Chapter 7 The Deepest Betrayal

# Chapter 7: The Deepest Betrayal

In the weeks following Victor's downfall, life took on a strange new rhythm. Damon was busier than ever, restructuring his newly independent companies, while my career at The Metropolitan had reached unprecedented heights. My byline now carried weight—people remembered the journalist who had exposed Victor Whitlock and won the heart of his enigmatic son.

But something was wrong. I'd been feeling off for days—exhausted, nauseated, emotional. At first, I blamed stress and lack of sleep. Then, one morning as I stood in Damon's marble bathroom, staring at two pink lines on a plastic stick, reality crashed down around me.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my mind, terrifying and surreal. A baby. Damon's baby.

I sank down onto the cold tile floor, test still clutched in my hand. How had this happened? We'd been careful—mostly. There was that night after the shareholder meeting, when passion had overwhelmed caution. And the morning after he'd returned from his disappearance...

My hand drifted to my still-flat stomach. A life growing inside me. A tiny being that was half me, half Damon.

Damon, who had upended entire corporations for me. Damon, whose love bordered on obsession. Damon, who had slapped Callista across the face for simply talking to me.

What kind of father would he be?

The question sent a chill down my spine. For all the intensity of our relationship, for all the passion and connection, there remained a darkness in Damon that sometimes frightened me. A possessiveness that knew no boundaries.

I couldn't tell him. Not yet. Not until I figured out what I wanted.

I hid the test at the bottom of the bathroom trash and splashed cold water on my face. By the time Damon emerged from the shower, I had composed myself.

"You look pale," he observed, wrapping a towel around his waist. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Just tired," I lied. "Big deadline today."

He studied me for a moment, his gaze penetrating. Sometimes I wondered if he could read my thoughts, see through my pretenses. But he merely kissed my forehead and moved past me to dress.

"Dinner tonight?" he asked. "I should be done around eight."

"Actually, I promised Ava I'd meet her for drinks. Girls' night."

Another lie. I needed space to think.

Damon paused in buttoning his shirt. "Ava doesn't like me."

It wasn't a question. Ava had made her reservations about our relationship clear, especially after his disappearing act.

"She's protective," I explained. "It's not personal."

"Everything about you is personal to me." He finished dressing and approached me, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. "Have fun tonight. But remember who you come home to."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a conflicting shiver of desire and unease through me.

Later that day, I sat across from Dr. Bennett, an OB-GYN recommended by a colleague at the magazine.

"You're about six weeks along," she confirmed after the examination. "Everything looks healthy so far."

Six weeks. The timing aligned with our reconciliation after his disappearance.

"And if I..." I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat. "If I wasn't sure about keeping it?"

Dr. Bennett's expression remained neutral. "That would be your decision. We could discuss options."

But even as the words left my mouth, I knew I couldn't go through with termination. Despite my fears, despite the complications, some part of me already loved this tiny life.

"I'm keeping it," I said quietly. "I'm just scared."

Her smile was kind. "That's normal. Is the father in the picture?"

"Yes." I twisted my hands in my lap. "But it's complicated."

"Relationships usually are," she replied, writing out a prescription for prenatal vitamins. "But I recommend telling him sooner rather than later. These things have a way of coming out."

She was right, of course. But every time I imagined telling Damon, my courage failed me. Not because I feared his rejection—on the contrary, I suspected he might be thrilled, might see our child as the ultimate bond between us. And that terrified me more.

A baby would tie me to Damon forever. No escape, no matter what happened between us.

Instead of meeting Ava that evening, I wandered through Central Park, trying to clear my head. The late autumn air was crisp, the trees ablaze with red and gold. Families strolled along the paths—mothers pushing strollers, fathers carrying toddlers on their shoulders.

Would that be us someday? Damon and me, walking these same paths with our child? The image was both beautiful and terrifying.

My phone buzzed with a text from Damon: "Miss you. How's Ava?"

Another wave of guilt washed over me. How long could I keep this secret? How long should I?

A week passed, then another. Morning sickness hit with a vengeance. I blamed food poisoning, stress, anything but the truth. Damon watched me with increasing concern, but didn't press—at least, not directly. Instead, he became more attentive, more present, as if sensing my withdrawal.

"Move in with me," he said one night as we lay in his bed, my head on his chest. "Officially. No more splitting time between apartments."

I tensed. "I like having my own space."

"You're barely there anymore." His fingers traced patterns on my bare shoulder. "And I want you here. With me. Always."

The word "always" hung in the air between us, heavy with implication.

"I need to think about it," I replied, knowing I was stalling.

His hand stilled. "What's going on, Emery? You've been distant for weeks. If something's wrong, just tell me."

I almost did then—almost blurted out the truth. But the moment passed, and I murmured something about work pressure instead.

Damon didn't believe me. I could tell from the way his body tensed, the slight narrowing of his eyes. But he didn't push further, and I was grateful for the reprieve.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed and the sound of Damon's voice from the living room, tense and angry. I slipped on his discarded shirt and padded quietly toward the door, pausing to listen.

"I don't care what it takes," he was saying to someone. "Find out what she's hiding."

My blood ran cold. Was he having me investigated?

"No, I want daily reports," he continued. "Her meetings, her calls, everyone she talks to."

I stepped back from the door, heart hammering. This was exactly what I feared—his need for control extending into surveillance, into invasion of my privacy.

When he returned to the bedroom minutes later, I pretended to be just waking up.

"Who were you talking to?" I asked, feigning casualness.

"Business call," he replied smoothly, but something in his eyes had changed. The warmth was gone, replaced by a calculating coolness I hadn't seen since our earliest encounters.

That afternoon, I finally met Ava for lunch, desperate to confide in someone.

"You're pregnant?" she gasped, loud enough that nearby diners turned to look. "And you haven't told him?"

"Shh!" I glanced around anxiously. "No, I haven't. I don't know how he'll react."

"He'll probably buy out an entire floor of Babies 'R' Us and hire a team of nannies before you've finished telling him." Ava took a sip of her water. "The man is obsessed with you, Em. A baby would just make him more so."

"That's what I'm afraid of." I pushed my salad around my plate. "And I think he knows I'm hiding something. This morning, I overheard him on the phone, ordering someone to track my movements."

Ava's eyes widened. "That's not normal, Emery. That's controlling and scary."

"I know." Tears threatened, and I blinked them back. Damn hormones. "But I still love him. Isn't that messed up? After everything, I still love him."

"Oh, honey." Ava reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "Love isn't the problem. It's whether this relationship is healthy for you—and for your baby."

The word "baby" made it all suddenly, viscerally real. I was going to be a mother. Damon was going to be a father. We were creating a family, ready or not.

"I need to tell him," I decided. "Tonight. No more excuses."

But when I returned to the penthouse that evening, Damon wasn't alone. A woman sat on the sofa across from him, elegant and poised, with a coldness in her eyes that reminded me of Victor.

"Emery," Damon stood as I entered. "This is Callista Reynolds."

Callista. The woman from the club. The woman Damon had slapped.

"What is she doing here?" I demanded, anger flaring.

"Ms. Reynolds came to apologize," Damon explained, his voice carefully neutral. "For her behavior at the club, and for lying to you about me."

Callista smiled thinly. "Yes. Damon and I have... cleared the air."

Something about her tone set off warning bells. She was too comfortable, too familiar with Damon. As if they shared a history I knew nothing about.

"How generous of you," I replied coldly. "But if you'll excuse us, Damon and I have something to discuss."

"Actually," Callista stood, smoothing her designer dress, "I was just telling Damon about our mutual friend. Your ex, Victor Chambers?"

My stomach dropped. "What about him?"

"He mentioned you've been in touch recently. Several meetings, in fact." Her smile was venomous. "Curious timing, given your... condition."

The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet. How did she know? I'd told no one except Ava and my doctor.

Damon's expression had gone completely blank—the mask he wore when containing extreme emotion. "What condition, Emery?"

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

"I think I'll leave you two to talk," Callista said, gathering her handbag. As she passed me, she whispered, "He deserves better than your lies."

When the door closed behind her, the silence was deafening.

"Is it true?" Damon finally asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Are you pregnant?"

I nodded, unable to form words.

"And you've been meeting with your ex."

"What? No!" I found my voice. "I haven't seen Victor in months. Callista is lying."

"Then explain why you've been sneaking around. Lying about where you're going. Hiding things from me."

"Because I was scared!" The admission burst from me. "Scared of how you'd react to the pregnancy. Scared of being trapped. Scared of your possessiveness and control!"

His eyes flashed. "If you weren't meeting Victor, where were you this afternoon?"

"With Ava! Call her and ask!"

"I don't need to call her." He pulled out his phone, showing me a photo—Ava and me at the restaurant, deep in conversation. "My security team has been watching you for weeks. Ever since you started acting strange."

Rage and betrayal coursed through me. "You had me followed? Like I'm some criminal?"

"I had you protected," he corrected coldly. "And it's a good thing I did, since you've been lying to me about something as important as our child."

Our child. The words hung in the air between us.

"How did Callista know?" I asked, suddenly realizing the implication. "About the pregnancy?"

A flicker of something—guilt?—crossed Damon's face before his expression hardened again. "My team is thorough."

"Your team accessed my medical records?" Horror washed over me. "That's illegal, Damon! That's a violation of—"

"Don't talk to me about violation," he cut in, his voice rising. "You hid my child from me. For weeks, you've been lying to my face while carrying my baby."

He advanced toward me, and I instinctively stepped back until I hit the wall. His hands came up to cage me, one on either side of my head.

"Let me be absolutely clear," he said, each word precise and deadly. "You can lie to me. You can hate me. But you will not keep my child from me."

Fear and defiance warred within me. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm stating facts." His eyes, usually so blue, had darkened to midnight. "You can stay here, where I can ensure you and the baby are safe and cared for. Or you can leave—but the child stays with me."

"That's not how this works," I whispered. "You can't just take my baby."

"Can't I?" His laugh was cold. "Do you have any idea what I'm capable of? What resources I have at my disposal?"

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You can't run from me, Emery. Not with my child. Not ever."

The threat was clear, and in that moment, I glimpsed the full extent of Damon's darkness—the lengths he would go to possess what he considered his.

"The baby isn't even born yet," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "And you're already trying to control us both."

Something flickered in his eyes—perhaps recognition of how he sounded, how far he'd pushed. He stepped back slightly, giving me room to breathe.

"I don't want to control you," he said, his tone softer but no less intense. "I want to protect you. Both of you."

He placed his hand gently on my still-flat stomach, and despite everything—the anger, the fear, the sense of violation—I couldn't bring myself to push him away.

"You can't keep things like this from me," he continued. "We're connected now, permanently. This child binds us together whether you accept it or not."

As his words sank in, I realized the terrible truth of what he was saying. There would be no clean break from Damon Whitlock. No escape. With this baby, he would be in my life forever.

"I need time," I said finally. "Space to think."

His expression darkened again. "You're not leaving."

It wasn't a request. It was a command.

"You can't hold me prisoner, Damon."

"No," he agreed, his voice dropping to that dangerous purr that both thrilled and terrified me. "But I can make it impossible for you to leave. Not by force—I would never hurt you physically. But make no mistake, Emery. You can deny me all you want, but you are mine now. You and our child both."

The possessiveness in his voice should have repulsed me. Instead, some dark part of me responded to it—the part that had been drawn to his intensity from the beginning, that craved the all-consuming nature of his devotion.

And that terrified me most of all.