Chapter Five:

Someone is signing my name to promises I never made.

The words come out shaking, but Damien hears the meaning clearly. I can see it in his face. His mind is already moving ahead, building patterns from scraps. Selene is still on the phone, breathing too softly, like she knows one wrong word could destroy what is left between us.

“Elara,” she says carefully, “I didn’t know who else to tell.”

“You should have told me first.”

“I was trying to confirm it before I panicked you.”

I laugh once, and it sounds terrible. “That worked out beautifully.”

Damien holds out his hand for the phone. I hesitate, then give it to him because I need one second to think without hearing anyone’s voice. He doesn’t waste it. “Selene,” he says, flat and cold, “where is the document now?”

“With me.”

“Send it.”

“If I send it, Adrian will know I kept a copy.”

“He already knows too much.”

That shuts her up.

I move away from them and press both hands against the edge of the table. My mind keeps circling the same ugly point. My signature. My name is attached to Adrian. Some hidden paperwork filed before Damien ever made his offer. That means this started earlier than I knew. That means Adrian was planning something bigger than intimidation.

Behind me, Damien ends the call and says, “She’s sending it.”

I turn. “Do you believe her?”

“About meeting Adrian for you? Yes. About how much she knows? I’m not sure.” That answer stings because it mirrors my own. I trust Selene, but tonight trust feels like glass after impact. My phone buzzes again. This time it is my mother. I almost decline it, then stop. She rarely calls this late unless something is wrong.

I answer. “Mother?” Her voice is strained. “Where are you?”

“At an appointment. Why?”

There is a pause, and in it I hear something I almost never hear from her. Fear.

“Two men came to the house,” she says. “They asked whether your engagement to Adrian is being announced tomorrow.” Everything inside me goes cold. Damien hears enough from where he stands to look up sharply.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“I told them they were mistaken. Elara, what is happening?”

I close my eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about.” “That is never true when you use that tone.” I swallow hard. “Lock the doors. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll handle it.”

When I end the call, Damien is already reaching for his own phone. He issues instructions fast and low, sending security to my parents’ house before I can ask. I should object. I don’t. Not when my mother’s voice still sounds thin in my ear.

“This is escalating,” I say.

“It already escalated.”

A message lands on his phone. He opens the image Selene sends and hands the device to me.

I stare at the document.

She is right. It is a marriage application. My full name beside Adrian’s. Date field left pending. Signature at the bottom that looks enough like mine to fool almost anyone at first glance. The sight of it makes me feel sick, not because it is convincing, but because someone has studied me closely enough to try.

“This isn’t mine,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“How?”

Damien points to the lower curve of the signature line. “You drag the final stroke when you sign under stress. This is too clean.” I look at him. “You know how I sign under stress?” His mouth hardens slightly. “I know things.”

That should unsettle me. Instead, it anchors me in a strange way. Someone in this mess is paying attention for the right reasons, even if his methods are unnerving.

Another page comes through. Supporting documents. Old financial ties between Adrian’s investment firm and a shell group linked to my father’s former campaign adviser. Nothing directly illegal. Nothing obvious. But enough to create a story if released publicly.

“He’s building a scandal,” I say.

“He’s building leverage,” Damien corrects.

Same thing. Different language. I sit down because my body is suddenly too heavy. “Why now?” “Because I proposed tonight.” I look up. “How would he know that already?” That makes him pause.

We both understand the answer at the same time. Someone at the gala sees us go upstairs. Someone sees us leave together. Or someone knew before tonight. Either way, this is not random. It is coordinated. “I want a list of everyone who had access to the private floor,” Damien says, already typing again. “Staff, security, event planners.”

“You really think this started tonight?”

“No. I think tonight forced movement.”

I rest a hand over my stomach before I realize I’m doing it. Pregnant. Trapped between two powerful men, one from my past and one standing right in front of me, somehow only one of them makes me feel safer. That may be the most reckless truth of all.

Damien notices the gesture. His gaze lingers, then lifts back to my face. “We need to leave.”

“I’m not going to your place.”

“You’re not going to yours either.”

“That is not the same thing as yes.” “Good,” he says. “Take it as survival, not agreement.” I almost snap back, but my phone rings again. Unknown number. We both freeze. Damien holds out his hand. I keep the phone this time. “I can answer my own call.”

“Speaker.”

I glare at him, then accept because the truth is I don’t want to be alone with Adrian.

I answer without greeting.

His voice comes smooth and familiar, and my skin rises instantly. “You should have met me.” I grip the phone harder. “You forged my signature.” “Such a harsh word.” Damien’s face turns to stone. “You’re involving my family now,” I say. “Your family is involved already. You simply never knew how deeply.” I feel the room sharpen around me. “What does that mean?”

A soft pause. He enjoys timing too much.

“It means,” Adrian says, “you should ask your future husband why his father has a sealed file with your mother’s maiden name on it.” My head snaps toward Damien. He goes still in a way that tells me this is not meaningless. Adrian gives a quiet laugh. “There it is. He knows something.”

My voice drops. “What file?”

“Ask Damien,” Adrian says. “Then ask yourself why a man who wants to marry you keeps secrets that begin before you were born.”

The line goes dead.

For one full second, neither of us moves.

Then I turn to Damien, every nerve in my body lit up, and the clinic no longer matters, the gala no longer matters, and even the forged document blurs beside the new question tearing through me.

“You knew my mother’s name meant something to your family,” I say.

Damien does not answer. That is answer enough.

I step back from him, my voice breaking with disbelief. “What did your father do to my family?”