My breath caught, shame and fury crashing into me at once—of all the people to find me like this, why did it have to be him? I didn't only feel naked, I felt like my insides were out in the open. Tears burned my eyes, and I blinked to keep them from falling.

Alvin’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face hard as stone. There was no curiosity in his stare, no sympathy, only cold, blazing anger.

"So it is true," Andre bit out, his voice low, but venomous. “You really are nothing more than a scandal in heels. I should’ve known the moment they dragged you into court.”

"You know nothing about me, André", I snapped back. "And you have no right to judge me!"

André and I met at a charity gala once. I mistakenly crashed into the waitress and spilt wine on his expensive suit. We have been at loggerheads since then.

“Oh really?” he scoffed, stepping into the room, the air suffocating with each step he took. “The world saw enough, Allegra Quinn. Fraud, deceit, betrayal, you wore it like a crown. And now look at you…” He pointed at me, his eyes burning like hot coals. “Crawling from a stranger’s bed, proving every headline right.”

Those words slapped me across the face. He was right, it was indeed indecent to be caught in bed with a stranger. André also believed them, the lies and the false accusations were levelled against me. I clutched my clothes tighter to my chest, wishing I could vanish into thin air. There was no defence for me, and now I was a whore with no honour, jumping from bed to bed.

"Keep your name out of your mouth, Allegra," Andre warned. " Don't try to use me to revive your dead career. I have a reputation to protect and a career that existed long before you!"

And he wasn’t lying. André wasn’t confined to one world; he had built his name across many. His parents had been titans in American politics, their legacy still spoken of with reverence, and André had carried that torch in his own way. Not by running for office, but by expanding into business, philanthropy, and global affairs until his influence touched nearly every circle that mattered.

He wasn’t Hollywood. He was bigger than Hollywood. From glossy magazines to business journals, from political summits to charity galas, André Beaumont was the man everyone knew, the man everyone wanted on their side.

And that was what made his betrayal lethal. No one would question his word over mine.

“If I ever find a bit of this occurrence in any magazine, or any blog,” he continued, suddenly grabbing me by the neck. "It will be the end of your life Allegra, and I mean it.”

With my free hand, I slapped his hand off my neck and shoved him backwards. My heart was thumping with fear, but I wouldn't crack. Not in front of him, not under the hatred and anger in his eyes.

"But you were also in this strip club Andre,“ I said defiantly. "Getting drunk and abusing substances. You also disregarded your stupid status. Or how would you explain landing in bed with me, a stranger? How would you also like the world to hear that? "

"You don't know anything about me!" He fired back!

An emotion flickered across Andrés' face, but it vanished before I could process what it was.

"You don't know anything about me, either, Andre. The world sees me as a villain. I've been suffering unjust causes and things seem to keep worsening. But there is one thing I am certain of Mr Beaumont“ I closed the gap between us with one final step and peered into his face. ”I am not a slut and I don't give a bloody damn who you are!"

With those words, I spun away and fled into the closet, refusing to acknowledge the burn of his gaze searing across my naked backside.

I kept the disguise on, and with it, I was able to get a job as a waitress in a small cafe. The money provided me with food and the bare minimum. Even though I stayed away from alcohol and substances, I couldn't sleep at night. Nightmares of the courthouse, the cameras flashing in my eyes, my parents and my sister laughing at my downfall all lurked around my mind

I continued to drown in depression and suicidal thoughts. I don't know, but there was this emptiness I couldn't explain, this wave of nothingness anytime I walked on the street.

When the first wave of nausea hit me, I didn't think much of it. I had been at work, preparing to take a customer's order, when I felt my stomach suddenly lurch up my throat. I dismissed the effect as food poisoning and suppressed it with anti-nausea pills.

But the nausea came back the next morning. And the one after that. By the fourth day, I was gripping the bathroom sink, trembling as bile burned my throat. My reflection stared back at me—hollow cheeks, tired eyes, a woman who looked ten years older than she was.

"I don't think you're fine Janine," my coworker said disapprovingly as I splattered water over my face. She'd been the one filing in for me since this ordeal started, and I could tell she was already irritated. "This isn't a stomach virus anymore."

"What the hell are you talking about?“ I groaned. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine, Janine,“ she said shaking her head again. ” You're pregnant!"

"What!"

My eyes went wide with shock, but she only spun around and walked out of the bathroom. It couldn't be true. How is that even possible? But deep down, memories began to flash across my mind, vivid and haunting. The night at the club and the morning in the hotel room.

I pressed a trembling hand to my stomach, panic clawing up my throat.

No. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not like this. Not for him.