Chapter 31 Web of Lies
The message came at 2:14 a.m.
"You've ignored me long enough, Damian. I'm five months along. You've missed everything - every scan, every sleepless night. Do you even care? Or are you pretending this baby doesn't exist?"
Damian stared at the glowing screen in silence, the words slicing through him sharper than any knife. He'd tried to bury Isla in the chaos - drown her voice in guilt, in regret, in the noise of losing Elena - but she always found a way to reach through the cracks.
He dropped his phone on the bed, pressing both hands against his face. The silence of the apartment was deafening. Every clock tick felt like a reminder that his life was fracturing, one lie at a time.
Another buzz.
"I go to antenatal alone, Damian. Alone. Do you know how humiliating that feels? Everyone else has someone holding their hand, and I'm sitting in a waiting room pretending you'll walk in. I hate that I still hope you will."
His stomach knotted. The guilt hit him like waves - heavy, relentless, impossible to fight. She was five months pregnant. And if there was even a chance... a small, cursed chance that the baby was his...
He couldn't ignore that.
Damian grabbed his jacket and keys and drove without thinking, the streets bleeding past in streaks of orange and blue. The city had a strange way of holding its breath at night - as if even it waited to see how far he would fall.
When he reached Isla's apartment, the lights were still on. She opened the door before he could knock, as if she'd been standing behind it the whole time.
"Finally," she said, voice brittle, eyes sharp.
Damian froze. The sight of her hit him like a ghost he wasn't ready to face. Her belly had rounded - unmistakable now. She leaned one hand on the doorframe, watching him with that old, venomous kind of sadness only ex-lovers carried.
"I didn't know you were still awake," he managed.
"I don't sleep much anymore," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "The baby kicks when I lie down. Probably just angry that its father's too busy hiding to notice."
He swallowed hard. "Isla, don't-"
"Don't what?" she snapped, spinning on him. "Don't remind you that you're responsible for more than just your guilt?"
Her tone softened, but only barely. "You cheated, Damian. You broke us. I know that. But you don't get to vanish and act like I don't exist. Like we don't exist."
He looked away. "I didn't vanish. I just-"
"You just what?" Her voice cracked. "Moved on to your next project? Your next distraction?"
Her eyes flicked over him, searching for something - remorse, love, anything. But all she found was exhaustion. Damian had nothing left to give.
He rubbed his temples. "I just came to check on you. That's all."
"Check on me?" she repeated, scoffing. "Like I'm a headline? Like I'm someone you pity?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?" she asked quietly.
He hesitated. "I don't know."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was suffocating - filled with everything they'd left unsaid. Damian's gaze drifted to the ultrasound photo pinned to her fridge, his initials scrawled in the corner of the printout. A sharp ache stabbed through his chest.
"You kept that?" he murmured.
Isla followed his gaze. "I should've thrown it out. But I didn't. Maybe I'm still that stupid."
He looked at her then - really looked. The anger, the resentment, the sadness... all layered beneath exhaustion. And for a flicker of a second, he remembered why he'd fallen for her once. Before the lies. Before everything went to hell.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "For everything. For cheating. For running. For not being here."
Isla's lips trembled, but she masked it with a sharp exhale. "You can't keep saying sorry, Damian. You either show up, or you don't. The baby won't care about apologies."
The words hit him deep. He stepped closer, almost instinctively. "Then let me show up."
Her expression faltered - surprised, maybe even hopeful. "You mean that?"
He nodded once. "Yeah. I'll be there for every appointment. Every scan. Whatever you need."
For the first time in months, Isla's face softened. "Okay." She turned away, brushing a tear from her cheek quickly, as though embarrassed. "Thank you."
Damian lingered in the doorway, watching her. The guilt eased slightly - just enough for him to breathe. Maybe this was a start. Maybe he could fix something in his life, even if Elena still refused to answer his calls.
They talked for a while longer - about the doctor's visits, about the baby's movements, about the future neither of them knew how to handle. Isla even laughed once, a small, tired sound.
And for a few minutes, it almost felt... normal.
Then her phone buzzed on the table.
Damian barely noticed at first, until he saw the name flash across the screen. His uncle's name.
Uncle Richard.
A message previewed - just one line, but it was enough to knock the air from his lungs:
"We need to talk. The baby might me mine, and this might be my only chance to become a daddy, I know I'm your daddy, sweetie, but I want to be a Papa"
Damian froze. His eyes darted to Isla, who was now turned away, pouring herself water from the fridge, pretending she hadn't seen him see it.
"Who's that?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated. "No one."
He stepped closer. "Isla."
Her shoulders stiffened. "Drop it."
"Why is my uncle texting you?"
"Because-" She turned sharply, voice trembling now. "Because you weren't the only one who knew how to hurt, Damian!"
The words exploded in the room like glass shattering.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded.
Isla's breath came fast, her hands shaking. "You cheated on me. You humiliated me. You made me feel small, replaceable. So yeah- I slept with your uncle. I wanted you to feel what I felt."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Damian's throat went dry. The floor tilted beneath him. "You... what?"
Tears welled in Isla's eyes. "I didn't plan it. I just- I wanted to destroy something that belonged to you the way you destroyed us."
He couldn't speak. Couldn't think. His gaze dropped instinctively to her stomach, to the small curve that changed everything.
"Isla..." His voice broke. "Are you saying... you don't know who the father is?"
Her face crumpled. "I don't know," she whispered. "I wish I did."
The room went utterly still.
Damian took a step back, the walls closing in, the sound of his pulse deafening in his ears. He'd come here trying to make things right - and somehow, it had only gotten worse.
Isla's phone buzzed again, the same name flashing. She didn't move to silence it this time. The words glowed on the screen, final and haunting:
"We can't hide this forever."
Damian stared at it, every part of him burning with disbelief, betrayal, and something colder - realization.
The baby might not be his.
And the woman who claimed to love him once had destroyed more than just his trust.
She'd destroyed everything.
The room felt smaller now, like the air had turned solid. Isla was still crying - a quiet, broken sound that barely reached him. Damian stood there, motionless, his mind spinning in circles he couldn't stop.
He thought of the nights he'd blamed himself for her pain, the guilt that had eaten away at him for months. All the shame, the doubt, the questions - all of it had been built on a lie neither of them could now untangle.
And yet, beneath the anger and heartbreak, something unholy crept in - relief.
If the child wasn't his, then maybe... just maybe, this wasn't the universe punishing him. Maybe it was giving him a way out.
A second chance.
Elena's name flitted across his mind like a fragile light. Her laughter. The softness in her eyes before everything fell apart. The thought of her was both painful and necessary - a reminder of what still mattered.
For the first time in months, Damian felt his chest lift with something other than despair.
Maybe this was his way back.
He didn't say another word. He just turned and walked out, leaving Isla with her tears and the weight of everything they'd done to each other.
The door shut quietly behind him, but the sound echoed like thunder.
As he stepped into the cold night air, one thought pulsed through him, dark and desperate and almost cruel in its honesty:
"If that baby isn't mine... maybe I can finally have her back."