CHAPTER 23: Under Siege

The paparazzi found me at 8 AM.

I'd gone down to the lobby to get coffee from the café—stupidly thinking I could have five minutes of normalcy.

The moment I stepped outside, cameras flashed.

"Bella! Is it true you seduced Alexander Sterling?"

"How does it feel to betray your ex-boyfriend?"

"Is the baby really his?"

"Bella! Over here! Give us a smile!"

I froze, blinded by flashes. Overwhelmed by voices.

Someone grabbed me—for a terrifying second I thought it was a reporter—but it was Marcus.

"Inside. Now." He shielded me with his body, pushing through the crowd.

Back in the lobby, I was shaking.

"How did they know?" I gasped. "How did they find me?"

"James," Marcus said grimly. "He leaked your location. Probably sold photos of the building too."

"I can't even get coffee now?"

"Not without security. I'll arrange a detail for you today."

"Security? Like bodyguards?"

"Welcome to life as a Sterling," Marcus said, not unkindly. "Alexander's upstairs. He's furious."

---

I found Alexander on the phone in his office, pacing like a caged lion.

"I don't care what it costs. I want twenty-four-hour security on her... No, not just the building. Wherever she goes... Do it."

He saw me and immediately ended the call.

"Bella. Are you alright?"

"There were at least twenty of them out there."

His jaw clenched. "I'm getting you bodyguards. Two minimum. And we're moving the wedding up."

"What? Why?"

"Because once we're married, you'll have legal protections. Spousal privilege. And it'll be harder for James to claim the baby isn't mine if we're already married when it's born."

"Alexander, we can't just rush into—"

"We're already engaged. What's the difference?"

"The difference is this doesn't feel real anymore! It feels like we're just... reacting. Running. Letting James control everything we do!"

He stopped. Took a breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just—seeing you ambushed like that made me want to lock you in a tower somewhere safe."

Despite everything, I smiled slightly. "Very medieval of you."

"I'm a traditional man." He pulled me close. "But you're right. We can't let James dictate our timeline. We do this on our terms."

"So what do we do?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.

Victoria walked in.

I'd only met Alexander's daughter once before—briefly, at a charity gala months ago when I was still with James. She was twenty-eight, elegant, with her father's sharp eyes and a MBA from Wharton.

"Victoria," Alexander said, surprised. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I heard about the Vanity Fair interview." She looked at me. "And the paparazzi outside. Thought you might need reinforcements."

"You're here to help?" I asked cautiously.

"I'm here to meet my future stepmother properly." She extended her hand. "Victoria Sterling. And before you ask—no, I don't think you're a gold-digger. Yes, I think James is an entitled ass. And yes, I'm Team Bella."

I shook her hand, stunned. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm about to put you through media hell." She pulled out a tablet. "I've arranged interviews with three major outlets. Vogue, Good Morning America, and The Times. We're going to control this narrative before James does."

"Three interviews?" My stomach churned.

"You need to be everywhere. Sympathetic. Relatable. Human." Victoria studied me. "Can you cry on command?"

"Victoria," Alexander warned.

"What? Pregnancy hormones are gold for public sympathy. People love a vulnerable pregnant woman."

"I'm not using our baby for PR," I said firmly.

Victoria smiled. "Good. That's exactly the attitude we want. Dignified. Not exploitative." She pulled up photos on her tablet. "Now, wardrobe. Nothing too expensive—we don't want you looking like a gold-digger. But nothing too cheap—you're marrying a billionaire. Middle ground. Elegant but accessible."

"When did you become a PR expert?" Alexander asked.

"I minored in communications. Plus I've been managing my own public image since I was twelve." She looked at me. "Growing up Sterling means always being watched. Always being judged. You need to learn fast."

"I don't know if I can do this," I admitted.

"You can. Because the alternative is letting James win." Victoria's eyes were fierce. "He's been a spoiled brat our entire lives. Someone needs to finally put him in his place."

"You really don't like your brother, do you?"

"I love him. But I don't like him. There's a difference." She pulled up a schedule. "First interview is tomorrow morning. Vogue at 10 AM. We'll do a photoshoot—very classy, very pregnant-glow. Then GMA on Thursday. They want both of you for that one."

"Both of us?" Alexander frowned.

"United front, Dad. You need to show you're in love, committed, not just doing damage control."

"We are in love," I said quietly.

Victoria paused, studying me. Then her expression softened. "Good. Then this will be easy. Just be honest. Tell your truth. Let people see what I'm seeing right now."

"What are you seeing?"

"A woman who's terrified but brave. Who loves my father but is scared of hurting his family. Who's trying to do the right thing in an impossible situation." She smiled. "That's relatable, Bella. That's human. That's what will win people over."

My eyes stung with tears. Damn hormones.

"See?" Victoria said to Alexander. "She's a natural."

He pulled me against his side. "She's also exhausted. Can we do this later?"

"No. The Vanity Fair article drops in six days. We need to move fast." But Victoria's voice was kinder. "But we can take a break. Bella, go rest. I'll email you the prep materials."

As she gathered her things, I said, "Victoria? Why are you helping me? You barely know me."

She paused at the door. "Because James has been getting away with being terrible for too long. Because my father deserves happiness. And because..." She smiled slightly. "I've always wanted a little sibling. Better late than never."

Then she was gone.

I looked at Alexander. "Your daughter is terrifying."

"She gets it from me." He kissed my temple. "But she's right. We need to fight back. Show the world who we really are."

"And who are we?"

"Two people who fell in love in the messiest way possible. But fell in love nonetheless."

My phone buzzed. An email from Victoria.

"Interview Prep: 15 Most Likely Questions and How to Answer Them."

I groaned. "This is really happening."

"This is really happening," Alexander confirmed. "But hey—at least you'll look good in Vogue."

Despite everything—the paparazzi, the interviews, the impending public judgment—I laughed.

Because what else could I do?

Six days until James's article.

Six days to prepare our defense.

Six days to convince the world that this insane, complicated, beautiful mess was real.