Chapter 8
1436 Words
The News That Broke My Father
Camilla’s POV
If the whispers were loud yesterday, they were screaming today.
By morning, every news outlet—both online and in print—had run the story. “CEO’s Contract Wife Pregnant,” one headline blared.
“De-Rosie Twins Entangled in Love Triangle,” said another. But the one that made me drop my phone and sit motionless for a full minute read: “Damian’s Wife Carrying Daniel’s Baby?”
My heart dropped to the floor.
No confirmation had been given, no names explicitly revealed. But the subtle wording, the suggestive images, and the timeline of events they pieced together—it was enough to point fingers at me.
I had gone from the anonymous secretary to a media circus in less than two months.
I hadn’t even told my mother.
And now the world knew.
My phone didn’t stop ringing. It vibrated relentlessly on the countertop like a frantic heartbeat, each call a reminder of the unraveling world I stood in.
I hadn’t answered a single one. I couldn’t and I wasn’t ready to say the words, to face what this meant.
But when I saw his name flash across the screen—Papa—I froze.
The man who had worked for De-Rosie family for nearly two decades. The man who came home each day with dirt under his nails and humility in his eyes.
The man who once warned me, “Don’t ever let your life become someone else’s entertainment.”
What was I supposed to say to him?
“Hi, Papa. Yes, the baby is real, and no, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how. And yes, the whole world knows now because I tried to disappear behind a contract and a designer dress.”
I let the call ring out, but guilt chewed at my stomach. It rang again then again. Until it stopped. I thought that would bring relief—but it didn’t. It only brought the worst.
A single text from my mother.
“Your father just collapsed. We’re at the hospital. Call me please.”
My vision blurred. My body felt like it was sinking into the marble tiles. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t cry. I could only move—and that’s exactly what I did.
I threw on a trench coat over my slip and didn’t care about the paparazzi crowding outside. The second I stepped out, the flashbulbs assaulted me, questions flew like knives—
“Camilla, is it true?”
“Are you pregnant with Daniel’s child while married to Damian?”
“Was it all a plan to secure the inheritance?”
I ignored them all. My driver, Michael, shoved through the crowd, shielding me with his body until we reached the car. The moment I got in, I gave one instruction.
“To the airport. I need a flight to Naples. Now.”
I didn’t cry until the plane took off.
Not because of the rumors, not even because of the truth they carried. But because my father—my kind, strong, faithful father—had to hear it through a television in the servant’s lounge. From the people who had never once cared about our story.
By the time I reached the hospital, it was already dark. The air was teased, like it knew what kind of night this was. I walked through the lobby with sunglasses still on, even though the receptionist clearly recognized me. Her eyes softened as I approached.
“Camilla De-Canio?” she asked gently.
I nodded.
“Your mother is in Room 203. Your father is stable, but… he’s asked for you.”
That last sentence shattered me.
The door opened. My mother sat beside the bed, her wrinkled hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looked up and saw me—and for a second, I saw all her emotions battling in her eyes.
Relief, disappointment, love or hurt.
“Camilla,” she whispered.
I stepped into the room and saw him.
He looked… smaller somehow. Not physically, but the energy he once carried was dulled. He had an oxygen in his nose, and his arm had a drip attached, but it was his eyes that broke me.
They were red.
Not from crying. But from pain.
He didn’t ask me why. He didn’t yell. He simply patted the side of his bed.
I moved forward, dropped my coat, and sat beside him. Mother gave me space, stepping into the hallway.
He took my hand.
“I didn’t raise you like this,” he said.
“I know,” I whispered.
“I didn’t raise you to be anyone’s pawn, Camilla.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back.
“I didn’t want this to happen. It wasn’t planned, none of it.”
His eyes studied me. Not with anger—but with the quiet ache of a man whose daughter had wandered too far from home.
“I worked for that family for eighteen years. Watched those boys grow up. I knew they would bring destruction wherever they went.” He shook his head slowly.
“But I never thought it would be you they’d destroy.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Damian,” he said the name like a bitter pill. “He married you?” He asked.
I nodded.
“For money?”
I hesitated. Then nodded again.
“And the other one—the reckless one?”
“He’s the father?”
He closed his eyes. Breathed deeply.
“I should’ve never let you work in that house.”
“Papa, stop—”
“No.” His voice was stronger now. “You were supposed to finish school, be a teacher. Live a quiet life, not end up in some magazine scandal like those women with diamonds but no dignity.”
That struck a nerve.
I sat up straighter. “Papa, I didn’t sell myself. I didn’t ask to be dragged into this.”
“You stayed.”
“Because I had no choice!”
We stared at each other. The air between us cracked with all the unsaid pain.
Then I spoke the truth neither of us wanted to say.
“I fell in love, Papa. And then he left me. And then the other one… he helped me. He gave me a way to stand again.
He taught me how to use my voice and now, I’m stuck between the man who changed my life… and the one who gave me a child.”
He blinked.
I added, “But no matter what, I am still your daughter. And this child—this baby—is still your grandchild.”
His expression shifted.
Not to forgiveness. But to something than disappointment.
Hope.
“You’re pregnant?”
I nodded, hand over my stomach.
He reached out, touching it with trembling fingers.
“Boy or girl?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He swallowed. Then, with a sigh, leaned back into the pillows.
“When you were born, I held you in one hand. You were so tiny, but you looked at me like you already knew I was going to mess things up.”
I chuckled through my tears.
“You didn’t mess anything up, Papa.”
“I don’t care about Damian or Daniel or their cursed company. I care about you Camilla. And that baby, and your mother.
That’s it. You tell me what you want to do… and I’ll support you.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“Thank you father,” I whispered.
My mother returned then, and we talked more. We cried, we laughed and we even joked about how Damian would probably try to bribe the press.
I stayed the night in the hospital room with them. And for a few hours, I was just Camilla again.
No headlines. No scandal and no De-Rosie.
Just daughter, and just family.
By morning, though, reality returned.
A message from Damian lit up my phone.
> “We need to talk. Now. Before the board meeting. Call me.”
Then one from Daniel.
> “Is it true? Is it really mine?”
I didn’t reply to either of them.
Because I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.
I had come to Naples to hide. To find clarity but all I found was the painful truth that no matter how much you change your address, the past always finds a way to knock on your door.
And when it does—you better be ready to answer.
- Writer
