Chapter 6 She Bites Back
Trust Merrick? The very idea seemed absurd. Yet in the days following our confrontation with Desmond, I found myself gravitating toward him, drawn by a shared sense of being pawns in a larger game. We began meeting secretly—in the garden after dark, in quiet corners of the library, once even slipping away to a café across town where no one would recognize us.
During these stolen moments, Merrick revealed more about his past: his adoption after his parents' deaths, Desmond's methodical grooming of him to become the perfect heir, the psychological manipulation that had shaped his worldview.
"He would test me constantly," Merrick explained during one of our clandestine meetings. "Create scenarios where I'd have to choose between emotional connection and strategic advantage. If I chose connection, there were consequences."
"What kind of consequences?" I asked, horrified despite myself.
His expression darkened. "The kind that teach a child that vulnerability is weakness, and weakness is unacceptable in a Doyle."
The more I learned, the more the cold, calculating façade Merrick presented to the world made sense. It wasn't his natural state—it was armor, protection against Desmond's manipulation.
But could I trust this newfound vulnerability, or was it just another layer of deception?
I decided to confide in the one person I still trusted implicitly.
---
"You're developing feelings for him," Rachel accused as we sat in her apartment, away from the watchful eyes at the Crawford-Doyle household.
"I'm not," I protested, though without much conviction. "I'm just... understanding him better."
Rachel gave me a skeptical look. "Siena, I've known you since we were ten. This is your pattern—you always want to fix broken things."
"He's not broken," I said automatically, then sighed at her knowing expression. "Fine, maybe he is. But that doesn't mean I have feelings for him."
"You're carrying his child and spending every free moment with him," she pointed out. "If that's not feelings, what is it?"
I didn't have a good answer. The truth was complicated—a tangle of distrust, attraction, shared purpose, and something deeper I wasn't ready to name.
"I need a way out," I said instead, changing the subject. "A way to protect myself and the baby if things go wrong."
Rachel's expression turned serious. "I might have something. My cousin Callum—he works at The Boston Chronicle. If Merrick or Desmond tried anything, having the press on your side could be powerful leverage."
The suggestion sparked an idea—not just protection, but a potential offensive move. "Could Callum meet with us? Discreetly?"
Rachel nodded slowly. "I'll set it up."
---
Callum Harris turned out to be a sharp-eyed reporter with a reputation for exposing corporate scandals. We met at his apartment, where I explained the situation—the manipulated pregnancy, Merrick's confession about the inheritance, Desmond's thinly veiled threats.
"This is explosive," Callum said when I finished, looking between Rachel and me. "The Doyle family has carefully cultivated their public image for decades. This kind of scandal would devastate them."
"I don't want to use it unless necessary," I clarified. "It's insurance, not revenge."
"Smart," he nodded. "But you'll need proof. Your word against theirs won't be enough, especially with their resources."
I hesitated, then reached into my purse and pulled out my phone. "I've been recording conversations. With Merrick, with Desmond. It's not much, but..."
Callum's eyes widened as he listened to a clip of Merrick explaining the trust fund's blood relative clause.
"This is a start," he confirmed. "But we need more—something that clearly shows coercion or manipulation."
"I'll get it," I promised, a plan already forming in my mind.
---
That night, I invited Merrick to my room under the pretense of discussing nursery plans. My phone was hidden but recording, positioned to capture our conversation.
"You seem tense," Merrick observed as he entered, his eyes scanning the room with habitual caution.
"Just tired," I lied, gesturing for him to sit beside me on the small sofa by the window. "The pregnancy is taking a lot out of me."
His expression softened with what appeared to be genuine concern. "Have you been to the doctor? Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine with the baby," I assured him, touched despite myself by his concern. "I'm just... worried about the future."
"The future?" he prompted when I didn't continue.
This was my opening. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to manipulate the conversation toward the evidence I needed.
"I've been thinking about what happens after the baby is born," I began carefully. "About how you've orchestrated this whole situation to secure your inheritance."
Merrick's expression closed off immediately. "I've already explained that—"
"I know," I interrupted. "And I understand why you did it. But I need to be sure about what happens next. What your expectations are regarding me, regarding our child."
He studied me for a long moment, suspicion evident in his eyes. "Why now? What's changed?"
"Nothing's changed," I insisted, heart racing. "I just need clarity. If this is purely transactional for you—"
"It's not," he cut in sharply. "Not anymore."
I forced myself to maintain eye contact, to push further. "Then what is it? Because from where I'm sitting, you've manipulated me from the beginning. You tracked me to The Velvet Room that night. You ensured I got pregnant. You orchestrated the paternity test, prepared marriage documents—all without my knowledge or consent."
I was exaggerating, twisting his previous confessions into something more sinister, and I could see in his eyes that he knew it.
"That's not an accurate representation of what happened," he said carefully.
"Isn't it?" I challenged, hating myself for the strategy but committed to getting what I needed. "You admitted you went to The Velvet Room specifically to target me. You've been playing a long game from the start."
Anger flashed across his face. "Is that what you think? That I'm some mastermind who planned every detail of this situation?"
"The evidence suggests exactly that," I pressed, praying the recording was picking up his rising voice.
Merrick stood abruptly, pacing to the window and back. "Fine. You want the truth? Yes, I tracked your movements. Yes, I orchestrated our meeting. Yes, I saw an opportunity with your pregnancy and took advantage of it." His voice hardened with each admission. "I needed that inheritance secured, and you were the perfect solution to my problem."
My heart sank even as I recognized I'd gotten exactly what I wanted—a clear confession, perfect for leverage.
"So it was all manipulation," I said softly, the hurt in my voice not entirely feigned.
Something shifted in his expression then—a flash of regret quickly masked. "It started that way," he admitted. "But it's evolved into something... more complicated."
"Complicated how?"
He moved back toward me, kneeling in front of where I sat. "I didn't expect to care about you, Siena. That wasn't part of the plan."
The sincerity in his eyes was devastating. For a moment, I almost abandoned my scheme, almost reached out to touch his face and confess what I was doing. But the memory of his earlier manipulations, of Desmond's threats, steeled my resolve.
"I want to believe you," I whispered, the conflict in my voice genuine. "But how can I trust anything you say?"
Merrick took my hands in his, his touch gentle. "I don't expect trust. I haven't earned it. But I am asking for a chance to prove that what's between us now is real."
The moment stretched between us, charged with unspoken possibilities. Then, following an impulse I couldn't entirely explain, I leaned forward and kissed him.
Unlike our previous kiss, this one quickly deepened into something urgent and consuming. His hands moved to my waist, drawing me closer as mine tangled in his hair. When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I saw naked desire in his eyes—and something else, something that looked dangerously like affection.
"Stay with me tonight," I murmured, part of the plan but also, treacherously, something I genuinely wanted.
Uncertainty flashed across his face. "Siena, are you sure? After everything we just discussed—"
"I'm sure," I interrupted, hating my duplicity even as I committed to it. "Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever truths we face... tonight I want to remember being with you."
His response was to kiss me again, more tenderly this time. What followed was both part of my strategy and a surrender to feelings I'd been fighting since the beginning—his hands exploring my body with practiced precision, my gasps as he discovered sensitive places, our bodies moving together in a dance that felt both new and hauntingly familiar.
Afterward, as he slept beside me, I slipped from the bed and retrieved my phone, stopping the recording with trembling fingers. The evidence was secure—his confessions of manipulation captured clearly, ready to be used if necessary.
Yet as I looked at his sleeping form, vulnerability etched into features usually so controlled, guilt twisted in my stomach. I was fighting manipulation with manipulation, lies with lies. What did that make me?
---
The next morning, I met Callum at a coffee shop near his office, handing over the recording with a sense of both triumph and shame.
"This is perfect," he confirmed after listening. "Combined with the other clips, we have enough to run a damning exposé on the Doyles. The heir to the empire manipulating a pregnancy to secure his inheritance? It's the scandal of the year."
"Remember, this is insurance," I emphasized. "We only use it if necessary."
Callum's smile was sharp with journalistic hunger. "Of course. But if we do need to move forward, this will destroy the Doyle family's reputation overnight."
As I left the meeting, a sense of power surged through me—for the first time since discovering my pregnancy, I held the upper hand. I had protection against whatever Merrick or Desmond might plan next.
What I didn't realize was that in the world of strategic manipulation, I was still an amateur playing against masters.
---
One week later, I woke to the sound of my phone exploding with notifications. Bleary-eyed, I opened the first message—a link from Rachel with the frantic text: "TURN ON THE NEWS NOW."
My blood ran cold as I clicked the link to find the headline: "DOYLE HEIR VICTIM OF CALCULATED SEDUCTION SCHEME: Exclusive Interview Reveals Manipulation by Pregnant Girlfriend."
The article featured quotes from Merrick, carefully framed to paint him as the victim of my scheming. According to the piece, I had targeted him specifically for his wealth and position, deliberately becoming pregnant to force a relationship.
More devastating were the audio clips—my voice, selectively edited from private conversations, making it sound like I was the manipulator all along.
"I need to ensure my future..." my voice said in one clip, cut off before the context that would have clarified my meaning.
"You're perfect for what I need," said another, extracted from a completely different conversation about nursery paint colors.
As I scrolled through the article in horror, my phone rang. It was Rachel.
"He beat you to the punch," she said without preamble. "Callum says someone hacked his laptop and stole all our evidence. They used it to craft their own narrative."
"How?" I whispered, shock giving way to fury. "How did they know?"
"I don't know, but it's everywhere, Siena. Every major outlet is running with it."
As if to confirm her words, my phone buzzed with a text from my mother: "Come downstairs. Now."
In the living room, I found my mother and Desmond watching a news broadcast where a solemn-faced Merrick was giving a press conference.
"I deeply cared for Siena," he was saying, his expression the perfect picture of heartbroken dignity. "To discover that our relationship, our child, was part of a calculated plan to secure financial gain... it's devastating."
"You snake," I hissed at the screen, hands clenching into fists. "You absolute snake."
Desmond turned to me, his smile cold and triumphant. "Did you really think you could outmaneuver us, Ms. Crawford? We've been playing this game since before you were born."
My mother wouldn't meet my eyes, her face a mask of embarrassment and anger. "How could you bring this scandal on our family, Siena? On the eve of my wedding?"
"Me?" I laughed incredulously. "They're the ones lying! They've twisted everything!"
"The public doesn't care about the truth," Desmond said dismissively. "They care about the story. And the story is now firmly established—the innocent heir manipulated by the calculating gold-digger."
On the screen, a reporter asked Merrick if he planned to seek custody of the child.
"Despite everything," he replied, his voice catching perfectly, "I still want to be part of my child's life. I only hope Siena will allow that."
The performance was flawless—vulnerable yet dignified, wounded yet forgiving. The comments scrolling across social media already showed the public rallying behind him, condemning me as a heartless schemer.
As the reality of my situation sank in, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. When I opened it, a simple message appeared:
"I warned you not to play games you don't understand. Meet me in the garden house in one hour if you want to discuss damage control. - M"
I looked up at the television where Merrick was still speaking, his expression grave and sincere as he fielded questions about our relationship. The perfect victim, the wronged party, the man who had turned my own weapon against me with devastating precision.
In that moment, I understood what Rachel had tried to warn me about—I had been playing chess with someone who had mastered three-dimensional warfare. And now, with my reputation in tatters and public opinion turned violently against me, I had little choice but to face the architect of my downfall and discover what price he would demand for my redemption.
