Chapter 4 The Fake Heiress's Real Secret

The fallout from the gala was immediate and intense. #HeliasVsLaurent dominated social media, with the public firmly divided between Team Sophia and Team Nora. The documentary's ratings soared, making it the most-watched reality program in Osirian history.

"They love you," Miranda informed Nora over breakfast, three days after the gala. "Your approval ratings have never been higher."

Damian, reviewing contracts at the other end of the table, glanced up. "And the board?"

"Satisfied. Your grandfather's lawyers have confirmed you're meeting all conditions of the will."

Nora pushed her food around her plate, still processing the shift in her relationship with Damian. Since the night of the gala, something had changed between them—small touches that lingered, conversations that stretched into the night, moments when she caught him watching her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.

"There's something else," Miranda continued, her tone shifting. "Vogue Osiria wants you for their cover story. 'The Real Nora Helios.'"

Nora froze. "They want to interview me? About my past?"

"It's a tremendous opportunity," Miranda pressed. "Humanizing, sympathetic. The public is curious about you."

"I'll think about it," Nora replied, avoiding Damian's gaze.

Later, alone in the garden, she found herself staring at her phone, thumb hovering over an email notification: "Exclusive Offer from Osirian Daily—Your Story, Your Truth."

"Bad news?" Damian's voice startled her.

She quickly locked her screen. "Just work emails."

He settled beside her on the bench, closer than necessary. "Miranda says you're hesitant about the Vogue piece."

"I'm not ready to have my past dissected for public consumption again."

"You don't have to do it."

She looked at him, surprised. "But the documentary, the public image—"

"Can continue without exposing wounds that haven't healed." His hand covered hers, warm and steady. "Some things can remain private, even in our situation."

The genuine concern in his voice made something twist in her chest. This wasn't the cold businessman who had proposed their arrangement four months ago. This was someone else—someone who saw her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His thumb traced circles on her wrist, sending shivers up her arm. "For what?"

"For seeing me as a person, not just a contract."

His eyes darkened as they held hers. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her—properly this time, not for cameras or show. She found herself leaning toward him, drawn by something stronger than reason.

His phone shattered the moment, vibrating insistently. With visible reluctance, he checked the screen and stood. "Board meeting. I have to go."

As he walked away, Nora wondered if she had imagined the regret in his eyes.

---

The next morning, Nora woke to her phone exploding with notifications. Heart racing, she opened the first message—a link to the Osirian Daily's front page:

"EXCLUSIVE: THE TRUTH BEHIND NORA BELMONT—CALCULATED DECEPTION FROM CRADLE TO ALTAR"

The article was devastating—detailed accounts of her childhood, interviews with former Belmont staff claiming she had always known she wasn't the real heiress, allegations that she had deliberately cultivated her position in the family knowing she was an impostor.

Worse, it contained private details only someone close to the situation could have known—including excerpts from her personal journal during the DNA test scandal.

Her phone rang—Damian. With shaking hands, she declined the call. Then another notification: Lily Belmont had given an "emotional interview" about being "displaced by a calculating pretender" for twenty years.

Within hours, the story was everywhere. Brands began publicly distancing themselves from her. Social media filled with hashtags: #FakeHeiressFakeWife and #HeliasHoax. The documentary's production company issued a statement "reevaluating their partnership" with the couple.

Nora remained locked in her room, ignoring the increasingly urgent knocks from Damian's staff. By evening, her phone displayed missed calls from Damian in the double digits.

Finally, a key turned in her lock. Damian stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous.

"You've been avoiding me."

She turned away. "You've seen the news. Your grandfather's lawyers must be thrilled—the perfect excuse to invalidate our marriage and your inheritance."

"Is that what you think I care about right now?" He crossed the room in three strides, forcing her to look at him. "Do you think I give a damn about what those vultures are saying?"

"You should. Your company's stock dropped eight points today because of me."

"To hell with the stock!" His voice rose uncharacteristically. "Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"To spare you having to fire me yourself!" She pulled away from him. "The contract is obviously void now. Public opinion has turned. I'm a liability."

His jaw tightened. "Is that all you think this is? A contract?"

"Isn't it?" She challenged, even as her heart raced at his proximity. "You needed a wife for a year. I needed money and a fresh start. Those were the terms."

"The terms have changed."

"What does that mean?"

Instead of answering, he pulled out his tablet and opened an email. "This came from my legal team an hour ago. A dissolution agreement, citing 'irreparable damage to the Helios brand' from your 'fraudulent past.'"

Nora felt her chest tighten. "I understand. When do I need to leave?"

Damian stared at her for a long moment, something fierce and unreadable in his eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he tossed the tablet onto the bed.

"You don't."

Before she could process his words, he seized the dissolution agreement and ripped it in half, then quarters, his movements controlled but forceful.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Making a choice." He dropped the torn papers to the floor. "Your past—what you did or didn't know, who you were born as—I don't care."

"Damian—"

"No." He stepped closer, cupping her face in his hands with unexpected gentleness. "Listen to me. Before you, my life was a series of transactions. Everything measured, calculated, controlled. Then you crashed into it with your defiance and your strength and your damned integrity, and nothing has been the same."

Her breath caught as his thumb traced her cheekbone. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I don't want a contract anymore." His voice dropped, intimate and raw. "I want you. The real you—not the performance for cameras or the society pages."

"You don't even know the real me," she whispered, even as she leaned into his touch.

"I know enough." His forehead rested against hers. "I know you cry at dog commercials but faced down Sophia without flinching. I know you take your coffee with too much sugar and stay up reading history books until dawn. I know you're the strongest person I've ever met."

Tears pricked at her eyes. "And if the board forces you to choose? Between me and your inheritance?"

His answer was to close the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that held nothing back—no cameras, no audience, just the raw truth of whatever had been growing between them these past months.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, he held her gaze. "Let them try."

The certainty in his voice should have reassured her. Instead, it terrified her. This wasn't supposed to happen—she wasn't supposed to matter to him, and he certainly wasn't supposed to matter to her.

"I need time," she said, stepping back. "This is too fast."

Confusion crossed his face. "Too fast? We've been living together for months."

"Playing roles! This—" she gestured between them "—is different. It's real, and I'm not ready."

"Nora—"

"Please." She held up a hand. "The media storm, my past being dragged up again... I need space to think."

Hurt flashed in his eyes before his expression shuttered. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

As he turned to leave, she called after him. "What about the contract? The documentary?"

He paused at the door. "We'll continue as agreed. In public, nothing changes."

"And in private?"

His eyes met hers one last time, filled with an emotion she wasn't ready to name. "That's up to you."

After he left, Nora sank onto the bed, fingers touching her lips where she could still feel his kiss. She had come into this arrangement seeking financial security and a fresh start. She hadn't counted on finding something far more complicated—and far more dangerous to her heart.

Outside her window, camera flashes illuminated the night as paparazzi gathered at the gates, hungry for the next chapter in the saga of Osiria's most controversial couple. But the real story—the one unfolding behind closed doors—was one she wasn't sure either of them was prepared to face.