Chapter 24: Cracks in the Story

By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, Sebastian already had answers.

Information was his currency, and he’d spent it freely. A few calls, a few favours. By the time his contact at the medical licensing board returned with the file, he knew Emily’s pretty little house of cards had a rotten foundation.

He flipped through the email on his tablet, every line confirming what his gut had told me.

Dr. Carlos Morales. OB-GYN. Licensed—yes. Practising barely. His clinic? Not in the upscale district Emily liked to parade around, but a hole-in-the-wall in a strip mall two hours outside the city. His name had been flagged before for issuing “medical records” under suspicious circumstances.

In plain English? He was a fraud for hire.

And if Emily was waving his paperwork like a battle flag, it meant she’d gotten sloppy. Desperate.

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth.

His phone buzzed across the table. Eve.

He answered. My voice was tight, urgent. “Please tell me you have something.”

He leaned back in the leather chair, eyes on the glowing city below. “Better than something. I have a crack.”

“Sebastian—”

“Morales isn’t the saint she thinks he is. The man’s been investigated for falsifying records before. Sloppy, back-alley stuff. Women paying cash for diagnoses that never existed and reports that never held up under scrutiny. If she’s tied herself to him, she’s just handed us the knife to cut her down.”

Silence on the line. Then, a shaky breath. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’m sitting here. All we need is proof. A witness, a document trail, anything that links Emily’s miracle pregnancy to Morales’ little side business. And then…” His smile widened, cold and certain. “…we bury her.”

For a moment, I didn’t answer. But when I did, my voice carried something new. Not fear. Not desperation.

Fire.

“Find me that proof, Sebastian.”

I looked back at the city, the lights glittering like stars caught in steel.

“Oh, I will,” he murmured. “And when I do, your mistress-turned-nightmare won’t know what hit her.”

__

Emily's phone buzzed while she was in the back of her town car, scrolling through her socials. Another notification, another whisper in the digital echo chamber she’d carefully built.

But this message wasn’t public.

It was private.

From a clinic nurse she’d slipped money to before. Short. To the point.

“Someone’s asking about Morales. Your name came up.”

Emily’s breath stilled. Then her lips curved. Of course. Eve. She’d sicced her little lapdog Sebastian on the trail, sniffing where he didn’t belong.

She leaned back against the seat, staring out at the neon glow of the city. For a flicker of a second, her mask slipped—just enough for the chill of panic to bite her skin.

If Sebastian dug too deep, he’d find the cracks. He’d find Morales’ history, his dirty dealings. He’d find her.

Her nails tapped against her thigh in a staccato rhythm before she stilled them. No.

She wouldn’t let it come to that.

Two steps ahead—that was her rule. Always.

She dialled quickly, her voice sweet when the line clicked open. “Doctor Morales? It’s Emily. We need to talk.”

The man stammered on the other end, his Spanish accent thick. Nervous. Weak. She hated weak men.

“I don’t pay you to get sloppy,” she hissed. “If anyone comes asking, you know what to say. You’ve treated me for months. You’ve confirmed the pregnancy. And if you even think about cracking under pressure—” She smiled, a predator’s smile. “—remember how much I know about your little… side business.”

Silence. Then, a defeated murmur: “Sí, señora.”

She ended the call, her pulse steadying again.

By the time she reached her apartment, her mask was back in place.

She snapped a photo in the mirror—hand resting on her stomach, eyes soft, lips parted just so—and uploaded it with a single caption:

“Some blessings can’t be denied. #Miracle #Truth”

Within minutes, the likes and comments poured in. Sympathy. Support. People clapped back at me without even knowing the full story.

Emily set her phone down, a satisfied purr rising in her chest.

Let them dig. Let them scramble.

She would always be three steps ahead.

__

The notification hit my phone before I could even take a sip of water.

Emily Dalton.

I almost didn’t open it. My stomach already knew what it would find.

But I did. And the air punched out of my lungs.

A photo. Emily in soft morning light, her hand resting on her stomach like she was cradling the future itself. Her lips parted in a fragile smile, her eyes shining.

The caption:

“Some blessings can’t be denied. #Miracle #Truth”

The comments were a storm.

“So strong, Emily. You deserve better.”

“She’s glowing. Protect her at all costs.”

“Gabriel should be with his REAL family.”

The screen blurred. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone.

It wasn’t just Emily’s lie anymore. It was the world’s truth. Her narrative was everywhere, soaking into every feed, every whisper, every gaze that would turn toward me now and see not Eve Flores Grayson—the wife—but the villain.

A fraud. A bitter woman trying to tear down a mother-to-be.

I shoved the phone away, but the words stayed burnt into my vision. Family. Real family.

A chair scraped against the café floor. Sebastian slid back into the booth, his laptop under his arm. One look at me and his easy smile vanished.

“What happened?”

I pushed the phone across the table. He glanced at it once, then let out a humourless laugh. “Christ. She doesn’t waste time, does she?”

“Seb…” My voice cracked, small and raw. “Everyone believes her. Even Gabriel’s starting to believe her.”

His eyes sharpened, his jaw set. “Then we take belief off the table. We don’t need opinions. We need facts. Morales is dirty; I can prove it.”

I shook my head, a bitter laugh slipping out. “And what if he doesn’t crack? What if she’s already gotten to him? What if—”

Sebastian reached across the table, his hand covering mine, firm, grounding. His voice cut clean through my spiral.

“Eve. Listen to me. This isn’t about what if. This is about what’s true. She’s bluffing, and I’ll call it. But you—” His eyes locked on mine, hard. “—you have to stop letting her crawl under your skin. Because that’s how she wins.”

I swallowed, forcing down the bile of fear. But as I nodded, my mind whispered the truth I couldn’t say out loud.

She already was winning.