The next morning arrived in silence.
Clara stirred to the smell of coffee. She blinked up at the ceiling, her thoughts swimming in half-formed fragments of last night. Julian's arms around her. His voice, soft in the dark. Stay with me tonight.
She had stayed.
He was already up. His side of the bed was empty, but still faintly warm. The robe he usually wore was gone from the hook.
She got up, padded toward the kitchen.
Julian stood near the stove in dark slacks and a slate grey shirt, sleeves folded neatly at the elbows. He moved with quiet precision, pouring two cups of coffee, as if mornings like this were normal. As if this—sharing space, silence, warmth—was familiar.
He looked up as she entered.
"Morning," he said, voice low.
Clara hesitated at the threshold, then crossed the room.
"You made me coffee," she said with a faint smile.
"I owe you more than that," he replied.
She took the cup from him, their fingers brushing. It lingered. Just slightly.
It was domestic.
Too domestic.
And for a moment, she let herself enjoy it.
Until her phone buzzed.
She picked it up from the counter, expecting a message from Harper or a reminder for her mother's appointment.
Instead, her screen lit up with a headline.
"Blackwell Billionaire's Secret Wife?"
Exclusive: Mysterious woman spotted entering luxury OB-GYN clinic with Julian Blackwell. Sources suggest a quiet pregnancy scandal."
Her stomach dropped.
She clicked on it.
There it was.
A blurry photo, but unmistakable.
Her profile, turned slightly away, as she entered the clinic weeks ago with Julian behind her.
She blinked, her breath catching.
Julian's voice was calm, too calm.
"Clara."
She looked up.
He had seen it too. His phone buzzed again in his hand. Then again.
The storm was starting.
"How did they get this?" she whispered.
"I had a feeling someone was watching us. But I didn't think they'd be this fast," he said, already pulling up something on his phone.
Clara clutched her coffee tighter, her knuckles white. "Do you think it was someone at the clinic?"
"Possibly. Or someone we didn't see following us. I'll get my people on it."
Her mind spun.
Her name wasn't mentioned in the article.
Not yet.
But it would be.
They'd dig. They always did.
Harper's warning echoed in her head. You may be a nobody now, but when they find out you're carrying his baby, you'll be headline gold.
Julian moved closer, gently taking the coffee from her hands and setting it down.
"I won't let them touch you. Or the baby," he said.
"Julian—" she began.
But her voice faltered.
Not because she didn't believe him.
Because some part of her, buried deep, had always known this day would come.
That being with someone like him meant being hunted in silence, judged in shadows, exposed without consent.
Julian's eyes didn't waver.
"We'll handle this. Together."
And yet, even as he said it, Clara couldn't help but wonder what the cost of "together" would be.
Across the city, in an office stacked with tabloid covers and labeled files, Allegra Voss crossed her legs and tapped her freshly manicured nails against her phone.
Her assistant returned with a stack of photos and a flash drive.
Allegra smiled.
"Let the wolves come sniffing. I've just given them blood."
Julian's PR team arrived at the Blackwell penthouse by noon.
Three people. All in black. All whispering.
Clara sat on the edge of the living room couch, dressed in soft neutrals, trying to keep her spine straight and her expression calm. Harper had texted her five times already. So had Mia. But she hadn't answered.
She couldn't. Not yet.
Across the room, Julian stood with Damien Carter and a sharp-eyed woman named Simone, head of crisis communications for Blackwell Capital. She was the kind of woman who wore her lipstick like armor and her heels like weapons.
"I can spin this," Simone said crisply. "But we need a decision now. Do we deny the pregnancy? Downplay the relationship? Or lean into it?"
Julian didn't flinch. "We don't lie."
"Fine. Then we craft a narrative. One that explains why a billionaire CEO is suddenly playing house with an unknown woman."
Clara bit her lip.
Unknown woman.
It was true.
She wasn't a socialite. Or an actress. Or a daughter of anyone important.
She was just… Clara.
Pregnant. Tired. And now very, very visible.
"What kind of narrative?" she asked, finally speaking.
Simone turned to her. "A quiet relationship, kept private to protect the baby. You were engaged for months in secret. The world will eat it up if it looks like a romance."
Clara blinked. "But it wasn't a romance. It was a—"
"Marriage contract," Julian finished, looking at her. "But it doesn't have to stay that way."
Her heart skipped.
"What do you mean?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable.
And then he turned to Simone. "Release a formal statement. Nothing too flashy. Just enough to say she's my wife. Official. Legal. Mine."
Simone nodded, already typing.
Julian walked over to Clara, slowly, like he didn't want to spook her.
"I know this isn't what you signed up for. But I won't let them tear you apart to get to me."
"I don't want to be your shield," she said quietly.
"You're not," he said, even quieter.
And that was the moment she realized something had shifted.
This wasn't just damage control.
This was a declaration.
From the man who once told her he didn't believe in love, didn't need it, didn't want it.
Now, he was protecting her with the full weight of his empire.
"Will I have to do interviews?" she asked after a beat.
"Only if you want to," he said. "Simone will handle the press."
"And the baby?"
"We keep that part ours. At least until we're ready."
Clara nodded, unsure if the knot in her chest was fear or relief.
Maybe both.
From the corner of the room, Mrs. Delacroix stepped in with a tray of tea.
"Would you like some chamomile, ma'am?"
Clara blinked at her.
Ma'am.
She was still getting used to that.
She took the cup with a small, grateful smile.
Behind them, Simone's phone buzzed again.
She glanced at the screen, then turned to Julian with narrowed eyes.
"Allegra Voss is digging deeper. She just sent out a request for Clara's old freelance contracts and rental records. She wants a scandal."
Clara's fingers tightened on her teacup.
Julian's jaw went hard.
"Tell her," he said, voice sharp, "that if she steps one inch over the line, I'll bury her career in NDAs and lawsuits."
"And if she doesn't step over?" Simone asked.
Julian didn't blink. "Then I'll give her a bigger story. One she won't survive."