“Let me be alone.”
“Calla—”
“Please.”
And when he left, the silence felt like failure.
Later That Night – Celeste’s Apartment
“You wanted chaos?” Nadia asked, sipping red wine. “You’ve got it.”
“I want more than chaos,” Celeste replied.
She was standing by the window, watching as news outlets replayed clips from the board leak.
“I want her gone.”
“She’s cracked. But not broken.”
“Then we apply pressure. She already doesn’t believe she belongs.”
Celeste turned to Nadia with a cold, brittle smile.
“Let’s remind her of that.”
Two Days Later – Paparazzi Frenzy
Photos surfaced.
Of Calla, leaving a clinic. Of Damian, arguing with a stranger near their building. Of Celeste, posing “accidentally” with a baby bump that now looked real again.
And the narrative shifted once more:
“The Broken Bride and the Baby That Could Ruin It All.”
“Is Damian Vale’s Marriage Just a PR Cover-Up?”
“Abandoned Wife. Abandoned Child. History Repeats?”
The media loved a tragic cycle.
Calla became the punchline.
Back at home – the final crack
“I need to know something,” Calla said one night, voice flat.
Damian looked up from the couch, brow furrowed. “What?”
“If she hadn’t lost the baby… would you have gone back to her?”
The question hit like a blade.
He stood slowly. “No.”
“But you paused.”
“I was shocked you’d even ask.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He crossed the room. “She was my past, Calla. You’re my future.”
“She knows how to weaponize your weakness. And right now, I feel like I’m losing to a ghost.”
“You’re not.”
“Then fight for me.”
“I am fighting.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m doing it alone?”
He didn’t answer.
And that was the answer.
Flashback – Calla at twelve
A cold hospital bench. Her mother screaming in another room. A clipboard shoved into her hands. A foster worker telling her this was her “new beginning.”
She cried herself to sleep that night.
Not because of where she was—but because she had no one left to miss her.
Present Day – Lydia calls again
“I found something,” she said.
“Another scandal?”
“No. A lead. Someone who knows why Celeste is doing this.”
“Who?”
“Her father’s lawyer. Retired. Guilt-ridden. Wants to talk.”
“Where?”
“New Haven. Tonight.”
Calla didn’t tell Damian.
She left without a word.
New Haven – A quiet café
The man was old. Tired eyes. A slow, careful way of speaking.
“She’s not doing this for love,” he said. “Celeste doesn’t want Damian back. She wants his name—because her father’s will is tied to the Vale name.”
Calla leaned in. “What does that mean?”
“She only inherits the full estate if she bears a child with the Vale bloodline. That baby would’ve sealed it. But she lost it. So now she’s desperate.”
“She’s trying to force him into fatherhood—again?”
He nodded. “Or make the world believe she already has.”
Calla sat back. The truth was worse than she’d imagined.
Back at the penthouse – Damian’s side
He was pacing.
Livid.
She’d disappeared without telling him, and the press was devouring every second of it.
By the time she walked back in, he exploded.
“Where the hell were you?”
“Getting answers.”
“You could’ve told me.”
“Would you have let me go?”
“Not alone.”
She crossed her arms. “I’ve been alone most of my life, Damian. I’m good at it.”
“Stop pushing me away!”
“I’m not. I’m pushing her out.”
Then she handed him the recording Lydia had helped capture from the café.
He played it.
And everything changed.
That night – in the dark
Calla curled into the bed, waiting to feel safe.
Damian joined her. Didn’t say a word.
Just held her.
And for the first time in days, she cried. Really cried.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Of what?”
“Of never being enough. Of always being compared to someone I can’t compete with.”
He pulled her closer.
“I don’t want perfect, Calla. I want real. And you’re the realest thing I’ve ever had.”
But just when things began to settle… the final twist arrived
A new envelope.
Same golden ink.
No stamp.
Inside, a new photo.
This time—an ultrasound.
Dated two weeks ago.
And a DNA test.
99.7% match – Damian Vale
Calla stared at it.
Her hands trembling again.
Damian’s voice behind her: “What is it?”
She turned, pale.
“She’s either pregnant again… or she found a donor.”
The war wasn’t over.
It was only just beginning.
- Writer
