CHAPTER 246: THE MOMENT EVERYTHING CHANGED

Elise squeezed my hand, her smile as warm as the fading sun streaming through the car window. "Now," she said, eyes dancing, "tell me everything. How far along are you? Have you had any cravings? Is it a boy or a girl? Although, frankly, with our genes, it’s bound to be breathtakingly gorgeous either way."

A laugh broke from my chest before I could stop it—light, almost giddy sort of relief. I opened my mouth to answer, to tell her at least a sliver of the truth. But my phone rang.

I startled, fumbling it from my purse, the screen lighting up with BEST BROTHER EVER.

I frowned. He rarely called—he preferred texting or showing up unannounced with a bag of snacks.

"Go on, darling, pick up," Elise murmured, waving a graceful hand. "Our conversation isn’t running away."

I nodded, swiping to answer. "Leo? Hey—"

The line crackled, drowning his words in static and noise so loud I had to pull the phone back from my ear. Shouts, the blare of a horn, his own ragged breathing.

"Leo?!"

"Hello? Can you hear me?!"

I pressed it tighter to my ear. My pulse thundered. "Yes, I can hear you—what’s happening?"

For a second there was only static, my heart hammering faster with each beat. Then his voice came through, thin and frantic.

"Bella! Thank God—you can hear me now?"

"Yes! What’s going on? Why do you sound like—"

"Some weird people—journalists or whatever—they had cameras and they were chasing me!" His voice pitched higher, frantic. "They kept yelling questions about you, about Adrien—saying all this crap like we only got rich because of the Waltons and—and if it’s true you planned everything. I didn’t even—" His words broke as another crash sounded behind him.

My blood ran cold. "Leo, where are you? What do you mean, ’if it’s true I planned everything’?"

"Leo! Where are you? Are you okay?" My voice was sharp with fear, the warmth and joy of the last few minutes evaporating like mist.

"I just barely got into Dad’s clinic," Leo continued, breath hitching like he’d been running for a long time. "But they’re outside, Izzy. Angry people, throwing food—demanding answers. It’s like—like a mob or something! I just wanted to get some... some bubble tea, and they ambushed me outside the café!"

My stomach dropped. "Leo, slow down—stay where you are, don’t move, do you hear me?" I ordered, my voice steadier than I felt. "Lock the doors. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll call Aria and figure out what’s going on. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah. Just—hurry," Leo whispered. The line crackled and then went dead.

I stared at the screen, my heart in my throat.

Elise’s hand came to my arm, steady and warm. "Darling?" she asked quietly. "What’s happened?"

I dragged in a breath, mind already spinning through numbers, plans, faces. "I don’t know yet," I said, voice clipped. "But something’s wrong. Very, very wrong."

Just as I was about to call Aria, the car lurched so violently my body snapped forward. My forehead struck the leather back of the seat ahead before I could even brace, the impact ringing through my skull. My phone slipped from my hands and clattered onto the floor.

From the front, the driver stammered, "I-I apologize, madam! Sudden traffic—someone braked too hard—"

"Watch what you’re doing," Elise’s sharp voice cracked through the air, her composure rattled for the first time that day. Then, softer, to me: "Are you alright, darling? Did you hurt yourself?"

I winced, a sharp, throbbing ache blooming right where my skin met the bone. Spots swam in my vision for a quick, dreadful second. Automatically, before I could even process the pain, my arms flew around my stomach, a primal shield.

"I’m fine. Really," I gasped. "Just... startled." "I’m fine. Don’t worry."

I bent to retrieve my phone from the carpet. Relief was immediate—until I pressed the side button and nothing happened. My stomach twisted. The screen was black. Switched off. But that didn’t make sense—I’d charged it this morning. The battery had been at eighty-nine percent before it fell from my hands.

Weird.

My thumb jabbed the power button once, twice—frustration rising like bile. On the third press, the phone flickered back to life, the screen glitching, pixels stuttering across the display.

Then—ping.

A small envelope symbol bloomed in the center of the screen.

I froze.

It wasn’t my messaging app. It wasn’t anything I recognized.

Elise leaned closer, frowning at my expression. "What is it?"

"I don’t..." My throat felt sandpaper-raw. "It’s nothing."

The symbol pulsed, a soft, almost ethereal light that seemed to emanate from within the phone itself. Curiosity, a dangerous beast, gnawed at me.

Hesitantly, I tapped the glowing envelope.

Instead of opening a new screen or an app, the image rippled, like water disturbed by a stone. Then, a video.

No name, no sender, nothing.

Against the sharp warning in my gut, I hit play.

The image bled onto the screen, and my lungs forgot how to work.

Adrien.

My Adrien.

Wearing the same suit from the gala, collar undone, tie hanging loose, back against a wall like he’d been cornered. His face was flushed, unfocused—strange. Not him.

And then—her.

Clara.

The red gown she wore. Her blonde hair spilling. She stepped into frame, hand sliding slow and deliberate down Adrien’s abdomen with a possessive boldness that made my heart hammer in disbelief. My breath stuttered. His back was pressed to the wall, and in the dim light, he looked... waiting. Wanting.

Then his lips moved, and the word broke from him like a vow: "Princess..."

My entire body went rigid. That was mine. He only called me that.

The world outside the car, the concern on Elise’s face, fading radio music – it all receded into a muffled hum. Only the video.

"Yes," Clara breathed, her smile tender, triumphant. "I’m right here. I’ve always been here for you."

I shook my head at the screen, throat tight. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t me.

The next cut showed her turning, the zipper of her gown sliding down, fabric spilling away from her shoulders gleaming under chandeliers. Adrien’s gaze followed her, soft, burning—as if she was the only thing in his world. He only looks at me with that eyes and now he looks at her the same.

The video pulsed in and out, and Clara’s voice curved like poison: "I’ve been dreaming of this. Of you finally touching me the way you mean it."

And then him. His voice, low, slurred but unmistakable: "Baby, I’m your boyfriend. I’ve touched you plenty of times."

My hands began to tremble, the phone suddenly heavy, scorching hot. The words echoed in my ears, a cruel mockery of every whispered endearment, every shared secret, and every future we’d planned.

Clara’s hand pressed flat against his chest, then slid lower. "You’re hard for me, aren’t you? Your boner must hurt. I can help you with that."

A strangled gasp escaped me. The words, spoken with such casual intimacy, such blatant desire, were a physical blow. My own body felt like a battlefield, assaulted by a thousand conflicting sensations – betrayal, disbelief, and a sickening, primal ache of jealousy.

Adrien’s face—my Adrien—tipped forward, his lips parting like he was about to kiss her.

The video cut to black.