Chapter 18
1112 Words
Three days passed.
Three days since Damian stood on that stage and declared her his wife with the world watching. Three days since Calla had felt like maybe—just maybe—they could actually make it.
But nothing good ever lasted long in the Vale empire.
And that morning, a letter arrived.
No stamp. No return address.
Just her name on the envelope, in gold ink.
Calla Vale.
Inside was a single photo.
Celeste.
Pregnant.
Standing on a hospital floor in front of an ultrasound room, hand on her belly, the caption scribbled on the back in looping cursive:
“He deserves to know.”
Calla stood frozen
Every part of her wanted to scream. To cry. To confront. But instead, she walked calmly to the bar, poured a glass of water, and stared at it for a long, long time.
Was it real?
Could Celeste actually be carrying Damian’s child?
Her hands trembled.
They hadn’t been broken up long enough for the math to be impossible. And Damian… he’d admitted they were still tangled emotionally before Calla ever entered the picture.
Still, something about it felt off. Calculated.
She didn’t tell him.
Not yet.
Later that evening – Vale penthouse
Damian was in his office, sleeves rolled up, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Calla leaned against the doorframe, watching him in silence.
“You okay?” he asked when he noticed her.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Whether any of this was ever real.”
He stood slowly. “It’s real to me, Calla. You are.”
She took a breath. “Would you tell me if something… came up? Something from your past?”
His expression shifted. “Did something happen?”
She hesitated. Then shook her head. “No. Just a hypothetical.”
He crossed the room in three strides. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Okay.”
But the lie sat heavy on her tongue.
Celeste’s trap was only just beginning
Calla met with Lydia—her best friend and investigative journalist—at a rooftop café.
“I need you to look into something,” Calla said. “Quietly.”
Lydia raised a brow. “More scandal?”
“More proof. I think she’s lying. About everything.”
She handed over the photo.
Lydia whistled. “If this is faked, she’s seriously good.”
“Find the truth,” Calla whispered. “Before it destroys us.”
Meanwhile, Celeste was already planting her seeds
She leaked hints to the press. A story about “unresolved love.” About “carrying the legacy of Vale blood.”
She never named names. But the message was clear:
She was pregnant. And it wasn’t just anyone’s baby.
It was his.
And the media ran wild.
“Heir to the Vale Throne? Celeste King Drops Bombshell Pregnancy Hint.”
“Sources say Damian Vale may be expecting a child with former fiancée.”
Calla turned off her phone. Again.
At dinner that night
Damian made her salmon with lemon glaze.
It was their quiet ritual—when the world burned, they cooked. It was the one thing Celeste could never touch.
“I wish we could just disappear,” he said as they ate on the balcony.
“Do you believe her?” Calla asked suddenly.
He blinked. “Believe who?”
“Celeste. That she’s pregnant.”
His jaw clenched.
“She sent me a photo,” Calla said softly.
Damian froze.
“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure it wasn’t another stunt.”
“Where is it?” he demanded.
“In my purse.”
He stormed inside, retrieved the photo, stared at it with something between fury and disbelief.
“She’s lying,” he growled.
“You’re sure?”
He turned to her. “Calla, if she really was pregnant with my child, I would’ve known. I’d have felt it. But this? This is a game.”
But something shifted after that night
Damian grew quieter.
Restless.
He left early, came home late, and Calla caught him once—phone pressed to his ear, voice hushed—saying something about “waiting for the results.”
The fear crept in.
Maybe he wasn’t sure after all.
Maybe some part of him wanted it to be true.
Flashback – Two years ago, The Hamptons
Celeste, hair down, barefoot in a white dress, whispering into Damian’s ear.
“I want to give you something no one else can.”
He smiled, kissed her forehead. “Like what?”
She pulled him close. “A future. A family. A name worth something.”
Back then, he thought it was love.
Now, he knew better.
Back to present – Lydia had answers
Calla’s phone rang.
“I have what you need,” Lydia said. “Meet me at The Marble Room in an hour. Bring Damian.”
Calla did.
Lydia slid a folder across the table.
“Celeste was never at that clinic. Not on the date stamped. She had her assistant stage the photo. I traced the ultrasound to a stock image company. She photoshopped the entire thing.”
Calla exhaled. “So she’s not pregnant?”
“Oh no,” Lydia said. “She was. Five months ago. But she miscarried. Never told anyone.”
Damian stiffened.
“She’s using the old results to manipulate you,” Lydia continued. “She never got over you.”
Calla looked at Damian. “Did you know?”
He looked shattered. “She called me the day it happened. I didn’t answer.”
That night – Back home
The silence was deafening.
Calla poured a glass of wine, staring out the window.
“She lost a child,” she whispered. “That’s not something you fake.”
Damian ran a hand through his hair. “She’s weaponizing it now. That’s the part I can’t forgive.”
“She’s not done.”
“I know.”
Then he moved to her. “But neither are we.”
Calla turned, her voice tight. “What if people never see me as more than the mistake that came after her?”
He cupped her face. “Then let them watch me love you anyway.”
And he kissed her like it was the first time.
Elsewhere – Celeste wasn’t done yet
She stood in a dark room, staring at a screen, watching the press conference again.
Damian. Calla.
Smiling.
Winning.
She threw the glass against the wall.
Then picked up her phone.
Incoming Call: “Nadia – Vale Board”
“Activate Plan B,” she whispered. “If I can’t have Damian… I’ll take everything else.”
- Writer
