Collateral Damage
1127 Words
It started with a photo.
A grainy shot taken outside a hospital parking lot, long before Lia Carter had even heard of Damien Vale. In it, she was wearing faded blue scrubs and holding two takeout bags, laughing beside a tall man in medical gear. The angle was poor, the quality worse.
But the internet didn’t need quality.
It needed speculation.
And by the time Lia woke up, it had already gone viral.
DAMIEN VALE'S GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT WITH MYSTERY MAN: A CHEATING SCANDAL?
WHO IS THE NURSE NEXT TO LIA CARTER — EX-LOVER OR SECRET CURRENT?
#FakeFiancée is trending across all major platforms.
Lia stared at the headlines in horror.
The image was everywhere—Twitter, t****k, celebrity gossip pages. She clicked one link only to be flooded with comments dissecting her face, body language, and personal history like she was public property.
“Knew she was a climber.”
“So much for Damien’s type.”
“Pretty? Sure. Loyal? Nah.”
Her stomach turned.
And then came the knock.
Damien stood in the hallway of her suite at the penthouse, holding a tablet. His suit was sharp as ever, his expression unreadable.
“I’m handling it,” he said.
“Damien…” Her voice wavered. “That man in the picture—that’s Evan. He’s my ex. It’s from a year ago. We broke up. I didn’t cheat. I—”
“I know,” he said calmly, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “I don’t care about the photo.”
Her throat tightened. “You don’t care?”
“I care about optics. And this looks bad. So we’ll spin it.”
Her skin chilled. “Spin it?”
He turned to her fully now. “We make it irrelevant. Set up an exclusive interview. Lean into the romance story. Post a photo tonight. One where we look in love. Let the noise die.”
“But it’s not noise,” she said, her voice hardening. It’s my past. My real life. Not some script.”
Damien looked at her then, and something about his stillness made her chest ache.
“You signed up for a contract, Lia. Not comfort.”
Later, she sat alone in the penthouse’s reading room, a phone buzzing beside her. Her med school group chat was silent. Not even Maya had replied.
She scrolled through her messages.
[Mom]: This isn’t what we talked about. Are you really with him?
[Dad, blocked]: Guess you’re famous now. Maybe help your old man out, huh?
Her hand trembled. She threw the phone onto the couch and walked to the window. The city lights blurred behind tears.
She didn’t cry.
Not yet.
That night, Damien hosted a charity dinner.
Lia attended in red silk—his choice. His stylist’s suggestion. It wasn’t her. But it was effective.
They smiled for the cameras. He kissed her temple like it meant something. She held his hand tighter than she meant to.
Inside, the venue was a glittering palace of gold cutlery and hidden daggers.
Lia barely touched her food.
Everywhere she turned, she caught eyes watching her, scanning her like inventory. The whispers were softer this time, but still there.
“She’s the nurse’s daughter, isn’t she?”
“I heard she failed a rotation last year.”
“He’ll tire of her like the last one.”
She was halfway to the restroom when someone stepped in front of her.
A woman in sleek black. Thin. Beautiful. Familiar.
“Isabelle,” Lia said before she could stop herself.
Damien’s ex.
Isabelle offered a cool smile. “The new one. I was wondering when we’d meet.”
Lia tried to keep her voice level. “We’ve met now.”
“I just wanted to say…” Isabelle’s gaze flicked down, then up again. “Be careful.” Damien doesn’t keep people. He uses them.”
Lia’s jaw tightened. “And yet you stayed for two years?”
Isabelle’s smile faltered. “I stayed because I thought I could survive his world.” I couldn’t.”
Lia leaned in. “I don’t plan to survive it. I plan to burn it down before it burns me.”
And then she walked away—heart racing, knees shaking.
Damien found her an hour later.
She was standing near the wine wall, sipping water.
“I saw you talking to her,” he said.
“I didn’t know she’d be here.”
“She shows up when she wants attention.”
“She got it,” Lia replied. She warned me. Said you use people.”
His jaw tensed.
“She left me,” he said flatly. Took a check from my mother and disappeared. Didn’t even say goodbye.”
“She told me she thought she could survive your world.”
“And you?” he asked, voice low. “Can you?”
“I don’t know yet,” she whispered. “But I’m trying.”
They left before dessert.
Back in the penthouse, Lia kicked off her heels and collapsed on the couch. Her head ached. Her chest ached more.
Damien poured two glasses of whiskey and handed her one. For once, he didn’t sit across from her—he sat beside her.
“I saw what the media said,” he murmured. “I know it’s a lot.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Then: “They found my dad. They’ll find everything.”
“Then we get ahead of it.”
“I don’t want you to clean up my past like a PR mess.”
“I’m not cleaning it up,” he said. “I’m standing in front of it.”
Lia turned toward him. “Why?”
His voice was quiet. “Because, for once, it’s not fake for me.”
The confession hit like a knife wrapped in silk.
“You’re not supposed to say that,” she said.
“I know.”
He set the glass down.
Turned to her fully.
And kissed her.
This kiss wasn’t part of the performance. There were no cameras. No headlines to win.
Just breathe.
Heat.
Want.
Need.
When they broke apart, Lia’s hands were in his hair. His were around her waist.
And everything had changed.
“I want you,” he said roughly. Not for the deal. Not for the contract.”
“Then tear it up,” she said.
He stood and walked to his desk.
Picked up the contract.
And tore it down the center.
Twice.
Three times.
Until it was in pieces on the floor.
Lia stared at him, stunned.
“Now,” he said, crossing back to her. “Tell me what you want.”
She smiled, slow and dangerous.
“You.”
- Writer
