The Storm Breaks

I almost made it.

Three weeks passed without mistakes. My plan was running smoothly. I filled my days with extra tutoring sessions, worked double shifts at Romano’s that left me with almost no time to sleep, and kept a pile of scholarship applications for single mothers under my mattress. I even started taking pregnancy vitamins, mixing them in with my normal pills. Zoe knew and worried sometimes, but I tried not to let it show too much.

The morning sickness had become something I could manage. Crackers before getting out of bed, ginger tea between classes, bathroom breaks timed during lectures. I handled it the way I handled everything quietly, carefully, and with Zoe’s steady support when I needed it most.

“You’re glowing,” Mom said during our weekly video call, her voice weak but warm from her hospital bed. “Are you using a new face cream?”

I forced a laugh, hoping the laptop camera didn’t catch the guilt in my eyes. “Just the natural glow of too much school stress.”

“Don’t work too hard, sweetheart. You’re already doing more than enough.”

If only she knew. But I’d gotten good at dividing myself into pieces, being exactly what each person needed me to be. Strong daughter. Responsible sister. Perfect student. And now secretly ,the woman carrying Alexander Stone’s child while he prepared to marry someone else.

It was Tuesday morning when my carefully built world shattered.

I had just left British Literature, running through my afternoon tutoring schedule in my head, when my phone started buzzing nonstop. Call after call. Text after text. I frowned, expecting the usual mix of clients and work reminders.

Instead, Zoe’s name flashed across the screen.

“Maya, where are you?” Her voice was breathless, panicked.

“Just left Morrison Hall. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t go back to the dorm. Don’t go anywhere crowded. Find somewhere private and call me back.”

“Zoe, you’re scaring me”

“Maya, it’s everywhere. The photos, the story… Oh God, how did this happen?”

The line went dead.

I froze in the middle of campus, students brushing past me like water around a rock. Photos? What photos?

With trembling hands, I opened my browser and typed in my name.

The first headline made my knees weaken:

STONE HEIR’S SECRET BABY SCANDAL

Beneath it, a grainy hotel security shot: Alex leaving the elevator, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess, watch in hand, looking like a man who’d had a very good night.

Timestamp: 6:47 a.m.

The second photo was worse me, wearing Zoe’s black dress, stepping into the same elevator twelve hours earlier.

Timestamp: 7:23 p.m.

A gossip blogger, Marcus Chen, had connected the dots that would unravel my life:

Stone heir Alexander spotted leaving mystery suite after overnight stay. Same evening, unidentified woman enters hotel. Sources confirm woman is Maya Collins, 22, Westfield University student. Collins recently seen visiting Hartford General’s maternity ward. Connect the dots, people…

My phone lit up with notifications,T*****r mentions, I*******m tags, F******k messages from people I hadn’t heard from in years. The story was spreading like fire.

I ducked into an empty classroom, heart slamming so hard it hurt. This couldn’t be real. Those photos were weeks old,who had held onto them, and why release them now?

The phone rang. Unknown number.

“Maya Collins? This is Jennifer Walsh from Entertainment Tonight. We’d love to hear your side”

I hung up. It rang again.

“Ms. Collins, David Morrison from People—”

I switched it off, but the damage was already everywhere.

Through the window, I saw news vans rolling up outside campus. Reporters were spilling onto the quad with cameras and microphones.

A campus alert buzzed through anyway:

Media presence on campus. Avoid main entrances. Contact police if harassed.

They were here. For me.

I slipped out the back door, but even the quiet paths weren’t safe. A photographer jumped from behind the library.

“Maya! Maya Collins! How long have you been involved with Alexander Stone?”

I ran.

By the time I reached my car, three more cameras had caught me. My phone showed forty-seven missed calls.

I drove to the only place I could think of;St. Catherine’s Chapel, the tiny church near campus. Silence. Stained glass. Empty pews.

But my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I answered only when Jake’s name lit the screen.

“Maya, what the hell is going on?” His voice shook with fear. “Reporters are calling the house. They’re asking Mom about you and some billionaire. She’s freaking out.”

My heart broke. “Where is she?”

“In bed. The nurse gave her something, but Maya… she keeps asking what you did. She thinks you’re in trouble.”

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to the wooden pew. My sick mother didn’t deserve this.

“Jake, listen to me. Take care of Mom. Don’t let her see the news. Don’t let her go online. Promise me.”

“Maya… are you really pregnant?”

The air in the chapel became s

“Yes.”

“And the father… it’s really that Stone guy?”

“Yes.”

Silence. Then, softer, stronger than his fifteen years: “Are you okay?”

The question cracked me open. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No. Stay with Mom. I’ll handle this.”

But even as I said it, I didn’t know if it was true.

The reporters weren’t leaving. The scandal was too big,that I couldn’t handle,rich heir, poor student, secret baby. The story told itself, and it painted me as the villain.

Another call. Unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered.

“Maya Collins? Elena Rodriguez, Channel 7. I know you’re overwhelmed, but right now people are calling you a gold-digger. Don’t you want the chance to tell your truth?”

Gold-digger. The word burned through me. I never asked him for anything.

“Then say that. If you stay silent, others will tell your story for you.”

Her words echoed long after she hung up.

And she was right. Someone had told Marcus Chen to connect me to Alex, even to the maternity ward. Someone who knew details that only a handful of people could know.

The last call came from Westfield University.

“Ms. Collins, this is Dean Morrison’s office. The Dean would like to meet regarding the media attention on your… situation. Can you come at three?”

My scholarship. My future. Everything was suddenly in danger.

As I sat in the chapel, colored light washing over me, one thought chilled me more than the flashing headlines and snapping cameras:

Someone had betrayed me. Someone had sold my secret.

But who-and why?