Chapter 5 The Curse Child

# Chapter 5 — The Curse Child

Three months had passed since the pool incident. Iris had been arrested, charged with attempted murder, and denied bail after Victor provided evidence of her earlier attempts on Damien's life. Juliette had disappeared to Europe, her role in separating us at birth under investigation by authorities. The media frenzy had eventually died down, replaced by newer scandals among the elite.

And somehow, impossibly, Damien and I had found something real amid the chaos.

I stood on the balcony of the penthouse—our penthouse now—watching the sunset paint Manhattan in gold. My hand drifted unconsciously to my abdomen, still flat but harboring a secret I'd confirmed just that morning.

"Beautiful view," Damien's voice came from behind me as his arms encircled my waist. He pressed a kiss to my neck, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

"The most expensive view in New York, or so I'm told," I replied, leaning back against his chest.

"Worth every penny if it makes you smile like that." He turned me gently to face him. "But something else is making you smile today. You've been practically glowing since you got back from your appointment."

I took a deep breath. We hadn't planned this. Hadn't even discussed the possibility of children. Our relationship had developed so rapidly, intense circumstances compressing years of normal courtship into months of shared trauma and healing.

"I'm pregnant," I said simply.

Damien went completely still, his expression unreadable. For a terrible moment, I feared I'd misjudged everything between us.

Then he dropped to his knees before me, pressing his face against my stomach. "A baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. When he looked up, his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Our baby."

Relief washed through me. I ran my fingers through his hair. "You're happy about this?"

"Happy doesn't begin to cover it." He stood and cupped my face in his hands. "Avery, I never thought I could have this—a real family, built on truth instead of obligation or advantage." His thumbs brushed my cheeks. "I love you. I think I've loved you since you pulled me from that car."

It was the first time he'd said the words, though I'd felt them in his actions for weeks. "I love you too," I whispered back, the truth of it overwhelming.

"Marry me," he said, his eyes intense. "Not for business, not for family obligations. Just for us."

I laughed softly. "Technically, we're already engaged."

"That was a contract. This is a proposal." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple diamond ring, nothing like the ostentatious one Iris had worn. "No more pretending. No more curses. Just you and me and our baby."

Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded. "Yes."

Later that evening, we shared the news with Victor and Vivian over dinner. Vivian squealed with delight and immediately began listing potential baby names, while Victor regarded us with quiet satisfaction.

"I'm happy for you both," he said, raising his glass. "To new beginnings, untainted by old sins."

As we clinked glasses—mine filled with sparkling water instead of champagne—I felt a sense of peace I'd never known. For the first time in my life, I belonged somewhere, to someone who chose me for myself.

"Have you thought about a wedding date?" Vivian asked, already typing notes into her phone. "Something small and intimate would be perfect. Nothing like the cathedral disaster."

"Soon," Damien said, his hand finding mine under the table. "I don't want to wait."

Victor nodded approvingly. "Wise decision. The merger papers will need to be redrawn now that Avery has been legally recognized as the Blackwood heir."

"This isn't about the merger anymore," Damien said firmly. "Business and personal remain separate from now on."

Victor studied his son with newfound respect. "As you wish."

That night, lying in Damien's arms, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps the curse had been broken—that love, real love, had conquered the demons haunting both our families.

How wrong I was.

The problems began subtly. Anonymous deliveries of black roses. Baby clothes left on our doorstep, cut to shreds. Then the threatening notes: "Spawn of the cursed will never breathe."

Damien doubled security, installed new systems, even moved us temporarily to a different property. But the threats followed.

"It has to be Iris," I said one night as Damien paced our bedroom. "She must have someone helping her from the outside."

"She's in maximum security with no visitors except her lawyer," he replied, frustration evident in his voice. "And I've had him investigated thoroughly."

"Then Juliette?"

"Monitored in Switzerland. Hasn't left her chalet in weeks."

I placed my hands protectively over my growing belly. At four months, the pregnancy was becoming visible, our child making its presence known. "Then who?"

Damien sat beside me, taking my hands in his. "We'll figure it out. In the meantime, I want you to consider moving to the Hamptons estate until the baby is born. It's more secure, isolated."

I shook my head firmly. "I won't be driven into hiding. Besides, running never solved anything. Whoever is doing this would just follow us there."

His expression softened with admiration. "You're the strongest person I know."

"I had to be." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "But I'm tired of looking over my shoulder, Damien. Let's just get married. Tomorrow. No announcements, no guests except Victor and Vivian. Just us."

He kissed my forehead. "Tomorrow it is."

We married the next day in the judge's chambers, a simple ceremony that felt more genuine than any cathedral spectacle could have. Vivian served as my witness, Victor as Damien's. The relief I felt when the judge pronounced us husband and wife was palpable—as if by making our union official, we'd somehow fortified ourselves against the darkness circling us.

That night, we celebrated with a quiet dinner at home. As Vivian and Victor prepared to leave, an urgent call came in from security.

"Sir," the head of security said, his voice tight. "We've intercepted a package addressed to Ms.—Mrs. Cross. You should see this."

The package contained a sonogram image—not mine—with a note: "My baby deserved life too."

Damien's face drained of color. "What is this?"

"I don't know," I whispered, staring at the image. "This isn't my sonogram."

Victor took the image, examining it carefully. "The date on this is from three months ago."

"Iris," Damien breathed. "She was pregnant?"

The realization hit me like a physical blow. "She said something at the wedding. That she had your child too. I thought she was lying."

Vivian pulled out her phone. "I'll call the prison, find out if she received medical care."

The confirmation came an hour later. Iris had indeed been pregnant when arrested but had reportedly miscarried in her second month of detention.

"This changes things," Victor said grimly. "If she blames you for losing her child..."

"She's even more dangerous than we thought," Damien finished.

That night, I couldn't sleep. The image of that sonogram haunted me, as did the thought of Iris, alone in a cell, losing a child—Damien's child. Despite everything she'd done, that pain was something I could understand.

Damien found me on the balcony at dawn, wrapped in a blanket against the autumn chill.

"You should be resting," he said softly, joining me.

"I keep thinking about her," I admitted. "About her baby. Was it really yours?"

He sighed heavily. "Timing makes it possible. We were still together when she faked her death."

"And now she's lost everything—her identity, her freedom, her child." I turned to him. "No wonder she hates me so much."

"Don't," he said firmly. "Don't let her make you feel responsible. Iris made her choices long before you entered the picture."

"But—"

"No buts." He placed his hand on my stomach, where our baby had just delivered a strong kick. "We focus on our family now. On keeping you both safe."

Two weeks later, I woke to find Damien already gone, a note explaining he had an early meeting. I spent the morning reviewing Blackwood Shipping documents—still adjusting to my role as the company's rightful owner—when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

"I know about the twins."

My blood ran cold. We hadn't told anyone that yesterday's ultrasound had revealed I was carrying twins. Not even Victor or Vivian knew yet.

Before I could call Damien, another text arrived: "Beach house. Come alone or they die first."

Attached was a photo of Damien, unconscious and bound to a chair, in what appeared to be our rarely-used beach house in the Hamptons.

Fear and fury warred within me. I knew I should call security, that going alone was exactly what I shouldn't do. But the image of Damien, helpless and bleeding, overrode all rational thought.

I left a note for Vivian, who was due to visit that afternoon, took a gun from Damien's safe, and ordered a car.

The beach house stood isolated on a private stretch of shoreline, waves crashing against the rocks below. As I approached, the front door stood ajar, swaying slightly in the sea breeze.

"Damien?" I called, the gun steady in my hand despite my racing heart.

"In here, sister dear."

I followed Iris's voice to the sunroom overlooking the ocean. She sat calmly in a wicker chair, wearing a red dress that stretched tight over her own pregnant belly.

My mind struggled to process what I was seeing. "You're still pregnant."

She smiled, running her hands over her rounded abdomen. "Did you really think I'd let them take my baby? My insurance policy? My last piece of Damien?"

"Where is he?" I demanded, raising the gun.

"Oh, put that away. He's fine. For now." She gestured to a tablet on the table beside her, showing security camera footage of Damien in a locked room, unconscious but breathing. "Just sedated. Very expensive drugs from Juliette's private pharmacist."

"What do you want, Iris?"

"What I've always wanted." She stood with surprising grace for someone at least six months pregnant. "My life back. My inheritance. My child's birthright."

"You tried to kill Damien," I reminded her. "You tried to kill me. Multiple times. There's no coming back from that."

"Details," she waved dismissively. "All that matters is blood. And soon, there will be two Cross heirs." She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "I thought, why fight over one company when our children could each have one? Your twins get Cross Industries. My baby gets Blackwood Shipping. Perfectly fair."

The casual way she discussed our children as business assets chilled me. "You're insane."

"I'm practical." She moved to the bar and poured herself a glass of water. "The curse stops with us, Avery. Our children will be cousins, allies instead of enemies. All you have to do is sign over Blackwood to my child's trust."

"And if I refuse?"

Her smile turned cold. "Then I finish what I started with Damien, and you get to watch before joining him."

I kept the gun trained on her, mind racing for a solution. "How did you even get out of prison?"

"Money opens all doors. Juliette may hate me, but she hates you more. Amazing what spite can accomplish." She gestured to the papers on the coffee table. "Now sign. My patience has limits."

As I pretended to consider the documents, movement in the doorway caught my attention. Damien, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead but very much conscious, signaled silently for me to keep Iris talking.

"How do I know your baby is even Damien's?" I asked, stepping to block her view of the door.

Fury flashed in her eyes. "Because unlike you, I didn't trap a man with pregnancy. He loved me first."

"Did he?" I challenged. "Or were you just a convenient merger?"

With a scream of rage, Iris lunged at me. I sidestepped, and she stumbled forward, off-balance with her pregnant belly. As she fell toward the glass coffee table, Damien rushed in, catching her before she hit the ground.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked, struggling in his grip.

"Stop fighting," he ordered. "Think of your baby."

At the mention of her child, Iris went still, tears suddenly streaming down her face. "My baby is all I have left," she whispered. "You took everything else."

Police sirens wailed in the distance—Vivian must have found my note and called for help.

"It's over, Iris," Damien said quietly. "No more running. No more revenge."

As the police led Iris away, she turned to me one final time. "Look at my belly," she hissed. "Look closely. There's something you should know."

Before I could respond, the officers had her in the squad car. Damien pulled me into his arms, his heartbeat strong against my ear.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his hands moving to my belly. "Both of you?"

"We're fine," I assured him. "But Damien, she's really pregnant. How is that possible if she was in prison?"

His expression darkened. "I don't know. But we'll figure it out."

Later that night, as we lay in bed, exhausted from giving statements to the police, I couldn't shake Iris's final words. What did she want me to see about her pregnancy?

I gasped suddenly, sitting upright.

"What is it?" Damien asked, instantly alert. "The babies?"

"No, they're fine." I turned to him, realization dawning. "Iris's belly. When she fell forward, I saw something. A surgical scar, fresh."

His brow furrowed. "What are you saying?"

"She said my baby is all she has left." My hands went protectively to my abdomen. "Damien... I think she tried to take one of our twins."