The hospital's that specific shade of sterile white that makes everything feel unreal. Like we're in some medical drama instead of my actual life.
Caelen's hand stays on my knee until we park. "Probably just stress. You've been through hell."
I nod. Let him believe it. Easier than articulating the dread sitting in my stomach like concrete.
Inside, the intake nurse is efficient. Vitals, insurance, the whole routine. Caelen stays close until they call me back for the exam.
"I'll be right here," he says. Kisses my forehead. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it."
The exam room's standard issue. Paper gown, fluorescent lights, anatomical posters that probably haven't been updated since the nineties.
The doctor runs tests. Blood work, vitals, questions about symptoms. I answer mechanically, brain on autopilot.
Then she leaves. Comes back twenty minutes later. Her face is carefully neutral—professional mask firmly in place.
"Ms. Welch, you're pregnant. Approximately eight weeks."
The world stops. Literally stops spinning on its axis.
Eight weeks.
I had sex with Kael seven weeks ago in that office. The desk, the contracts, the monumental fuckup that keeps haunting me.
Started sleeping with Caelen six weeks ago. After choosing him, after the fight, after everything became real.
The math is brutal. Impossible. Could be either of them.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Does anyone else need to know?" My voice sounds distant. Clinical. "About the pregnancy?"
The doctor blinks. "That's your choice. Patient privacy laws—"
"Then keep it confidential." Not a request. Command. "Full patient privacy. Nobody gets told without my explicit permission."
She nods. Makes a note. "Of course. We'll schedule a follow-up appointment—"
"I'll call." Already standing. Need to get out of this room before I completely lose my shit.
When I open the door, Caelen's immediately there. Concern all over his face. "What did they say?"
I force a smile. The lie tastes like poison going down. "Just nerves. Like you said. Stress and exhaustion."
He pulls me close. Relieved. "Told you. What did the doctor recommend?"
"Rest. Stop reading the news. Let my body recover from the chaos." All technically true. Just missing the massive pregnancy-shaped detail.
"Good. We're going home. Getting you horizontal. No arguments."
The drive back to his penthouse is quiet. His hand finds mine. Solid. Real. Everything I'm about to potentially destroy with this secret.
Inside, he steers me toward the bedroom. "Sleep. I'll handle everything else."
"Caelen—"
"Non-negotiable." Gentle but firm. "You're exhausted. I can see it."
He's right. I am exhausted. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhausted.
I sleep for six hours straight. Wake up disoriented, phone buzzing like an angry hornet.
The fallout's everywhere. Like a virus that won't stop spreading.
Social media's exploding. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—every platform tearing me apart in real time. "#MaeveWelchAffair" trending for three days straight.
News coverage 24/7. Every channel, every outlet. Talking heads dissecting my marriage, my morals, my entire existence.
Victoria Dareth's camp leaking more "evidence" that I'm unstable, manipulative, a gold-digger who trapped her son then upgraded to richer prey.
It's bullshit. Documented, provable bullshit. But bullshit that's working.
Public opinion's shifting. Comments sections fill with people calling me every name imaginable.
I'm panicking. Actually spiraling in ways I haven't since leaving Kael.
Can't sleep without nightmares. Can't eat—except when I'm stress-eating at 2am, which probably isn't helping the pregnancy situation I'm not thinking about.
Can't stop doomscrolling. Obsessively refreshing news sites, reading comments that make me want to vomit.
3am finds me on the couch. Laptop open to another hit piece. "Sources Close to Dareth Family Reveal Maeve's Pattern of Manipulation."
Caelen finds me like this. Comes out of the bedroom, takes one look, closes my laptop with finality.
"Don't worry, baby girl," he says. Voice steady. Certain. "I'll figure everything out. Lay on me."
I collapse against his chest. Only solid thing in my universe.
The confidence in his voice—it's everything Kael never gave me. Kael would be wringing his hands, blaming circumstances, hiding from his family.
Caelen's ready for war.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
"Destroy them." Simple. Honest. Zero hesitation. "Dareths wanted to play dirty. They're about to learn what dirty actually looks like."
The next forty-eight hours, I watch Caelen work. Terrifying and beautiful and absolutely relentless.
He's methodical. Ruthless. Brilliant in ways that make Alexander's trust make perfect sense.
"We're not just refuting his lies," he tells me during hour six of non-stop work. "We're going on the counteroffensive. Timeline proof, security footage, witnesses—everything showing when we actually met."
He pulls up files. Spreadsheets. Video timestamps. Evidence so comprehensive it's basically a doctoral thesis.
"Then we expose everything about them." Eyes dark. Dangerous. "Nobody fucks with my wife and walks away."
Wife. Not fiancée. Like it's already decided.
He contacts every person the Dareths ever screwed. Former employees, cheated investors, business partners left bleeding.
Collects sworn statements. Affidavits. Testimony from people waiting years for someone to finally take the Dareths down.
Pulls bank records showing Victoria's embezzlement. Ten years of siphoning funds. Six million dollars documented to the cent.
Traces Marcus's illegal loans. Money laundering, shell corporations, tax evasion so blatant it's almost impressive.
Documents Vera's social media harassment. Every post, every comment, every video. Timestamps and screenshots organized chronologically.
"This isn't revenge," Caelen says during hour twelve, surrounded by evidence. "This is justice. They wanted to destroy you with lies. We're destroying them with truth."
He's working eighteen-hour days. Living on coffee and rage.
I try to help. Mostly just watch him dismantle a dynasty with spreadsheets and righteous fury.
The guilt's suffocating. He's fighting this war for me while I'm hiding a pregnancy that might not even be his.
Tomorrow. I'll figure it out tomorrow.
Except tomorrow comes and he has a case file three inches thick. Physical evidence of every Dareth crime compiled with terrifying efficiency.
"Ready?" he asks. Eyes bright with anticipation.
I nod. What else can I do?
He schedules a meeting with the FBI. Personal contact from his security days.
"Tomorrow, we hand them everything. By next week, the Dareths won't know what hit them."