Chapter One Hundred-Ten

Chapter One Hundred-Ten
I followed Hunter out of the car, hand pressed to my stomach as if the two tiny lives inside needed protection from the news vans already clustered at the entry of the parking lot, four security guards keeping them back.
"Head up," Hunter murmured, his arm firm around my waist as security kept them back. "Don't give them anything."
Reporters shouted questions, cameras flashed, but all I registered was the reassuring pressure of Hunter's hand guiding me forward. The lift doors closed behind us with a whisper, silencing the shouts.
"You okay?" Hunter studied my face as we waited for the elevator to reach our floor.
"I'm fine." I straightened my shoulders. "I refuse to hide like I've done something wrong."
His eyes softened, pride warming his gaze. "That's why I love you."
It made my heart flutter. I leaned against him, drawing strength from his solid presence.
"Quinn says the reporter will be here at four," Hunter said, checking his phone. "Your father confirmed he'll join us. We tell our story, our way, with our truth. I just hope this reporter is as good as Quinn said."
The doors opened to our floor. I noticed every eye turn our way, some curious, others sympathetic, a few outright dislike directed at me. Gossip was currency in corporate settings, and our story was worth its weight in gold.
Hunter left me to head into his office. At my desk, I found a small envelope. Inside was a handwritten note from Maya, Hunter's sister.
I'm with you both. Call if you need ANYTHING. Love you.
She must have come around to see us but found we hadn't been at work, so left the note.
The simple message made my eyes burn. I tucked it into my drawer, blinking back tears.
All morning, people walked past the office door, slowing just enough to peek inside. Some pretended to be studying papers, others openly gawked. Hunter saw it too; his jaw tightened each time it happened.
"I feel like an exhibit at the zoo," I muttered after the fourth person found a reason to walk by.
"I'll handle it." Hunter rose, but I caught his wrist.
"Don't. It'll just make things worse." I sighed. "They're curious. Let them look. We have nothing to hide."
He sat back down reluctantly. "I don't want you stressed."
"I'm pregnant, not fragile." I smiled to soften my words. "And I'm not alone in this. That makes all the difference."
Throughout the day, I fielded emails and calls, handled Hunter's schedule, kept our world running. Every notification on my phone made my heart jump. Was it another reporter? Mom's lawyer? Something worse?
Quinn arrived just before anyone else, storming in like a tornado in stilettos.
"You've seen the news?" she asked without preamble.
"Hard to miss," I replied.
She dropped into a chair across from me. "I've spoken to my contact. She's fair, Grace. She won't twist this."
Hunter joined us, shutting the door leading to the hallway. "What's the angle?"
"Medical fraud, surrogacy laws, ethical violations." Quinn ticked them off on her fingers. "She knows to focus on the clinic, your mother, and Helena. You're the victims here."
"I really, really hate that word."
Quinn's eyes softened. "Survivor, then. Because that's what you are, Grace. You survived your mother, Helena, all of it. And now you're thriving. You're happy."
I nodded, grateful for her understanding. Hunter's hand found mine, squeezing gently.
"Your father just texted," he said. "He's on his way."
When Dad arrived, I barely recognized him. John Wilson had always been a tall, imposing man, dignified in his tailored suits, confident in his political stride. The man who entered Hunter's office looked diminished somehow, shoulders hunched beneath an invisible weight.
"Grace," he said, opening his arms.
I went to him without hesitation, feeling his arms close around me. He smelled the same—sandalwood and him.
"I'm okay, Dad," I whispered. "We're okay."
He pulled back, studying my face like he was memorizing it. "You look good. Pregnancy suits you."
Hunter stepped forward, extending his hand. "John. Thank you for coming."
My father clasped Hunter's hand in both of his. "Thank you for taking care of my daughter. For seeing her when the rest of us were blind."
"I was blind as well at the start," Hunter admitted.
Quinn cleared her throat. "The reporter will be here soon. Let's go over what to expect."
We moved to the conference room, where she briefed us on the questions likely to come. I half-listened, my mind drifting to the ultrasound tucked safely in my purse. Two tiny heartbeats. Two perfect little beans. Our secret joy amid all this madness.
"Grace?" Hunter's voice pulled me back. "You with us?"
"Sorry. Just thinking."
He studied me for a moment, then turned back to Quinn. "Make sure the reporter knows questions about the pregnancy are off limits."
"Already handled," she assured him. "We're focusing on the medical fraud. The illegality of what your mother and Helena orchestrated. This isn't a gossip piece."
The reporter arrived precisely at four, a woman in her forties with intelligent eyes and a firm handshake.
"Mrs. Sinclair," she said, turning to me after greeting Hunter. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. I know this isn't easy."
I met her gaze steadily. "I believe in truth. Even when it's this nightmare."
She smiled slightly. "That's refreshing in my line of work."
We settled around the table, the recorder between us. Quinn nodded, and the interview began.
The questions were direct but fair, focused on the clinic, on Helena's diary, on the evidence against my mother. Dad spoke briefly about his shock and dismay, making it clear he'd had no knowledge of the payments or illegal procedures.
"And you, Mrs. Sinclair," the reporter asked. "When did you discover that the eggs used were actually yours, not your sister's?"
"After Helena died." I kept my voice even, meeting her eyes. I did not talk about Hunter's man Reid. "Then I found her diary. Everything was there, detailed, methodical. How she'd arranged it all, paid off doctors, stolen my eggs without my knowledge or consent. My mother made the payments to get me approved and buy off the clinic to approve me to be a surrogate."
"That must have been devastating."
I considered this, aware of Hunter's steadying presence beside me. "It was... clarifying. To finally understand why I'd always felt something was wrong. To know I wasn't paranoid or ungrateful. I was being used."
"And now? How do you feel about carrying this baby? A baby that is, biologically, really yours and your new husband's?"
Quinn started to interject, but I placed a hand on her arm. This was important.
"It's our baby," I said firmly. "Mine and Hunter's. Helena tried to steal that from us—my eggs, his trust. But in the end, the truth came out. As it always does." I met the reporter's eyes. "I want that to be clear in your story. This baby was created through deception, yes. But it's loved and wanted. And this baby will be raised by its biological parents; we are lucky enough to love each other. We hadn't planned it, and it was this baby that brought us together—but after Helena died. Hunter believed in his vows to Helena."
It was none of their business about what had almost happened in Chicago.
Hunter's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently. I hadn't planned those words, but they felt right. True.
The reporter nodded, something like respect flickering in her eyes. "Thank you for your honesty, Mrs. Sinclair."
As the interview concluded, I felt a strange lightness. I felt free. I hugged Dad goodbye.
We all left together.
Downstairs, the press had multiplied, sensing a story.
Dad hugged me goodbye before getting into his own car. "You did well in there, Gracie," he said, his voice rough. "I'm proud of you."
"Will you be okay?" I searched his face, worried.
He smiled sadly. "I've spent thirty years living with your mother's manipulations. It's time I found out who I am without her."
I watched his car pull away, hoping he meant those words.
Security escorted us to our car, but one persistent photographer broke through security. He managed to snap a shot of Hunter helping me into the car, his hand protectively covering mine on my abdomen.
Tomorrow, that image would be everywhere. The headlines would scream about scandal, about fraud, about my mother's arrest. But the truth was in that unguarded moment, a man and woman protecting what was theirs.
In our car, Hunter was silent, watching me.
"What?" I asked.
"What you said in there, it was so good, from the heart." His voice was low, tender.
I leaned across the console, resting my head on his shoulder. "It was true."
Hunter kissed the top of my head, starting the car. "Let's go home, Grace. To our home. The rest can wait until tomorrow."
As we drove away from the reporters, his hand found mine again. We would see how the story turns out tomorrow.