Chapter 16
1162 Words
The media storm didn’t die down. It evolved—feeding on every whisper, every hint of scandal like a rabid dog.
Calla Monroe Vale had gone from a faceless nobody to the center of every tabloid war. Damian’s wife. Damian’s mistake. Damian’s secret.
And she hated every second of it.
“Don’t look at the headlines,” Damian said, gripping her hand in the elevator. “They’ll only poison you.”
Calla forced a smile. “They already have.”
The doors opened onto the 30th floor, where his team—his wolves—were waiting. Scandal Management Meeting #5 in two days. She knew the drill: sit silently, nod politely, let Damian do the talking.
Only this time, she didn’t sit.
“Calla,” Damian warned softly.
But she stepped forward. “Let me speak.”
The room went still. The senior partners blinked. Even Damian looked momentarily surprised.
“My name is already in the headlines,” she said, chin lifted. “So let me be more than a name. I’m not just some girl you married in a courthouse. I’m the woman standing beside you now.”
“You don’t have to defend me,” Damian said under his breath.
“I’m not,” she replied. “I’m defending myself.”
And in that moment, Calla took back control of her own story.
Later that evening
She stood in front of the mirror in Damian’s penthouse, watching the reflection of a woman who no longer looked like the scared waitress from six months ago.
There were voices from the hallway—Damian on a call, Celeste’s name mentioned. Again.
Calla’s jaw tensed. She reached for the door.
He was standing in his office, tie undone, phone pressed to his ear. He turned as she entered.
“Yes,” he said into the phone, eyes never leaving her. “I’ll handle it. Personally.”
He ended the call.
“Celeste?” she asked.
Damian hesitated. “She’s threatening to go public with old footage—private moments. She says she has recordings of us from before.”
“And you believe her?”
“She’s capable of anything.”
Calla crossed her arms. “Then stop protecting her.”
“It’s not protection. It’s strategy.”
“No, Damian. Strategy would’ve been not marrying me in the first place if you still had strings tangled with her.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t.”
“You act like you do,” she snapped. “Every time she calls, you answer. Every time she stirs the press, you let her.”
“I’m trying to keep you out of the worst of it.”
“No, you’re trying to clean up messes you left behind.”
Silence.
Calla stared at him, heart pounding. “If you can’t choose between protecting your past and building our future, then we have nothing.”
Damian closed the space between them, eyes stormy. “You think this is easy for me?”
“No,” she said. “I think it’s impossible—because you won’t let me in.”
Then she walked away.
At the penthouse balcony
That night, Calla stood outside in Damian’s hoodie, the cold air whipping against her skin. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
A message.
Unknown Number: Nice speech today. Too bad it won’t matter when the truth comes out.
She didn’t need to guess who sent it.
Celeste.
Her hands shook. She deleted the message. But it didn’t stop the pit growing in her stomach.
Because she wasn’t sure what truth Celeste was threatening anymore—and that terrified her.
The next day – At Vale Tower
The boardroom was packed. Every executive. Every lawyer. Every PR head.
Celeste was suing Damian for breach of contract.
“What contract?” Calla asked.
Damian looked at her, face grim. “An NDA she claims I broke—by marrying you.”
“She’s trying to say I was a PR stunt,” Calla muttered.
“Not just that,” Damian said. “She’s saying I promised her I wouldn’t move on publicly for at least a year.”
Calla blinked. “Did you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Damian—”
“It was after she left me. I signed whatever got her to stop threatening my company.”
Calla’s stomach twisted. “So she’s not lying?”
“I never thought it would come to this.”
“Of course not,” she said bitterly. “You never think until it’s too late.”
That evening – confrontation at the gala
Celeste showed up at the Cancer Research Gala—draped in diamonds and vengeance. Damian and Calla arrived late, already exhausted, already bruised by headlines and accusations.
But Celeste was waiting at the center of the room like a black widow with a flute of champagne.
“Lovely to see you both,” she purred.
“Leave,” Damian growled.
“Why?” she said, batting her lashes. “I helped fund this event.”
“You’re not welcome.”
“I think the cameras say otherwise.”
Click. Flash. Paparazzi surrounded them already.
Calla stepped between them. “What do you want, Celeste?”
Celeste’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “To remind you that he was mine first.”
Calla didn’t flinch. “And I’ll be the last.”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Celeste said softly, “he always leaves. The difference is, I didn’t beg him to stay.”
Calla’s hand itched to slap her. But she didn’t.
Instead, she leaned in, lips near Celeste’s ear.
“Maybe,” Calla whispered. “But he doesn’t kiss you in his sleep. He says my name.”
Celeste froze.
Then Calla walked away, heels clicking like a war drum across marble floors.
At home
The night ended in silence.
Calla sat curled up on the couch, Damian pacing near the fireplace.
“You humiliated her,” he finally said.
“She’s been humiliating me for weeks.”
“You poured gasoline on the fire.”
“No,” Calla snapped, “I finally stopped playing the victim.”
He paused, watching her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “When did you change?”
“When I realized I deserve more than scraps of you.”
Damian’s chest rose and fell sharply. “You’ve always deserved more.”
“Then prove it.”
He knelt in front of her. “I want you. Not her. Not the past. You.”
She blinked. “Then fight for me.”
“I will.”
“And next time she threatens you with some past mistake, don’t hide it. Tell me.”
His hand reached for hers. “Deal.”
A beat.
She leaned forward and whispered, “Because if I’m going to be your wife, Damian—I want to know all the blood in your closet.”
He kissed her like a promise.
- Writer
