CHAPTER 18: DINNER WITH SNAKES

Chloe woke to her phone vibrating nonstop on the nightstand, the screen already lit up with alerts.

She grabbed it, squinting against the morning light, and her stomach dropped. The leaked surrogacy contract excerpts dominated every headline and social feed. "Payoff Details Exposed", "King Marriage a Sham?", "Surrogate Bought and Paid For".

She threw the covers back and stormed out of her suite, phone clutched in one hand, the other supporting her belly. Damian stood in the kitchen pouring coffee, already dressed in a crisp shirt, but his face told her he’d seen it too.

“How much more of this can we take?” she demanded, slapping the phone down on the island. “Marcus leaks the original contract, the payoff clauses, the custody carve-outs, and now the whole world thinks I’m some bought incubator you married for optics. Every time we push back, they hit harder. I’m exhausted, Damian. The twins don’t need parents who are constantly dodging knives.”

Damian set the coffee mug down hard enough that liquid sloshed over the rim. “I know. My team is already working on counter-statements and tracing the leak. Marcus is escalating because the board vote is days away. We don’t bend.”

Chloe paced the length of the kitchen, her bare feet slapping the tile. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose body and choices are being dissected online like entertainment. I held my own in that interview, but this?” She gestured at the phone. “This makes everything look fake. The marriage, us, the twins. Like I’m still just the transaction.”

He stepped into her path, forcing her to stop. “It’s not fake. Not anymore. We signed the papers. We’re fighting the custody threats together. This is real, Chloe. I need you to believe that.”

She stopped pacing and met his eyes, searching. Part of her wanted to lean into him like she had in the kitchen yesterday. The other part remembered every broken promise from her past. “I want to. But believing gets harder every time another story drops.”

The day blurred into preparation for the family-style dinner with Damian’s distant relatives—people who still held sway on the board edges. Chloe changed into a flowing black maternity dress that felt elegant but comfortable, though her reflection in the mirror still made her tug at the fabric. Damian wore a dark suit, looking every bit the billionaire CEO.

They arrived at the upscale private dining room together. The table was long and formal, crystal glasses gleaming under soft lighting. Several older couples and a few younger executives already seated turned as they entered. Conversations dipped noticeably.

“Damian,” an older aunt with sharp cheekbones greeted, air-kissing his cheek. Her gaze slid to Chloe. “And this must be the new wife. How… modern of you to formalize things so quickly.”

Chloe forced a smile and took her seat beside Damian. “We’re expecting twins. Timing mattered for the family.”

Another relative, a silver-haired man who looked like he’d stepped out of a boardroom painting, swirled his wine. “Appropriate wives in our circle usually come with certain… expectations. Breeding, presentation, connections. But times change, I suppose. Though one does wonder about long-term suitability when the foundation is so… unconventional.”

Chloe’s hand tightened around her water glass. She set it down carefully before she cracked it. “Unconventional? You mean a woman who built her own business from scratch instead of inheriting it? Or someone who actually wants to raise her children instead of handing them to nannies? I may not have your pedigree, but I have something better. I fight for my family. Every single day.”

The table went quiet. Damian’s hand found her knee under the table, squeezing once in support. The older man raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Conversation shifted to safer topics. stocks, real estate, but the undercurrent of judgment lingered in every polite smile and sidelong glance.

Chloe held her own through the appetizers and main course, answering questions about the bakery with quiet pride and deflecting jabs about her background. By dessert, her back ached and her nerves felt frayed, but she hadn’t crumbled.

In the town car on the way home, the city lights streaking past the windows, Damian turned to her fully. “You were incredible tonight. You didn’t let them rattle you. I’m proud to have you by my side. Really proud. Not for the cameras. For me.”

Chloe looked at him, the weight of the day easing slightly at his words. She reached over and laced her fingers with his. “It’s exhausting pretending I don’t care what they think. But hearing you say that helps. More than you know.”

He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of hers. The gesture felt natural, not calculated. The car ride passed in comfortable quiet, the first real peace they’d had in days.

They stepped into the penthouse together, the lights automatically warming to a soft glow. Chloe kicked off her shoes near the door and headed toward the living room, already thinking about tea and bed.

She stopped short.

On the coffee table sat a large bouquet of white roses, fresh and expensive-looking, with a small cream envelope propped against the vase.

Damian frowned and moved past her to pick up the card. He opened it, read the note, and his expression hardened.

Chloe took it from his hand. The elegant script read. "The real mother is coming back. These roses are just the beginning. — V"

Her fingers crushed the edge of the card. The scent of the flowers suddenly felt cloying, suffocating. She looked at Damian, pulse pounding in her ears. “She was here? Or someone let her people in. Again.”