Chapter 20: Emily's POV

Emily refreshed her feed for the twentieth time in ten minutes.

The video had exploded. Comments poured in—sympathy, congratulations, and people calling her brave, radiant and an inspiration. Her smile curved sharper with every notification.

#BabyGrayson was trending. Exactly as she planned.

She sipped her wine, the glass catching the light, her reflection glowing back at her from the laptop screen. Let them all see. Let them all believe.

Because that was the point—if the world believed her story, Gabriel would have no choice but to follow. What kind of man lets the mother of his unborn child suffer under another woman’s cruelty?

She leaned back in her chair, stretching. Victory tasted sweet.

Until the next notification blinked.

Not a fan. Not a follower.

A direct message.

She frowned.

The account was private. No name, no photo. Just one message.

> Careful. Lies don’t last forever.

Her heart skipped.

Emily’s fingers tightened on the mouse. A prank. It had to be. Some jealous little nobody who wanted to ruin her moment.

She clicked to block the account.

But another notification popped up. This time an email.

Subject: Dalton vs. Grayson — Medical Record Inquiry.

Her blood ran cold.

She clicked it open.

It wasn’t from a fan. Or a troll.

It was from the clinic.

Her clinic.

> Ms. Dalton, per your request for duplication of records, please note: falsified or altered documentation is a violation of federal law. If this was submitted in error, contact us immediately.

Emily’s wineglass slipped from her hand, shattering on the floor.

Someone was digging. Someone had gotten close enough to force the clinic to flag her file.

Her breath quickened, fury clawing its way up her throat.

“Sebastian,” she whispered.

Of course it was him. That snake.

She paced, shards of glass crunching under her heels, her mind racing. If he unearthed the truth, if I got my hands on proof—everything she had built would collapse.

Her perfect performance. Her leverage. Her future.

No. She wouldn’t let it happen.

Emily grabbed her phone, her nails clicking fast across the screen.

If Sebastian wanted to dig—she would bury him first.

And me with him.

Her smile returned, slow and sharp.

Because she hadn’t even played her deadliest card yet.

—

The buzz of my phone yanked me out of a restless sleep.

I blinked, the room washed in the thin grey of early dawn. Gabriel’s steady breathing came from beside me, but my chest tightened with the memory of last night—the folder, the fight, his words echoing like a sentence: “Prove it.”

My phone lit the dark. A message from Sebastian.

I sat up fast, pulse hammering.

> Got a hit. The clinic responded. Records are flagged. They know something’s off.

My breath caught. Flagged?

Another message came in before I could type a reply.

> This isn’t just suspicion, Eve. The documents she handed Gabriel… they’re tampered with. Someone’s been altering files.

My hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the sharp inhale that wanted to turn into a scream. Tampered. Altered. That was it. That was the crack.

But beneath the rush of hope was a darker realisation—if the clinic had noticed, then Emily knew too. And if Emily knew…

I typed fast:

What does that mean for us? Can we prove it in court?

The typing dots blinked back. Then Sebastian’s reply dropped, blunt and surgical:

> It means you’re finally holding a weapon. But so is she. Don’t think she’ll sit quiet while I dig deeper. She’ll come harder.

A chill rippled through me.

I looked down at Gabriel, asleep, unaware, his face unguarded in the pale morning light. I wanted to shake him awake, tell him the truth and scream that Emily’s entire performance was rotten at the core.

But I didn’t.

Because if Sebastian was right, then this wasn’t about telling Gabriel yet. This was about survival.

Emily was dangerous when cornered.

And now she was cornered.

I gripped the phone until my knuckles ached.

If she wanted war, then war was what she would get.

—

Emily didn’t sleep.

The email from the clinic had burnt through the night like acid, stripping away every illusion of safety. She knew Sebastian had his claws in it now. Which meant I did too. Which meant her empire of lies was standing on sand.

Fine. If they wanted to dig, she’d bury them.

She sat at her vanity, the early light spilling across the glass, painting her reflection in sharp edges. Her fingers moved quickly and steadily, pulling up folders she’d been saving for weeks. Insurance policies, she liked to call them.

Photos of me.

Me at charity events, looking cold and aloof. Me on errands, face tight, tired, distracted. Me at parent-teacher meetings, glancing at my phone instead of my child.

Emily scrolled through them, her smile stretching. Out of context, each one told a different story. A careless mother. A selfish wife. A woman too consumed by her vanity to care for anyone else.

But photos weren’t enough.

She opened the next folder. Audio files. Snippets spliced together—me raising her voice, me saying sharp words to Gabriel, to staff, even once to my child when I thought no one was listening. Harmless in truth, damning when cut, sharpened, framed.

Emily slipped on her earrings, humming softly as the plan stitched itself together.

Eve wanted proof? She’d give the world proof. Proof that Eve Grayson wasn’t the devoted wife or mother she pretended to be.

She hit record on her phone, her voice low and silky.

“Sometimes the most dangerous lies are the ones wrapped in truth.”

A smile curved her lips as she pressed save. This wasn’t just about stealing Gabriel anymore. This was about erasing me piece by piece until nothing of me remained.

By the time I tried to fight back, the world wouldn’t see a woman wronged.

They’d see a monster unmasked.

Emily leaned back, laughter spilling from her chest. The kind that didn’t stop, that didn’t care.

Because round two wasn’t coming.

Round two had already begun.