CHAPTER 22: public dissection

Chloe woke to her phone ringing on the nightstand, vibrations rattling against the wood like an alarm that wouldn’t stop. She grabbed it, squinting at the screen, and her stomach twisted hard. The leaked surrogacy contract had detonated overnight. Headlines screamed across every platform. "Paid Surrogate or Gold-Digger Wife? King Contract Exposes Millions in Payoff", "Chloe Bennett: From Bakery to Billionaire Bank Account". The comment sections were vicious.

"She trapped him with the twins. Classic plus-size hustle."

"Bet she’s laughing all the way to the bank."

"Damian deserves better than that gold-digging cow."

She threw the phone down on the bed and swung her legs over the side, one hand pressed to her belly where the twins moved restlessly. Her eyes burned from the tears she’d cried the night before, but fresh anger pushed her to her feet. She pulled on a robe and marched into the kitchen.

Damian stood at the island, coffee in hand, staring at his own screen with a clenched jaw. He looked up when she entered, expression already guarded.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” Chloe said, voice sharp as she stopped on the other side of the island. “The world seeing me as some paid whore who spread her legs for a check. My name is everywhere again, and not one article mentions the bakery I built or the fact that I’m fighting for these babies every single day. They just call me a gold-digger. Again and again.”

Damian set his mug down. “Marcus timed it to hit right before the board vote. My team is countering with the full story, our statement, the threats against you, the sabotage, But it’s spreading fast.”

“Countering?” She laughed bitterly and grabbed a mug, pouring coffee with hands that still trembled slightly. “They already decided who I am. The fat surrogate who got lucky. I knew this would happen the second those papers leaked. I told you your world would chew me up.”

He stepped around the island, stopping a careful distance away. “We have the public brunch in two hours. The one with the children’s hospital board. We have to show up together. United. If we cancel now, it looks like we’re hiding.”

Chloe took a slow sip of coffee, then set the mug down harder than necessary. “Fine. But I’m not smiling through more insults. I’m tired of performing perfect wife while everyone tears me apart.”

The brunch was held at a rooftop venue overlooking the city, tables draped in white linens, flowers everywhere. Chloe wore a loose sage-green maternity dress that flowed over her belly, but she still felt exposed the second they stepped out of the car. Cameras flashed from the street below. Paparazzi shouted as they crossed the open space to their table.

“Chloe! How much did he pay you to keep the twins?”

“Is the marriage real or just to shut down the gold-digger rumors?”

“Show us the bump! How does it feel knowing you’ll never look like Vanessa?”

Damian’s arm wrapped around her waist immediately, pulling her closer to his side. His body angled to shield her from the worst of the lenses. “Ignore them,” he muttered against her ear. “Eyes forward. We’re here for the hospital, not them.”

At the table, the children’s hospital executives greeted them politely, but Chloe caught the sideways glances. She smiled through the small talk, one hand resting on her belly under the table, but every shouted question from the perimeter cut deeper. Damian fielded most of the conversation, his hand never leaving her back, but she felt the weight of every stare.

By the time dessert arrived, her appetite was gone. She pushed the plate away and leaned toward Damian. “I need to leave. I can’t do this anymore.”

He nodded once, signaled their security, and stood. They made their exit through a side door, but more paparazzi waited. Damian kept his body between her and the cameras the entire way to the car, one hand firm on her lower back.

The town car doors closed and the tinted windows finally gave them silence. Chloe sank back against the seat, rubbing her temples. “I felt naked out there. Every question about my weight, my motives, like I’m some joke they get to poke at. This is what being your wife means now? Constant public dissection?”

Damian turned toward her fully in the backseat. His hand found hers, lacing their fingers together. “You’re the realest thing in my life, Chloe. Not the contracts, not the image, not the company. You. The woman who fights me, who bakes when she’s scared, who loves those babies so fiercely it makes me want to be better. I see you. All of you. And I’m sorry the rest of the world is too blind to see the same.”

She looked at him, the quiet sincerity in his voice cracking something inside her chest. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles. “I want to believe that. Some days I do. But after yesterday’s photos and today’s headlines… it’s hard to feel real when everyone else calls me fake.”

The car pulled up to the penthouse. They rode the elevator in heavy silence. The second they stepped inside, Chloe’s phone buzzed with a new direct message notification. She opened it and froze.

Vanessa had sent a screenshot. It looked like an old email chain between Damian and his lawyers from before the pregnancy confirmation. The subject line read. "Image Management Strategy Post-Surrogacy". One highlighted line jumped out: "Temporary marriage to Chloe will stabilize public perception until custody is secured. Present as united front for 12 months max."

Vanessa’s message below it read. "He only married you for image, sweetheart. Check the dates. He always had an exit plan. V"

She turned the screen toward Damian without a word.