The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, but Clara felt none of its warmth.
She stared at her phone in silence, her coffee untouched. The screen was lit up with a message Harper had sent moments ago. Just a link. No explanation.
She clicked it.
And there it was. Her name. Splashed across the top of a gossip blog. A grainy photo of her and Julian outside the doctor's office, partially blurred — but not enough. The headline screamed:
Billionaire Blackwell's Secret Wife? Pregnancy Rumors Swirl
Her stomach dropped.
She scrolled faster. Speculation. Anonymous sources. A timeline of Julian's public appearances, twisted to match their private life. And then… her old Facebook photos. An old tweet resurfaced. A yearbook photo. Her mother's name.
Clara gripped the edge of the kitchen island to steady herself. The room spun for a moment.
Julian hadn't come downstairs yet.
She should tell him.
No. He probably already knew. He always knew. And part of her feared the look on his face more than the article itself.
The door behind her creaked.
She didn't turn.
"Clara," Julian's voice came from the hallway, quiet but sharp. He was holding his phone too.
"You saw it," she said flatly.
He stepped closer, eyes unreadable. "I'm handling it."
Clara's laugh was brittle. "Handling it? My name is out there. My mother's address is in the comment section. Harper is already calling. I'm—"
He crossed the kitchen in three strides, reaching for her hand. She pulled it away.
"I told you this would happen," she whispered, voice shaking. "I told you from the start that your world would eat me alive."
Julian's jaw tightened. "I won't let that happen."
But it already had.
And Clara wasn't sure if it was the press or the silence between them that hurt more.
Julian reached for the remote and turned off the TV, silencing the anchor mid-sentence. The image had been paused on a paparazzi shot of Clara shielding her face behind a scarf outside the bookstore two days ago.
"Why didn't you tell me you were followed?" he asked, his voice low but heavy with restraint.
Clara stood by the window, arms crossed tightly against her chest. "Because I knew what you'd say. That you'd take care of it. That you'd make it all disappear. But that's the problem, Julian. You treat everything like it's an equation to be solved."
He looked at her, truly looked. In the sunlight filtering through the curtains, she looked like a shadow of herself. Still beautiful, still strong, but pulled thin by stress and fear.
"I don't know how to fix this," he admitted.
Clara turned slowly. "I didn't ask you to fix it. I asked you to stand beside me."
There was a pause. A long, breathless pause.
Julian's phone buzzed again. He silenced it without checking. Probably Damien. Or Marcus. Or Evelyn. Everyone wanted a piece of this. Everyone wanted him to either deny or control.
But he only wanted one thing to hold onto.
"You're not alone in this," he said carefully. "I know it feels like it, but you're not."
She walked toward him then, each step slow, cautious, like approaching a stranger. Her fingers touched his suit jacket, then flattened against his chest.
"Then prove it. Not to them. To me."
He covered her hand with his own. "Whatever happens next, you and the baby come first."
It was the closest he had ever come to saying he loved her.
Clara blinked, as if trying to decide if she could trust those words. Trust him.
But outside, the press vans were already parked near the front gate. A world she never asked for was closing in. And it was only beginning.
The knock on the door was soft, almost polite.
Clara's breath caught. She wasn't expecting anyone. Not now. Not with her name crawling across the internet like wildfire. Not with the world digging into every inch of her past.
Julian stood, already checking his watch, already calculating the probability of an uninvited guest. When the knock came again, firmer this time, he crossed the room without a word and opened the door.
Vivienne Ashcroft stepped inside like she owned the air they breathed.
"Julian," she greeted with a smile so sharp it could slice glass. "You didn't answer your mother's call. So she sent me."
Clara straightened from the sofa. Her hand instinctively brushed over her small belly, protective.
Julian's jaw tightened. "You shouldn't be here."
Vivienne tilted her head, brushing invisible lint off her ivory coat. "And yet here I am. Because your name is making headlines. And your... wife is trending."
She turned slowly, eyes dragging across Clara's frame.
Clara didn't flinch. Not this time.
Vivienne's voice softened. "Julian, this mess affects more than just you. The shareholders are calling. Your family is furious. And as someone who once cared about your future, I thought you deserved a little... perspective."
Julian stepped in front of Clara, the act unspoken but absolute.
"Leave," he said simply.
Vivienne laughed under her breath. "So this is who you choose to protect. Not your legacy. Not your company. A woman with no name and a baby who will inherit your scandals before your shares."
Clara moved then, not away but forward. She stepped past Julian, standing beside him, chin raised.
"You can insult me all you want," she said. "But don't ever speak about my child again."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Vivienne blinked, just once. Then turned on her heel and walked out without a word.
Julian closed the door quietly behind her. When he turned back, Clara was still standing strong, but her hands were trembling.
He reached out and took them gently.
And that was when his phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't a call.
It was a video link.
A voice memo. One that started with a voice Julian hadn't heard in years.
"This is about your father, Julian. I told you the truth would find you."