Chapter 13: Turn Of Event

Caroline's POV

I woke up the next morning, but I didn’t get out of bed right away.

I stayed there, tangled in the sheets, staring at the ceiling as my hand drifted to my stomach.

Three weeks pregnant. The words rang around in my head like a train's whistle, impossible to ignore.

Wesley’s child. My ex-husband’s child. The man who’d left me with nothing but a signature on divorce papers for my sister Ana. And now, I carry his child.

I’d missed my period, I’d noticed it some days ago, but I’d told myself it was just stress. God knows I had enough of that.

Wesley hadn't been home for almost a week, and I hadn't been able to reach him. I didn't even know where he was or what he was up to. With everything that had happened between us, I was already feeling emotionally drained and completely lost.

At some point, I decided to visit our family doctor for a check-up. I wasn't feeling like myself, and I wanted to be sure everything was okay. I remembered going for the appointment, but with everything happening afterward, it had completely slipped my mind.

I guess the family doctor had tried contacting me with the test results, but with the whole drama going on, I totally forgot about the test.

And now, here I was, waking up to the biggest shock of my life.

The deal with Anderson, my family’s financial mess, the wedding that looked like a yoke on my neck.

“You’re going to ruin everything, Caroline. Anderson won’t stand for this.” My mum wasn’t wrong.

This baby was a bombshell, poised to shatter my world.

Keep the baby, or abort it. Keeping it meant consequences I could barely wrap my head around.

Anderson—my fiancé, the man who’d paid my father $10 million to secure our marriage would never accept another man’s child, let alone Wesley’s.

The deal would collapse, my family would be back in debt, and I’d be the one they’d blame.

But aborting it… that was the easy way out, wasn’t it? A quick fix, a reset button. No baby, no problem. Except it didn’t feel easy. It felt like carving out a piece of myself and throwing it away.

I’d always wanted kids, dreamed of them in some future tense. Just not like this. Not now. Not with him.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. No. I wasn’t going to abort it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

I’d keep the baby, no matter what happened. If it came down to it, there was that text message from yesterday: The 200 million dollars offer.

I could take the money, pay Anderson back, and vanish. Raise the baby on my own, somewhere far from this mess.

It was a last resort, a worst-case scenario, but it was there.

For now, though, I had to play the part. Pretend everything was fine. Anderson couldn’t know.

Neither could Ana, my mother’s shadow, who’d run straight to Wesley the second she found out. If he didn’t already know.

My stomach twisted at the thought. Had my mother told her? Had Ana told him? I shook my head, pushing the anxiety down. One problem at a time.

I dragged myself to the bathroom. The shower was quick, the hot water doing little to wash away the weight on my shoulders.

I dressed in a loose blouse and jeans, nothing fancy, and headed downstairs.

The house was quiet, too quiet, like it was holding its breath.

As I stepped into the parlor, the maids looked up from their tasks.

“Good morning, ma’am,” one of them said, a young woman with dark hair. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Serve it in the dining room,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

I started to turn away, but something on the TV caught my attention.

The screen flickered with a news broadcast, the volume low but pressing.

I grabbed the remote from the table and increased the volume.

A reporter stood there, dressed in a sharp black suit, microphone in hand.

Behind her, a photo filled the screen, Solana, on her knees, head bowed in front of me.

My breath caught. The headline screamed in bold letters: “Breaking News: Viral Photo Sparks Controversy.”

I stared, my pulse hammering in my ears, as the reporter’s voice cut through the static.

“A particular picture has been going viral since yesterday,” she said, his tone professional.

“A picture of popular actress Solana Verte caught kneeling before Caroline Rodrigo, Anderson Jones’s fiancée. We don’t know what it means, but it has sparked a firestorm among Solana’s fans, who are furious that she knelt before a woman they consider below her class.”

I couldn’t believe it. The room tilted, and I gripped the remote tighter, my knuckles whitening.

That moment at Mrs. Jones’s mansion—Solana on her knees, a power play I’d barely understood at the time had exploded into this.

Just when I thought I’d dealt with her, put her in her place, it wasn’t just her anymore. It was her fans, millions of them, ready to tear me apart.

I didn’t have the public’s favor, not even close. If Solana decided to weaponize this, to turn her influence against me, I’d be defenseless.

A shiver ran down my spine. “Where’s Anderson?”

I said, the words slipping out louder than I’d meant. I wasn’t asking anyone, just thinking aloud, but the maid turned to me.

“He’s at the office, ma’am,” she said. “He always goes in on Mondays.”

I nodded, barely hearing her. Anderson could fix this. He had to. He was influential, connected, burying a story like this should be nothing for him.

“Ma’am, your food has been served,” the maid added, holding a tray.

“Just drop it on the dining table,” I said, already moving. “And tell the driver to get ready. He’ll be taking me to Anderson.”

The maid hesitated, her brow furrowing. “But ma’am, Mr. Jones said you shouldn’t leave the house until he’s back.”

I stopped, turning to fix her with a hard stare. “Do as you’re told.” My voice was ice, and she flinched, nodding quickly before going off.

I didn’t wait to see if she obeyed. I headed back upstairs, my mind racing. I needed to see Anderson, now.

In my room, I swapped the jeans for a simple dress, something practical.

My reflection in the mirror looked pale, tired, but I squared my shoulders. I could do this. I had to.

When I came back downstairs, the maid was waiting.

“The driver is ready,” she said.

I didn’t reply, just walked past her and out to the car.

The driver held the door open, and I slid into the backseat, “To Anderson’s office,” I said, and he nodded, pulling away from the house.

When we reached the company, I stepped out, the glass tower looming above me.

It was massive, a monument to the Jones family’s power. Inside, the lobby buzzed with activities, but the moment I walked in, heads turned towards my direction.

Whispers followed me like bees following their queen.

"That’s her, the one from the photo,” one of them whispered and I realized the viral picture had already branded me.

I kept my eyes forward, chin up, as a receptionist approached.

“Welcome, Miss Rodrigo,” she said, her smile tight and professional. “Mr. Jones is on the 15th floor. I’ll take you to the elevator.”

I followed her until I entered the elevator.

The ride was quiet, each ding of the floors like a countdown.

When the doors opened on the 15th, more eyes were on me, curious, judgmental, whispering behind my hands.

I ignored them, my focus narrowing to Anderson’s office door. I didn’t knock. I pushed it open.

And there he was. Anderson, behind his desk, his face like an angry Lion, but the person I saw beside him sent a jolt of fear into my spine.

My ex-husband, Wesley stood across from him, with his arms crossed.

My heart slammed against my ribs, and I froze in the doorway, my breath catching. What was he doing here?

They both turned to me, but Anderson spoke first.

“Caroline, your ex-husband here says you’re carrying his child. Is this true?”

The room spun. My mouth went dry, and I gripped the doorframe to steady myself.