The sound of Brooklyn's phone vibrating against the marble nightstand yanked her from sleep.
She reached out groggily, the silk sheets slipping off her bare shoulder. The room was dimly lit by the early morning glow creeping through the curtains. It was too early for calls.
When she squinted at the screen, her stomach dropped.
Emmett – 3 Missed Calls. 1 New Message.
Brooklyn froze.
That name hadn't lit up her phone in almost nine months. Not since the day he walked out of her life — right after she told him she was pregnant. Back when she still had hope someone would show up for her.
Hands trembling, she tapped the message open.
> "Brooklyn… I know I don't deserve it, but please, I just need to talk. One time. Please."
Her chest tightened.
Why now?
Why after all this time?
She wrapped the sheet around herself and sat up, gripping the phone like it might bite her. Her thoughts spun like a tornado. Emmett — the father of the baby growing inside her. The same man who vanished when she needed him most.
She thought she'd buried that chapter of her life. But ghosts don't stay buried — especially not in L.A.
---
Flashback — Nine Months Ago
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
Brooklyn stood in the stairwell outside her college dorm, clutching her phone like a lifeline. Her voice had cracked when she said it, but she meant every word.
"Emmett… did you hear me?"
He finally exhaled. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
He went quiet again, and she already knew what was coming.
"I'm not ready to be a father, Brook. I don't have the money. I just got fired, and—"
She closed her eyes, pain sharp and hot in her chest.
"I didn't ask for excuses. I told you because I thought you deserved to know."
"Look, I just need time, okay? To think."
"Time?" she whispered. "You don't get to disappear on me."
But that's exactly what he did.
---
Present — The Penthouse
Brooklyn walked barefoot into the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. Her reflection stared back — tired eyes, a faint line between her brows, and lips pressed into a hard line.
This wasn't the girl Emmett abandoned.
This was Mrs. Damien Carter now — whether fake or not.
She wiped her face dry and stared at the message again.
What did he want? Closure? Forgiveness?
She hadn't even told Damien about the baby yet. That wasn't part of the deal. The contract said nothing about secrets, only rules. And rule number one was clear: Don't lie to me.
But what counted as a lie?
Not telling him felt safer.
Telling him… would change everything.
---
Later That Morning — Kitchen
Damien stood at the stove in his fitted black T-shirt, cooking eggs like he owned the world and the skillet too. Brooklyn watched him from the doorway.
"Didn't know billionaires cooked their own breakfast," she said softly.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Didn't know my wife was such a late riser."
She managed a smile and slid onto the barstool.
"You okay?" he asked, flipping a strip of bacon.
She stiffened. "Why do you ask?"
"You look like you saw a ghost."
Brooklyn lowered her gaze. "Just had a weird dream."
It wasn't a total lie.
Damien set a plate in front of her and joined her with his own. "We have a charity gala this evening. I sent your stylist the details. You'll be getting fitted by noon."
She nodded silently, chewing without tasting.
His phone buzzed.
He read the screen, typed a response, then said, "I have meetings until three. Try not to get followed by paparazzi today."
Brooklyn glanced at her phone.
Emmett's message still sat unanswered.
"I'll stay in," she lied.
---
12:45 p.m. — Coffee Shop in Mid-City
Her hoodie was pulled low over her eyes, oversized sunglasses hiding her face. She sat in the back corner of the tiny café, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm latte.
The bell chimed.
And there he was.
Emmett.
He looked thinner, older — his curls shorter, his jeans a bit worn. But the moment he saw her, he froze. And the guilt hit his face like a slap.
"Brook," he said softly.
She didn't respond.
He sat down across from her, his hands shaking slightly.
"I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I almost didn't," she replied.
"I know I don't deserve anything from you. But when I saw you in that magazine, standing next to Damien Carter… I couldn't believe it."
Brooklyn crossed her arms. "Is that why you reached out? Curiosity? Jealousy?"
"No," he said quickly. "Because I regret everything. I shouldn't have left. I was scared, broke… and stupid. But not a day has passed that I haven't thought about you. About what we—"
"Stop." Her voice trembled. "You lost the right to speak like that the moment you walked away."
Emmett looked down.
"Did you… did you keep the baby?"
Brooklyn hesitated. "That's none of your concern anymore."
"I just want to know if you're okay."
"I'm okay," she said quietly. "More than okay. And I'm not the girl you left behind anymore."
He nodded, swallowing hard.
"Just... take care of yourself, Brooklyn. You deserve more than I ever gave you."
She stood slowly. "You're right."
Then she walked out — not looking back.
---
Evening — Gala Red Carpet
The flashing lights were blinding. Reporters swarmed them as Damien and Brooklyn stepped out of the car, dressed in a midnight blue gown and custom Armani suit.
Damien leaned in. "Smile. The world is watching."
She did.
But inside, her heart was rattled.
They posed for photos. Smiled. Laughed. He held her waist, whispered polite things. But every time a camera flashed, she feared someone had caught her at the café earlier.
One reporter stepped forward. "Mrs. Carter — is it true you were seen in Mid-City today? With a man who wasn't your husband?"
Brooklyn froze.
Damien turned his head sharply.
"What the hell is this?" he murmured under his breath.
"I—" she began.
"We'll take no more questions," Damien cut in smoothly, guiding her inside with a hand on her back.
But she could feel the tension radiating off him.
---
Back at the Penthouse
The moment they stepped inside, Damien loosened his tie and turned on her.
"Tell me the truth. Were you with someone?"
Brooklyn hesitated.
Damien's voice hardened. "Don't lie to me."
She took a breath. "It was my ex."
His jaw clenched. "Why?"
"I needed to close a door."
"Did he touch you?"
"No."
"Are you hiding something else?"
Her throat tightened.
"I just wanted to see if I felt anything. And I didn't."
Damien studied her. "Next time you sneak around, make sure TMZ isn't nearby."
She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."
He stepped closer. "Whatever game you're playing, Brooklyn, stop. I need you focused. Present. No distractions."
She looked up at him, lips trembling.
"There are some things I haven't told you," she said, her voice barely audible.
He raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
She opened her mouth.
Then shut it.
"Not yet," she whispered.
Damien's gaze darkened.
"Then don't make me regret choosing you."
He walked away.
And Brooklyn stood in the silence, hand protectively resting over her stomach — the secret still safe, but only just.