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The billionaire’s virgin surrogate - Chapter 34



Chapter 34

                         Damian's POV

Emails stacked endlessly on his phone's screen, contracts waited for his signature, and Reed had left a stack of files demanding his review. Work should have consumed him, it usually did. But today, like every day for the past week, his mind refused to stay in line.

It drifted. Always back to her.

Evelyn Carter.

The name came unbidden, unsettling.

He leaned back in his chair, tugging at his tie as though the fabric had grown too tight. He should have been focusing on expansion plans in Europe, or the shareholders breathing down his neck, or his father’s constant questions demanding updates. But Evelyn’s face kept intruding, her soft brown eyes flashing with defiance, the way she tucked her hair nervously behind her ear, the obvious strength in her posture even when she was wallowing in fear.

Damian scowled and forced himself forward again, reading the words on the contract in front of him. But they blurred into nonsense.

The problem wasn’t Evelyn’s presence. It was his own response to it.

He had spent years controlling himself, building walls higher than anyone could see through. Women came and went, temporary distractions to solve physical needs. Vanessa had been useful in that way, convenient, predictable, never demanding more than he was willing to give. But Evelyn, she was different. She was inconvenient.

And inconvenient had no place in his life.

Damian rubbed his temples and pushed the file away. Avoidance was safer. He had been careful to keep his distance at the mansion, to keep his interactions with Evelyn short and professional. She had her wing of the house, and he had his. They spoke only when necessary, and even then, his words were sharp, calculated to remind her that this was business.

Yet, no matter how much he distanced himself, she still seeped in.

He noticed the small things, the way she speaks calmly, her quiet laughter when talking to her friend over the phone, how she greeted the staff with respect and how she takes walks in the garden, sniffing and touching the roses. Evelyn was weaving herself into his mind without even trying. The staff liked her. They respected her. And worse, Damian caught himself watching her too long, noticing details he had no right to care about.

He hated it. He hated her power over him, a power she didn’t even know she had.

The office door opened without a knock. Reed Dawson walked in, holding two cups of coffees and an expression that suggested he’d already had a hell of a morning.

“You look like a man trying to strangle his own brain,” Reed said, setting a cup down in front of him.

Damian didn’t look up. “I have work.”

“You have avoidance,” Reed countered, taking a sip from his own coffee. “And judging from that scowl, I’d say it’s not working.”

Damian shot him a sharp glance. “Do you have a point?”

Reed smirked. “Just the usual one. You’re distracted, and I’d bet my firm’s retainer it has nothing to do with Blackwood Enterprises’ quarterly report.”

Damian didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to hand Reed the satisfaction of being right.

But Reed’s tone sobered as he slid a folder across the desk. “You should see this.”

Damian flipped it open. Inside were printouts of gossip articles, their headlines bold and poisonous.

“Vanessa Hart Seen Leaving Private Clinic, Is She Expecting?”
“Blackwood Heir on the Way? Socialite Vanessa Hart Drops Hints.”

His jaw tightened as he read them. Vanessa’s smiling face filled the page, her hand pressed strategically against her stomach in one shot. He cursed under his breath.

“She’s running her mouth,” Reed said flatly. “Telling anyone who will listen that she’s pregnant with your child.”

Damian slammed the folder shut. “She’s lying.”

“Of course she is,” Reed agreed. “But perception is reality in this city. If you don’t shut this down, the press will run with it, and shareholders will start asking questions you don’t want to answer.”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. Vanessa’s desperation didn’t surprise him, but her timing infuriated him. She must have sensed the shift, his distance, his lack of interest. This was her play,hold on harder, create chaos, force his hand.

He hated that it might work.

“Handle it,” Damian ordered.

Reed raised a brow. “Handle it how? A denial statement? Legal action? Or do you want me to quietly remind Vanessa of the contract she signed?”

Damian’s lips thinned. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Reed echoed, incredulous. “She’s already poisoning the well.”

“I said not yet.” Damian’s voice cut through the room like ice. “The more attention we give her, the more power she has. She thrives on it.”

Reed studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t wait too long, or you’ll have more than tabloid vultures to worry about.”

When Reed left, Damian remained still, staring at the city from his window. The problem wasn’t just Vanessa’s lies. It was Evelyn.

He imagined her seeing those headlines. Would she believe them? Would she think he had betrayed her, even though there was nothing to betray? Would she walk away, disgusted by the circus that followed his name?

The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

Back at the mansion, the atmosphere felt heavier than usual. Damian entered through the marble foyer, nodding curtly at the staff greetings, his mind elsewhere. The whispers had already started, he caught fragments of hushed conversations as he moved through the halls.

“…Vanessa Hart… pregnant…”
“…Mr. Blackwood’s child, they say…”

He clenched his fists, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Turning the corner, he froze.

Evelyn stood near the grand staircase, her hand resting on the banister as she listened to two maids gossiping nearby. They hadn’t noticed her yet, their voices low but audible. 

“…I heard she’s claiming it’s his baby,” one whispered.
“…but what about Miss Carter?” the other murmured. “She’s living here now. Isn’t she supposed to be the surrogate?”

Evelyn’s face drained of color.

Damian’s chest tightened. He saw the way her fingers gripped the banister, the flicker of hurt in her eyes, the quick rise and fall of her breath. She looked like someone bracing for a blow.

The maids noticed her then and fell silent, running away with flushed cheeks.

Evelyn didn’t move. She stared at the polished floor, her expression heartbreaking. 

Damian took a step toward her, instinct urging him to speak, to explain, to tell her the rumors were nothing but Vanessa’s lies. But the words stuck in his throat. His pride, his damn pride, held them back.

Instead, he stood there in silence, watching as Evelyn finally lifted her gaze. Their eyes met across the space.

Damian felt something he couldn’t control.

Fear.

Not of Vanessa. Not of the tabloids. Not of the news headlines. Not of his father’s expectations.

Fear of losing Evelyn before he ever had the chance to admit he wanted her.

The moment stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Then Evelyn turned and walked away, her back straight, her pace measured, but her silence louder than any accusation and rumors. 

Damian remained stucked to the floor, his fists clenched at his sides, the echo of her departure slicing deeper than he thought possible.

For the first time, Damian Blackwood realized he wasn’t just fighting for an heir.

He was fighting for something far more dangerous.

Something he couldn’t afford to lose.







      Chapter 35 – Casual Conversations

                       Evelyn's POV 

Evelyn Carter strolled round the halls of the Blackwood estate with a thought she couldn’t shake. Her pulse still carried the echo of the whispers she had overheard earlier, the maids’ hushed voices gossiping about Vanessa, about Damian, about pregnancy. The words had dug into her like the claws of a wild animal, sharper because she hadn’t been meant to hear them.

She could still see the way Damian had looked at her from across the hallway afterward. That piercing gaze of his, usually so controlled, had cracked with something she couldn’t name. Fear, maybe. Or guilt. But he hadn’t spoken, hadn’t denied it. He had just let her walk away.

Now the silence pressed in from every direction. The mansion, despite its size and grandeur, felt suffocating. Every marble corridor seemed to echo with doubts she didn’t want to voice out.

She pulled a sweater tighter around her shoulders and walked outside into the garden, hoping the cool evening air would steady her.

The Blackwood gardens stretched wide, taken care of to perfection. Roses bloomed in perfect rows, their petals bright and stunning. Gravel paths laid through the plants, leading to marble benches and hidden alcoves. Evelyn had discovered the garden on her second day here, a rare pocket of calm, and since then, she had loved it.

Tonight, the garden wasn’t empty.

Gregory Blackwood sat on a stone bench near the fountain, his cane leaning against his leg. The older man looked surprisingly at ease, his posture relaxed, one arm rested over the back of the bench. His suit jacket hung open, and for once, he didn’t look like the immovable founder of an empire. He looked like a man enjoying the night air.

Evelyn froze. She hadn’t expected company, least of all his.

Gregory’s sharp eyes caught her immediately. Even in the dim light, they shone with recognition. “Miss Carter,” he greeted, his tone smooth, deliberate. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Evelyn hesitated, then stepped closer, her shoes crunching softly on the gravel. “No,” she admitted. “It's been a long day.”

Gregory gestured toward the space beside him, patting it softly. “Join me. The night has a way of quieting things, if you let it.”

Part of her wanted to turn back, to avoid the scrutiny of a man like Gregory. But another part, the one aching from the weight of unanswered questions, pulled her forward. She lowered herself onto the bench, careful to leave a polite distance between them.

The fountain gurgled quietly, water spilling over its stone lip. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Gregory tilted his head, studying her profile.

“You’ve been adjusting,” he said, not a question but an observation.

Evelyn clasped her hands in her lap. “As best I can.”

A low chuckle echoed from him. “The Blackwood estate isn’t an easy place to adjust to. Too many eyes. Too many expectations.”

She turned to him, surprised by the calm. “You make it sound like a prison.”

Gregory’s mouth curved faintly, though his eyes remained sharp. “For some, it is. For others, it’s an opportunity. Which it becomes,  depends on the person.”

Evelyn looked away, her throat tightening. “I never asked for any of this.”

“No,” Gregory agreed softly. “But you signed for it.”

The reminder landed like a stone in her chest. He wasn’t wrong. She had signed the contract, agreed to carry Damian’s child. She had walked into this willingly, desperate though she had been.

Gregory leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Tell me, Evelyn. Do you know what it means to carry the Blackwood name in your blood?”

Her pulse stuttered. “I’m not carrying the name. Just, the child.”

“That is the name,” Gregory said simply. “Blood is legacy. And legacy is everything.”

Evelyn swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Gregory’s intensity was unsettling, even when wrapped in calm words. He spoke as though the weight of the family already rested on her shoulders, as though she weren’t just a surrogate but something more.

He sat back, his gaze drifting toward the roses. “When I was your age, I thought I’d build something simple. A business, a family, a quiet life. But life doesn’t work that way. It demands more. More sacrifice, more ruthlessness. I learned quickly that softness is eaten alive in this world.”

Evelyn listened, caught between discomfort and curiosity. She had never heard Damian speak much about his father, but she could see now how Gregory’s philosophy had shaped him. The coldness, the distance, it all made sense.

“Did you ever regret it?” she asked quietly. “The sacrifices?”

Gregory’s eyes sharpened again, pinning her. “Regret is for men who lose. I did not lose.”

The words sent a chill down her spine.

Silence stretched, broken only by the sound of water from the fountain and the faint chirping of crickets. Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself, her heart racing. She wanted to hate Gregory, to dismiss him as a tyrant, but there was something about his presence that unsettled her. He wasn’t just power. He was conviction, sharpened by years of survival.

“You’ve become important here, Evelyn,” Gregory said suddenly.

Her head snapped toward him. “What do you mean?”

He regarded her with a steady gaze, as though weighing how much truth to reveal. “The staff notice you. Damian notices you. Even I,” His mouth curved again, faint and unreadable. “Even I find myself curious.”

Evelyn’s heart thudded. “Curious?”

Gregory tapped his cane lightly against the ground. “You walk into this house a stranger, yet you’re already shifting its balance. That’s no small thing.”

Evelyn shook her head quickly. “I’m just here for the contract. That’s all.”

Gregory leaned closer, his voice low and deliberate. “Don’t lie to yourself, Miss Carter. Nothing in this house is ever just anything.”

Her breath caught. His words wrapped around her like a net, trapping her between denial and suspicion.

He straightened again, his expression smoothing into something almost paternal. “Still, you’ve held yourself with grace. That’s rare. Rarer still in someone not born to this world.”

The compliment unsettled her more than his warnings. She didn’t want Gregory’s approval, yet some part of her clung to it, starved for validation after so many days of icy silence from Damian.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.

Gregory’s eyes softened partially. “Because you may be more important to this family than you realize. And I want you to remember one thing.”

He leaned in, his presence filling the space between them, his tone calm but edged with steel.

“Don’t forget why you’re here.”

Evelyn froze, the words slicing through her. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came.

Gregory rose slowly, leaning on his cane, his suit catching the moonlight. “Goodnight, Miss Carter.”

With that, he turned and walked down the path, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the estate.

Evelyn remained on the bench, her pulse racing, her thoughts tangled.

She had come outside seeking quiet, but instead she’d been handed a truth she wasn’t ready for, she wasn’t just a surrogate anymore. She was part of something larger, darker, and far more dangerous.

Her fingers curled into fists as she whispered to herself, the night swallowing her words.

“What am I becoming?”

The fountain gurgled on, indifferent, as Evelyn sat alone in the garden, her heart heavy with the weight of Gregory Blackwood’s warning.








         Chapter 36 – Vanessa’s Public Performance

                   Vanessa's POV 

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and crystal glasses, a gathering of wealth and power dressed in gold. Vanessa stepped into it as though she owned the air. Every head turned, every gaze lingered along the line of her light purple gown that hugged her figure like a second skin. She knew how to make an entrance, and tonight, she needed every eye on her.

The click of her heels echoed across the marble floor as she descended the wide staircase, her smile calculated to strike the perfect balance between approachable and untouchable. Murmurs followed her like a current, people whispering her name, noting her beauty, her boldness, and talking about the news. But that wasn’t enough. Not tonight.

Tonight, she wasn’t here to be admired. She was here to reclaim her place. And she was going to do it here, publicly. 

Damian had avoided her calls, he had locked her out of his penthouse. He had buried himself in that godforsaken mansion with her.

Vanessa’s grip tightened around the clutch in her hand. Evelyn Carter, a girl who had no right to stand where Vanessa had fought tooth and nail to be. Vanessa could feel her chest tighten with anger, but she forced her expression calmly. Rage never won a crowd, seduction did, charm did. And Vanessa Hart was nothing if not a master of both.

She moved through the room with ease, greeting old acquaintances with a brush of her lips against their cheeks, her laugh carrying like music. The scent of expensive cologne and champagne filled the air, and Vanessa drank it in. This was her arena.

“Vanessa,” a woman cooed, sweeping in for an embrace. It was Lydia Hargrove, the wife of a senator. Always nosy, always hungry for gossip. Perfect.

“Lydia,” Vanessa purred, pulling back with a smile. “You look stunning tonight.”

Lydia’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “And you, you look different, you look positively glowing.”

There it was. The opening, the opportunity. 

Vanessa lowered her lashes, letting the silence hang before offering a sly smile. “Well, I suppose there’s a reason for that.” She placed a delicate hand on her stomach, just for a moment, before removing it as if she hadn’t realized what she’d done.

Lydia’s gasp was sharp and delicious. “You don’t mean”

Vanessa leaned closer, her voice dropping to a calm whisper. “It’s still early. But yes. I am.”

She didn’t have to say more. Lydia’s expression told her everything, shock, delight, and the greedy thrill of being the first to know.

“Oh, Vanessa,” Lydia gushed, squeezing her hand. “That’s wonderful news. Who’s the lucky man?”

Vanessa’s smile broadened. “Do you really have to ask?”

Lydia’s lips parted. “Damian Blackwood?”

Vanessa’s only response was a soft laugh, as though the answer were obvious.

By the time she excused herself, Vanessa knew the seed had been planted. Lydia was a carrier pigeon in diamonds. By morning, the whole city would know, their guesses would be confirmed, and the gossip media would be delighted. 

But Vanessa wasn’t finished.

She walked through the room, stopping to chat with influential faces, an investment banker, a fashion editor, a man who owned half the media outlets in Manhattan. Each time, she let the story slip, not as a boast but as a confession. She painted herself as the chosen one, the woman Damian Blackwood trusted, the one carrying his heir.

“Of course,” she’d murmur, eyes wide with innocence, “I wasn’t supposed to say anything yet. Damian values privacy, you know how he is. But it’s hard to hide when you feel so, radiant.”

And always, always, she brushed her hand against her flat stomach. The gesture was subtle, but it spoke louder than words.

By the third glass of champagne, Vanessa could feel the shift in the room. The way people looked at her had changed. Whispers weren’t just about her expensive gown anymore, they were about Damian, about legacy, about the Blackwood heir. Exactly as she intended.

She excused herself to the powder room, locking the door behind her. Her reflection stared back from the gilded mirror, flawless makeup, bold lipstick, eyes glittering with triumph.

“You’re winning,” she whispered to herself, smoothing her hair. “You’re taking it back.”

For a moment, doubt flickered. She pressed her hand to her stomach, where there was nothing but flat skin and hunger. But she crushed the doubt as quickly as it came.

Reality was negotiable. Perception was power. And tonight, she had both.

When she stepped back into the ballroom, she was met with a wall of flashes. Paparazzi had arrived, tipped off no doubt by one of her “confidantes.” Cameras clicked furiously as they crowded near the rope, shouting her name.

“Vanessa! Vanessa! Is it true you’re pregnant with Damian Blackwood’s child?”

She turned toward them, her smile serene, her posture regal. She didn’t confirm, didn’t deny. She simply let the cameras capture the image of her hand resting protectively against her abdomen, her eyes soft, her expression glowing with the carefully crafted look of maternal pride.

The ballroom erupted in speculation.

By the time Vanessa left the party, slipping into the back of a black car with tinted windows, her phone buzzed nonstop. Messages from friends, journalists, even rivals filled the screen. Headlines were already going up.

“Vanessa Hart Hints at Blackwood Heir.”
“Is Damian Blackwood Becoming a Father?”
“The Socialite and the Billionaire: Baby on the Way?”

Vanessa leaned back into the seat, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Evelyn might have his attention now, might even have his presence in the mansion. But Vanessa had something bigger, the public. The narrative. The power of rumor.

And Damian couldn’t hide from that.

She opened her clutch and pulled out the folder with the contract. Her thumb brushed over the clause that had become her shield: exclusivity. No other men. No other possibilities.

“Your move, Damian,” she whispered, her smile hardening. “Let’s see you deny me now.”

The car sped into the night, the city lights flashing past.

For the first time in weeks, Vanessa felt calm and fulfilled. She had turned the tide. She had reminded the world, and soon, she would remind Damian, that she was not disposable.

She was inevitable.







            Chapter 37 – The Firestorm

                      Damian's POV 

The first headlines broke before dawn.

Damian Blackwood was a man used to seeing his name on the front page, but never like this. Never with words that threatened to crash years of carefully constructed silence.

“Vanessa Hart Expecting Blackwood Heir?”
“Damian Blackwood to Be a Father?”
“Exclusive: Socialite Vanessa Hart Confirms Pregnancy, Names Billionaire Lover.”

He sat at the head of the long dining table in the Blackwood mansion, the early morning light seeping through the tall windows and cutting sharp angles across the screen of his tablet. Evelyn’s untouched cup of coffee steamed faintly beside him, her chair empty. She hadn’t come down yet, and for once, he was grateful.

The words blurred, but the fury was sharp, boiling in his veins.

Vanessa.

He had underestimated just how far she would go.

“Damian,” Reed’s voice broke through the silence. His lawyer stood at the far end of the table, already dressed in his usual immaculate navy suit, jaw tight, eyes grim. “This is everywhere. Online, print, broadcast. She made sure it would hit hard and fast. Damage control will be complicated.”

Damian’s jaw flexed. He closed the tablet and set it down with deliberate calm, though his hands itched to throw it against the wall. “Define complicated.”

Reed hesitated only a second. “Complicated as in, if we move too aggressively, we confirm the story by default. If we ignore it, the speculation grows. Either way, Blackwood Industries is caught in the crossfire.”

Damian leaned back in his chair, gray eyes narrowing. “And if we discredit her?”

Reed’s mouth twisted, not quite a smile. “You’d be discrediting a woman claiming to be pregnant with your child. The optics aren’t exactly, favorable.”

Silence stretched between them. Damian’s chest rose and fell steadily, but inside, the storm churned.

He knew Vanessa. He had known she was capable of pettiness, of manipulation, of using charm like a blade. But this? This was calculated destruction. This was her staking a public claim, and doing it in a way that tied his hands.

The creak of the door pulled his attention. Evelyn entered the dining room quietly, her hair loose around her shoulders, her steps hesitant. She wore one of the soft sweaters that Carmen had insisted she packed, pale gray against her skin. She paused when she saw Reed, then glanced at Damian.

The headlines had already reached her. He saw it in her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said softly, almost mechanical, before sliding into the chair across from him. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table but didn’t reach for the coffee waiting for her.

Damian studied her face. No accusations. No questions. Just silence. Somehow, it was worse.

Reed cleared his throat. “Miss Carter.” He gave her a respectful nod, then turned back to Damian. “We’ll need to release a statement before noon. The markets will react otherwise.”

Damian’s voice was even, but cold. “Draft something. Neutral. No acknowledgment, no denial. Just a reminder that Blackwood family matters are private.”

Reed gave a quick nod, gathering his things. “I’ll return within the hour.”

When the door closed behind him, the room fell into silence again.

Damian forced himself to look at Evelyn. “You’ve seen it.”

Her lips pressed together, her eyes dropping to her lap. “It’s everywhere.”

“She’s lying.”

“I know.” The words came quickly, surprising him. Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly as she lifted the coffee cup at last. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? People believe her.”

Something twisted in his chest at the resignation in her tone. He hated it. Hated that Vanessa had managed to stain even this, to wedge herself into the fragile trust he’d been trying to build.

“It matters to me,” he said.

Her gaze lifted, sharp, searching his face for something. He let her look, let her see the anger he usually kept hidden. For once, he didn’t mask it.

Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. She only lowered her gaze again, sipping her coffee as if it could shield her.

Damian exhaled slowly, standing. He couldn’t sit still. The walls felt too tight, the weight of his father’s house pressing in. He needed to move, to act.

“Where are you going?” Evelyn asked quietly.

He paused at the doorway, his back to her. “To put an end to this.”

Vanessa’s apartment glowed like a jewel box when he arrived. He didn’t knock. He didn’t announce himself. He used his own code, one she hadn’t changed, he noted with grim satisfaction, and stepped inside.

She was waiting for him. Of course she was. Draped across the white leather couch, her light purple dress replaced by silk the color of midnight. A half-empty glass of champagne dangled from her fingers.

“Well, well,” she purred, sitting up slowly. “The ghost finally decides to visit.”

Damian shut the door behind him with a controlled slam. “What the hell have you done?”

Vanessa’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. She rose gracefully, circling the coffee table like a predator. “I reminded people of the truth.”

“There is no truth in what you’ve spread.” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Oh, Damian.” She laughed softly, brushing past him, letting her hand trail along his arm. “You always were better with contracts than with feelings. But facts are facts. I’m pregnant. And according to our agreement…”

She crossed the room, picked up the folder from the counter, and flipped it open. She didn’t need to; she had memorized it. But she wanted him to see. She wanted the words to hang between them.

“Neither party shall engage in sexual relations with other individuals during the period of this agreement.” She tapped the clause with a manicured nail. “That means if I’m pregnant, it can only be yours.”

Damian’s jaw clenched, his gray eyes hard. “You’re not pregnant.”

“Who’s going to prove that?” Her smile was sharp, triumphant. “Until someone does, the world believes me. And you know how it works, perception is reality. The gossip spreads, the investors whisper, and suddenly the Blackwood heir is my child, not… hers.”

Evelyn.

The name hung unspoken between them, but Damian felt it like a blade.

Vanessa stepped closer, lowering her voice. “She doesn’t belong in your world. She never will. But me? I’ve been by your side for years. I know what you need, what you crave. You can’t just erase that.”

Her hand rose to his chest, fingers splaying across the fabric of his shirt. “Admit it, Damian. You belong to me.”

For a moment, the room was silent but for their breathing. Vanessa’s eyes burned into his, wild and desperate.

Then Damian’s hand closed around her wrist, firm, unyielding. He peeled her fingers from his chest and dropped her hand as though it burned him.

“No,” he said, voice like steel. “I don’t.”

Her face flickered, fury breaking through the practiced mask.

“You think she’ll last?” she hissed. “You think Evelyn Carter can survive in this world? They’ll eat her alive. She’ll break. And when she does, you’ll come crawling back to me. Because I’m the only one who can stand beside you.”

Damian’s gray eyes bored into hers. “The only thing you’ve ever stood beside is my shadow.”

The words landed like a slap. Vanessa flinched, but her chin rose, defiance hardening her features. “You’ll regret this,” she whispered. “You’ll regret choosing her over me.”

Damian turned away, his control razor-thin. “I already regret ever choosing you at all.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. He walked out, the slam of the door echoing behind him.

Back at the estate, the night was quiet, but the storm hadn’t passed. Damian stood on the balcony outside his study, staring at the city lights in the distance. His phone buzzed endlessly with messages from Reed, from board members, from journalists. But all he could think of was Evelyn, and the look in her eyes at breakfast.

Not anger. Not even betrayal.

Disappointment.

That was worse.

Because Damian Blackwood could handle enemies. He could handle lies, scandals, power games. But the thought of Evelyn believing even for a second that Vanessa’s claim might be true , that was the one fire he didn’t know how to put out.

And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that this was only the beginning.









                 Chapter 38 – Cracks

                      Evelyn’s POV

The Blackwood mansion was too quiet. Too still. The kind of silence that didn’t soothe but scraped against the nerves, leaving her raw and restless. Evelyn Carter moved through the wide corridors with her arms wrapped around herself, the echo of her footsteps making her feel more like a trespasser than a guest.

It had been days since the headlines broke. Days since the tabloids splashed Vanessa’s face across glossy covers, declaring Damian Blackwood’s “pregnant lover” as if it were fact, as if Evelyn didn’t exist at all. She hadn’t dared leave the estate since then. She could only imagine what the city outside was saying, how the whispers would multiply if she stepped out in public.

Inside, the whispers were quieter but sharper. The mansion staff had their opinions, Evelyn was sure of it. But if they spoke, they didn’t speak to her. Their polite distance only reinforced what she already knew, she was here for a reason, and it wasn’t to belong. She wasn’t the mistress of the house. She wasn’t even a partner. She was a contract. A human incubator. 

She lingered at the window of the upstairs hall, pressing her palm against the glass, staring out over the pretty gardens. The leaves shimmered under the late afternoon sun, too perfect, too polished. Everything here was curated to impress, to dominate, to remind anyone who entered that the Blackwoods were untouchable.

But Evelyn didn’t feel untouchable. She felt fragile. A crack waiting to split wide open.

Damian had been gone more often than not since the rumors started. Business, he said curtly, though he offered no details. And when he was here, his presence was worse than his absence. He was distant, his words cold, his gaze unreadable. He moved around her like she was made of glass, fragile enough to shatter but not precious enough to handle with care.

She hated how much it hurt.

Her phone buzzed on the desk in her room. Evelyn flinched, half-expecting another headline, another blow. But when she picked it up, it was a short message from Carmen.

Are you okay?

Evelyn stared at the words until her vision blurred. She typed a short and simple reply, I’m fine, then deleted it. Because she wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine for weeks. But what could she say? That she was living in a mansion she couldn’t escape, caught between a man she didn’t understand and a woman who wanted her destroyed? That her life wasn’t hers anymore?

Her chest tightened. She dropped the phone facedown and walked out of the room, needing air.

The gardens stretched endlessly, hedges cut into shapes that looked like they’d been pulled from a fairytale. Evelyn wandered along the path, trailing her fingers over the rough stone wall as if it could calm her. For a moment, she let herself breathe. The sky was softening into evening, streaked with orange and pink, the air carrying a faint chill.

“Taking in the view?”

The voice startled her. She turned sharply, finding Gregory Blackwood seated on one of the wrought-iron benches tucked beneath an oak tree. He was dressed in casual slacks and a dark sweater, the kind of attire that should have made him look approachable. It didn’t. He looked like a king holding court in disguise, power wrapped in something deceptively simple.

Evelyn straightened. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

Gregory’s lips curved faintly. “That’s because most people avoid these gardens at this hour. Too quiet. Too much room for thoughts to creep in.” He patted the space beside him. “Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

Evelyn hesitated, then lowered herself onto the bench, keeping a careful distance between them.

For a while, Gregory said nothing. He simply looked out at the garden as though it belonged to him in a way no one else could ever claim. And perhaps it did.

“You don’t like the silence, do you?” he said finally.

Evelyn’s throat tightened. “It’s… different.”

“It’s heavy,” Gregory corrected smoothly. “The kind of silence that forces you to face yourself. Most people hate it.” He tilted his head toward her. “Do you?”

She wanted to deny it, but the truth pressed too close. “Sometimes.”

His smile was sharp, knowing. “Good. Fear of silence means you still have something to lose.”

Evelyn frowned, unsure how to respond. Gregory leaned back, stretching one arm across the bench’s backrest, his posture deceptively relaxed.

“You remind me of someone,” he said suddenly. “A girl I knew when I was younger. Pretty. Quiet. Everyone underestimated her. But she had a steel spine.” He chuckled softly, a sound that carried no warmth. “She married a man richer than me. But do you know what happened to her?”

Evelyn shook her head, pulse quickening.

“She broke,” Gregory said simply. “Under the weight of expectation. Under the pressure of being more than she was meant to be. A tragedy.”

Evelyn stiffened. She couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a story.

Gregory’s gaze pinned her. “Don’t break, Evelyn. Whatever you do. You’ve become important, whether you realize it or not. To this family. To Damian.”

Her heart thudded painfully. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do,” Gregory countered softly. “You just don’t want to admit it. You’ve stepped into a world that doesn’t forgive weakness. If you crumble, you’ll be devoured.”

Evelyn swallowed hard. The words weren’t cruelly spoken, but they landed with a weight that made her chest ache.

Gregory looked away again, almost absentminded. “You carry yourself well. Better than I expected. But remember why you’re here.” He leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into something colder. “Don’t confuse survival with belonging.”

The chill in his voice cut through her. Evelyn rose quickly, muttering, “I should go.”

Gregory didn’t stop her. He only gave a small nod, as if dismissing her from court.

Evelyn walked back toward the mansion, her steps unsteady. His words tangled in her mind, sharp and heavy. She hated that part of her wanted his approval, that his strange mixture of warmth and threat had left her shaken.

By the time she reached the steps, her chest felt tight, her vision swimming. She gripped the railing, urging herself to breathe. The world tilted, her knees weak.

And then strong arms caught her.

“Evelyn!”

Damian’s voice, louder than she’d ever heard it. His hands steadied her, pulling her against him. She blinked up at him, his face looming above hers, gray eyes blazing with fear. 

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She felt the tremor in his hold, the faint shake in his hands as if he was afraid, truly afraid of losing her.

The edges of her vision darkened. Her last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was that Damian Blackwood, the man who never cracked, was holding her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.




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