5
1158 Words
The microphone feedback screeched for a second, then Samantha’s voice rang clear and sweet through the ballroom speakers. Every head turned. Conversations died. I froze near the edge of the crowd, my simple black dress suddenly feeling like it was made of paper.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, smiling that perfect, practiced smile, “tonight is about charity, about giving back. But sometimes we must address uncomfortable truths to protect the people we care about.”
My stomach dropped. I knew what was coming.
She gestured to the large screen behind the podium. A slideshow started. The first photo appeared—grainy but clear enough. Me and Chase in the garden the night of the wedding. My robe half-open, his hands on my waist, our bodies pressed together under the moonlight. It looked exactly like what it was. But the next slide was worse. Doctored. Someone had added timestamps, made it look like we’d been sneaking around for weeks. Another photo showed me laughing at a family dinner, cropped so it seemed I was leaning into Chase suggestively. A third was me outside the pharmacy three weeks ago, holding the pregnancy test box—someone had zoomed in, circled it in red.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Samantha’s voice stayed calm, almost sympathetic. “I’m afraid Amelia Clark has been… pursuing my fiancé inappropriately. These images speak for themselves. She’s been trying to insert herself into the Hudson family, much like her mother has. We’ve even received statements from staff who saw her lingering near Chase’s room, offering herself in exchange for favors.”
Lies. All of it fabricated. But the room believed her. Whispers started. Eyes turned to me—some pitying, most judgmental.
I felt the blood drain from my face. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, protecting the tiny life no one else knew about yet.
Chase stood near the front, his face pale. He stared at the screen, then at me. I searched his eyes for anything—recognition of the truth, regret, anything. But his jaw tightened. The rational heir took over. The one who hated mess, who valued control above everything. I saw the flicker of doubt, the way his gaze hardened. He believed some of it. Maybe not all, but enough.
Markus stepped forward, confused. “Samantha, what is this? This isn’t the time—”
“It is,” she cut in gently. “For the sake of the family. For Chase.”
Chase finally moved. He walked straight toward me through the parting crowd. People stepped back like I was contagious. When he reached me, his voice was low, controlled, but it cut like glass.
“Is this true?” he asked.
I swallowed. My throat burned. “Chase… those photos are edited. I swear. I never—”
“You were in the garden that night,” he said flatly. “I was there too. I know what happened.”
My heart cracked open. “Then you know it wasn’t like this. It was us. The mate bond—”
He glanced around, lowering his voice even more. “Don’t say that here. Don’t drag that into this.”
Tears stung my eyes. “I’m pregnant, Chase. That’s why I needed to talk to you. It’s yours.”
The words hung between us. For one heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes—shock, maybe guilt. But then Samantha appeared at his side, her hand on his arm.
“Pregnant?” she repeated loudly enough for nearby guests to hear. “Oh, Amelia. How convenient. Trying to trap him with a baby? Just like your mother trapped Markus?”
The room murmured louder. Someone laughed nervously.
Chase’s face went blank. Cold. “You expect me to believe that? After everything?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I whispered. My voice broke. “Please. Just… talk to me. Alone.”
He looked at me like I was a stranger. “You’ve done enough damage tonight. Go home, Amelia.”
Humiliation burned through me. The mate bond twisted, sharp and painful, but I could feel him shutting it down—pushing it away like he pushed everything that didn’t fit his perfect, rational world.
Lucy appeared then, her face a mask of horror. She grabbed my arm, nails digging in. “Come with me. Now.”
She dragged me through a side door into a quiet hallway. The moment the door closed, her hand cracked across my cheek. Hard.
“How dare you,” she hissed. “You stupid, selfish girl. Do you know what this does to me? To my marriage? To my life?”
I touched my stinging face, stunned. “Mom—”
“Don’t call me that here,” she snapped. “You’re no daughter of mine. Not anymore. I’ve worked too hard to get here. I won’t let you ruin it with your little scandal. Get out. And don’t come back.”
Tears spilled over. “You’re disowning me? Because of this?”
“Because you’re a liability,” she said coldly. “Pack your things and leave the estate. Tonight.”
She turned and walked away, heels clicking like gunshots.
I stood there, numb. Markus found me next. He looked tired, older than I’d ever seen him. “Amelia,” he said gently. “I don’t understand what’s happening, but… family harmony has to come first. Maybe some space would be best. For everyone.”
He didn’t even ask if the accusations were true. He just wanted peace. The man who had once called me kiddo, who framed my paintings, now looked at me like a problem to be solved.
I nodded once. No fight left.
I left the ballroom without looking back. No one stopped me. The gala continued behind me—music, laughter, clinking glasses—like nothing had happened.
I took a cab to the edge of the city, found a cheap motel with flickering neon outside. The room smelled of old smoke and cheap cleaner. I sat on the edge of the stiff bed, staring at the wall. My cheek still throbbed. My heart felt like it had been ripped out.
I placed a hand on my stomach. Three lives now depended on me. Three tiny heartbeats I hadn’t even met yet, but already loved.
Chase had chosen. His image, his control, his fiancée. Not me. Not us.
The mate bond pulsed once, weak and fading, like a dying flame. I closed my eyes and pictured it—reaching inside myself, finding that golden thread that connected us, and cutting it. Not completely—I couldn’t, not really—but enough. Enough to survive. Enough to stop the constant ache.
I whispered into the dark room, my voice steady for the first time that night.
“I’ll raise them without you.”
Then I lay back, tears soaking the pillow, and let the silence swallow me.
- Writer
