Chapter 72 The Proposal
Rachael's hands trembled slightly as she clutched the small white stick, her pulse hammering in her ears. The office restroom smelled faintly of antiseptic and leftover coffee, but all she could focus on was the little line that confirmed it: positive.
Not hers, of course. Her sister's pregnancy had provided the perfect camouflage, the perfect opportunity. She'd gotten the sample while her sister was visiting, convinced she could keep it quiet just long enough. And now... here it was, all the evidence she needed.
Damian was pacing outside the stall, oblivious to her little act of subterfuge. He had been fuming for the last five minutes, muttering to himself about deadlines and missing reports, but she knew he would melt as soon as she played her card right.
"Damian," she called, her voice trembling, though she forced a note of feigned panic. "I... I think there's something you need to see."
He froze mid-step. "What is it?"
Rachael stepped out, holding the pregnancy test as though it were a fragile piece of glass. Damian's eyes immediately focused, sharp and intent, his protective instincts kicking in.
"You... you're pregnant?" he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.
"Yes," she whispered, her throat tight. Her chest heaved with a mixture of fear and relief. "In my family... we... we must be married before having a child. It's how it works. It's... it's important to me."
Damian blinked, processing. His jaw tightened, and a flash of something dark crossed his eyes-jealousy, yes, but also a spark of adoration. He stepped closer, taking her hands in his. "Rachael," he said, steady and calm, "don't worry about that. We love each other. That's what matters. We'll get engaged. That's the plan. I promise you."
Rachael felt a rush of warmth wash over her. She had played her hand perfectly. Damian-her Damian-was convinced, heart and soul, that this baby was his. That she was carrying their child. Her plan was working.
They spent the afternoon in a haze of smiles and careful secrecy, rehearsing the "conversation" for anyone who might ask about the future. Damian was gentle, tender, enamored, and she basked in it, knowing that the lie would carry them to the perfect engagement.
Two weeks later, Damian had arranged a small dinner at his penthouse, the city lights glittering like stars through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Rachael's hands were steady as she took her seat across from him, heart hammering-not with anxiety, but with triumph.
"You're nervous," Damian said suddenly, eyeing her closely. "I can tell. You're smiling, but your fingers are shaking."
"I... I just want tonight to be perfect," she replied, her voice soft. She watched as he smiled, that infuriating, magnetic smile that could make any woman weak in the knees. Perfect. Perfectly mine tonight, she thought.
He reached across the table, brushing her hair from her face. "Tonight will be perfect," he said. "I'll make sure of it."
And he did.
As the evening progressed, he led her to the balcony, the city lights sparkling below. The music from the penthouse speakers was soft, just enough to create intimacy without being intrusive. Damian knelt on one knee, the velvet box gleaming in his hand, and Rachael felt her pulse skip.
"Elena... I mean, Rachael," he said, her name rolling off his tongue with that same irresistible charm. "I love you. I know we've had our moments, but... I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"
The moment Rachael gasped and covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, I slipped the ring onto her finger. Champagne glasses clinked around us, everyone cheering, smiling, and congratulating what they thought was the happiest moment of my life. I forced a smile, because that's what you do-you smile when the room expects it, even if your insides are screaming.
Rachael's eyes sparkled, and I wanted, for one perfect second, to feel satisfied too. To feel the thrill of having finally secured her, of making her happy. I had no idea how fleeting that satisfaction would be.
My phone buzzed. One of those little vibrations that you barely notice, except when it hits you wrong. I ignored it at first, focusing on Rachael's flushed face and the murmurs of the crowd. But the buzzing persisted. A sharp, insistent vibration this time.
I glanced down. My chest tightened. It was Elena.
Damian... I've been trying to tell you. It's yours, the baby is yours.
I froze. Champagne glass halfway to my lips. The room blurred, the applause fading into the background, replaced by a roar in my head. What? My fingers tightened around my glass. The words didn't compute. Not at first. I had just proposed to Rachael. She had the ring on, the smiles, the fake joy. And now-this?
The pregnancy is mine and I had no idea.
I could feel Rachael leaning toward me, her hand brushing against mine, seeking reassurance, unaware of the bomb that had just landed in my lap.
"Damian... are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft, worried. I could barely register the words.
"Uh... yeah..." My voice cracked despite my best efforts to sound normal. I swallowed hard, trying to regain composure. My chest felt tight, as if something-or someone-was pressing down on it. I looked at her, at the sparkling ring, the glint of happiness in her eyes, and a sour taste settled in my mouth.
Elena.
My thoughts raced. How long had she known? How long had she been waiting for me to realize? Why hadn't she said anything sooner? Why now?
The room seemed impossibly bright, the cheers from colleagues suddenly distant. I could barely hear anything over the deafening hum of my own panic. My brain replayed every moment of that night-the reckless, unavoidable, irreparable night with Elena. The night that had changed everything.
I glanced at Rachael again. Her eyes were full of hope, of trust, of love-or what I had assumed was love. And here I was, staring at my phone, seeing the truth I had never expected: Elena was pregnant. My child. And I had just proposed to someone else.
The buzzing of my phone intensified, echoing the panic in my chest. I felt my jaw tighten, fingers trembling, as I reread the text.
It's yours.
It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. It mattered more than anything else in that glittering, fake, perfect room. Because suddenly, all the smiles, the clinking glasses, the warm congratulations-they were meaningless. Everything was meaningless except that tiny piece of news that made my heart pound and my stomach turn.
My eyes darted back to Rachael, seeing the joy in her expression, the belief in her heart, and I felt a pang of guilt so sharp it almost knocked me off my feet. But then, my gaze shifted to the text, to Elena's words, and the weight of reality crashed down harder.