CHAPTER 15: The Media Storm

I woke up to my phone exploding.

Literally hundreds of notifications. Texts. Calls. Emails. Social media mentions from accounts I'd forgotten I had.

My first instinct was to throw the phone across the room. My second was to check what was happening.

I shouldn't have looked.

The tabloid headline was plastered across my screen, Sarah having texted me a screenshot at 6 AM:

"STERLING SCANDAL: Billionaire CEO Impregnates Son's Ex-Girlfriend"

Below it, a photo. Me and Alexander leaving the building yesterday—taken from some distance but clear enough. Him with his hand on my lower back, me looking up at him. It looked intimate. Romantic. Damning.

"Sources inside Sterling Corporation confirm that Alexander Sterling, 45, is expecting a child with former employee Bella Martinez, 24, who until recently was in a relationship with Sterling's son, James Sterling, 26."

I scrolled down with shaking hands.

More photos. Me entering the building. Alexander in the lobby. A paparazzi shot of me leaving in a cab, clearly distraught.

And the comments. Oh God, the comments.

"Gold digger alert"

"Homewrecker"

"She's young enough to be his daughter"

"Poor James, betrayed by his own father"

"This is disgusting"

But also:

"Good for her, get that bag sis"

"Age is just a number"

"James Sterling is a known cheater, she upgraded"

"Alexander Sterling can get it"

My stomach churned. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.

When I emerged, Alexander was standing in my doorway, already dressed for work despite it only being seven AM. His face was grim.

"You saw."

"Hard to miss when my phone won't stop ringing."

"I'm sorry. PR is working on a statement. We'll get ahead of this."

"Get ahead of it? Alexander, they have photos. Quotes from 'inside sources.' This is everywhere."

"I know. My mother called at five-thirty this morning. She's... not pleased."

"Your mother." I sank onto the bed. "Of course. She probably thinks I'm exactly what they're saying. A gold digger who trapped her son."

"She doesn't think that."

"You're a terrible liar."

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. "She wants to meet you."

"Absolutely not."

"Bella—"

"No. I can't—I can't face your mother right now. Not with all of this."

"She's going to be the baby's grandmother. You'll have to meet her eventually."

"Eventually is not today."

My phone rang. Marcus. I answered on speaker.

"Please tell me you're okay," he said without preamble.

"Define okay."

"Bella, this is everywhere. TMZ. People. The New York Times business section. You're trending on T*****r."

"Oh God." I felt sick again.

"I'm coming over. Don't leave the apartment. Don't talk to anyone. Especially not reporters."

"I'm not leaving. Trust me."

After Marcus hung up, I looked at Alexander. "You should go to work. Do damage control."

"I'm not leaving you alone."

"I'm fine. Maria will be here soon anyway."

"Bella—"

"Please. You being here will just make it worse. If we're seen together again, it'll just fuel more speculation."

He looked torn. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. I'm cancelling my morning meetings."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do." He moved closer, crouching in front of me. "Hey. Look at me."

I met his eyes.

"This is going to get worse before it gets better. The media will dig into your past, your family, everything. They'll say terrible things. But none of it is true. None of it matters. Okay?"

"How can you say it doesn't matter? My face is plastered across every gossip site as the woman who—"

"Who what? Had a consensual relationship with a single man? Got pregnant? Those aren't crimes, Isabella."

"Tell that to T*****r."

He almost smiled. "T*****r isn't real life."

"It feels pretty real right now."

"I know. But we're going to get through this. Together."

After he left, I tried to distract myself. Shower. Breakfast. Anything to avoid looking at my phone.

It didn't work.

Marcus arrived at nine, looking lawyerly and protective.

"Okay. First things first. You need a lawyer. Not me—someone who specializes in media and defamation."

"I can't afford that kind of lawyer."

"Alexander can."

"I'm not asking Alexander to pay for my lawyer."

"Bella, he's a billionaire. And this situation affects him too. He'll want you protected."

"Still—"

"We'll discuss it later. Right now, let's talk damage control." He pulled out his tablet. "I've been reading the coverage. Most of it is speculation. 'Inside sources' that could be anyone. The facts they have are: you work at Sterling Corporation, you dated James, and you're now pregnant with Alexander's baby."

"Those facts are bad enough."

"They're facts. You can't control facts. But you can control the narrative around them."

"How?"

"By telling your side of the story. On your terms."

"You mean like an interview?"

"Maybe. Or a statement. Something that humanizes you. Shows you're not some scheming gold digger."

"But I don't want to be in the spotlight."

"You're already in the spotlight. This way, at least you control what's being said."

I thought about it. "I need to talk to Alexander first."

"Good idea. United front and all that."

The doorbell rang. Maria went to answer it, then appeared in the living room looking flustered.

"Miss Bella, there's a woman here. She says she's Mr. Alexander's mother."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

Catherine Sterling swept into the room before I could protest. She was exactly what I expected—early seventies, impeccably dressed, radiating old money and disapproval.

"Bella Martinez, I presume."

I stood. "Mrs. Sterling. This is unexpected."

"I'm sure it is." Her eyes swept over me, assessing. Judging. Finding me wanting. "Marcus, would you excuse us? I'd like to speak with Ms. Martinez privately."

Marcus looked at me. I nodded. He left reluctantly.

Catherine settled onto the sofa like she owned the place. Which, technically, her son did.

"Shall we dispense with pleasantries?" she said. "My son is making a fool of himself over you. I'd like to understand why."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play coy. Alexander hasn't looked at a woman since Sophia died. Now suddenly he's installed his pregnant mistress in his penthouse and is defending her to anyone who'll listen. So I'll ask again: why?"

"I'm not his mistress."

"No? Then what are you?"

"I'm—" I stopped. What was I? "I'm the mother of his child."

"Yes. How convenient."

The accusation stung. "If you're suggesting I got pregnant on purpose—"

"Didn't you? Young woman, older wealthy man, failed protection? It's a tale as old as time."

"The protection failed by accident. I didn't plan this."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you saw an opportunity and took it."

I stood. "I think you should leave."

"Sit down, girl. I'm not finished."

"I don't care. This is my home—"

"This is my son's home. Which he's allowed you to invade."

"Alexander invited me here. If you have a problem with that, take it up with him."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "You have spirit. I'll give you that. But spirit won't be enough. The media will eat you alive. Your past will be dissected. Every relationship, every mistake, everything will be public."

"I know."

"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you look terrified. Like a girl who's in over her head."

"I am in over my head. But I'm also pregnant with your grandchild. So unless you plan to ignore that baby's existence, you're going to have to find a way to tolerate me."

Silence.

Then, surprisingly, Catherine smiled. Not warmly, but with something like respect.

"There it is. The backbone I was looking for." She stood. "Very well. You're not some simpering gold digger. That's something."

"Glad I passed your test."

"Don't misunderstand. I'm not approving this... situation. But I won't actively sabotage it either. For the baby's sake."

"How generous."

"Watch your tone. I may not be sabotaging, but I'm not helping either. You want my son? You'll have to earn him."

"I don't want to earn anyone. I just want to raise my child in peace."

"Peace." Catherine laughed. "You're carrying the heir to the Sterling fortune. There will be no peace. The sooner you accept that, the better."

She moved toward the door, then paused.

"One more thing. Alexander thinks he's in love with you."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"Oh, he hasn't said it yet. But I know my son. I saw how he looked at you in those photographs. The same way he looked at Sophia when they first met." Her expression was unreadable. "Don't break his heart. He's had enough pain."

"I would never—"

"Everyone says that. But hearts break anyway." She opened the door. "I'll see myself out."

After she left, I sat in stunned silence.

Alexander thinks he's in love with you.

Was that true? Or was Catherine trying to manipulate me?

My phone rang. Alexander.

"I heard my mother paid you a visit."

"How did you—"

"Maria texted me. She was worried. Are you okay?"

"Your mother thinks I'm a gold digger who trapped you."

"My mother thinks everyone is after our money. She'll come around."

"She said—" I stopped. Should I tell him what Catherine said? About him being in love with me?

"She said what?"

"Nothing. Just that the media will get worse."

"She's probably right about that." He sighed. "PR wants to release a joint statement this afternoon. Nothing detailed. Just confirming the pregnancy and asking for privacy."

"Will that help?"

"Probably not. But it's better than saying nothing."

"Okay."

"Bella, I'm coming home early today. We need to talk strategy. Figure out how to handle all this."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do. This is affecting both of us. We handle it together."

After we hung up, I finally let myself look at my phone properly.

The texts were overwhelming. Sarah with concern. Former colleagues with nosiness disguised as concern. Numbers I didn't recognize asking for comments.

And one text that made my blood run cold.

JAMES: You think you've won. You haven't. I'm going to make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of person you are.

I showed it to Marcus when he came back in.

"He's threatening you."

"Can he actually do anything?"

"Legally? No. But he can make your life difficult. Spread rumors. Talk to the press." Marcus frowned. "We should show this to Alexander."

"No. It'll just make things worse between them."

"Bella, James is escalating. This isn't just family drama anymore."

He was right. But the thought of causing more conflict between Alexander and his son made me feel sick.

"Let me think about it."

That afternoon, Sterling Corporation released their statement:

"Alexander Sterling and Bella Martinez are pleased to confirm they are expecting a child together. This is a private family matter and they ask for privacy during this time. Ms. Martinez will continue in her role at Sterling Corporation. There will be no further comment."

The media response was immediate and brutal.

"CONFIRMED: Sterling CEO Expecting Baby With Son's Ex"

"Family Feud: James Sterling 'Devastated' by Father's Betrayal"

"Who Is Bella Martinez? Inside the Mystery Woman's Past"

They found everything. My parents' obituaries. My college records. Photos from my F******k from years ago. Former classmates willing to give quotes.

"She was always ambitious," one former roommate said. "This doesn't surprise me."

"She was quiet. Kind of a loner," another said, which somehow sounded worse.

They dug up James's cheating too, but framed it as "relationship troubles" that I'd used as an excuse to "upgrade."

I watched my life get dissected and rewritten in real time.

Alexander came home at five, looking exhausted.

"How bad is it?"

"They found my childhood address. They're trying to contact my college professors. One reporter showed up at Sarah's apartment."

"I've had legal send cease and desist letters to the worst offenders. And I've hired security."

"Security?"

"Someone will be stationed outside the building. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

"In case this gets worse."

That night, we ordered takeout and ate in relative silence. Both processing. Both overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry," I said finally.

"For what?"

"For all of this. If I hadn't gone to that bar that night—"

"Then we wouldn't have met. And I'd still be going through the motions, half-alive, waiting for something to matter again." He set down his fork. "I'm not sorry, Bella. Not for any of it."

"Even with all this chaos?"

"Even with all this chaos." He reached across the table, taking my hand. "We're going to get through this. I promise."

I wanted to believe him.

But as I lay in bed that night, scrolling through articles about myself written by people who'd never met me, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.

The storm was here.

And it was only going to get worse.