CHAPTER SIX
ALYSSA
By breakfast, six news outlets had copied the fertility story.
The original account had disappeared, though screenshots remained on gossip sites, parenting forums and a financial blog that usually covered hotel acquisitions.
Three photographs of Alyssa accompanied the posts.
One came from a foundation gala held four months after her second miscarriage.
She remembered the dress, the speech and the pads she had worn beneath it because the bleeding had not stopped.
A headline described her as THE BILLIONAIRE WIFE WHO COULDN’T GIVE HIM AN HEIR.
Damian stood at the kitchen island with his legal team on speakerphone.
“Remove every post that contains medical information,” he said. “I don’t care whether the account has twenty followers or twenty million.”
A lawyer explained that takedown requests would not erase copied material.
“File injunctions.”
“Against whom?”
“Everyone.”
Alyssa poured coffee while four attorneys tried to persuade her husband that the internet could not be purchased, threatened or ordered into silence before nine in the morning.
Sophie sat at the breakfast table drawing a horse with blue wings. Carmen had put headphones on the child and found a cartoon loud enough to cover the conversation.
Vanessa entered from the terrace carrying her phone.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Alyssa stirred her coffee, though she took it black.
Vanessa’s face held the strained pallor of a woman bringing news from a hospital room. “I posted a statement asking people to stop sharing the records.”
Damian ended the call. “You did what?”
“I defended Alyssa.”
“Delete it.”
Vanessa blinked. “Why?”
“Because every public response extends the story.”
“I didn’t include private information.”
Alyssa took out her phone.
Vanessa’s statement occupied the top of every search result.
As a mother and a survivor, I am appalled by the cruel release of Alyssa Vader’s fertility history. No woman should be judged for suffering miscarriages or ending treatment after five failed cycles. Alyssa deserves privacy, compassion and freedom from speculation about her marriage.
The post linked to an article containing the clinic’s name.
“You included the number of cycles,” Alyssa said.
“It was already public.”
“It was buried in one screenshot.”
Vanessa looked horrified. “I thought repeating it would show how invasive the leak was.”
Damian held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”
She obeyed.
He deleted the statement, though news alerts had already quoted it. Vanessa’s name trended beside Alyssa’s within minutes.
“I was trying to help,” she said.
“You don’t discuss Alyssa publicly without permission,” Damian replied.
The reprimand carried enough steel to make Vanessa lower her eyes.
Alyssa waited for him to recognize that Vanessa’s mistake had achieved precisely what a deliberate action would have accomplished.
Damian handed back the phone. “No interviews. No posts. Refer every question to legal.”
“I understand.”
Vanessa turned to Alyssa. “I am truly sorry.”
“You named the treatment cycles.”
“I read them in an article.”
“Which article?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Find it.”
Vanessa glanced at Damian.
“Find the article,” he said.
She searched her phone. Her thumb moved across the screen while breakfast cooled around them.
Sophie removed one headphone. “Are we in trouble?”
“No,” Vanessa said quickly.
Alyssa crouched beside the child’s chair. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Mom did.”
“Your mother made a poor decision.”
Vanessa flinched at the wording.
Sophie looked down at the winged horse. “Is Mrs Vader sick?”
“No,” Alyssa said.
“The website said she can’t have babies.”
Damian crossed the room. “Who showed you that?”
“Nobody. It came up on Mom’s phone.”
Vanessa pressed a hand to her mouth. “I left the screen open.”
Sophie’s pencil rolled from the table.
Alyssa picked it up and placed it beside the drawing. “Adults often write cruel things because they cannot see the person reading them. You should not have seen it.”
“Did you want a baby?”
The question came without malice. Sophie had nine-year-old curiosity and no idea where to put it.
Alyssa looked at the blue wings.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Vanessa hurried forward. “Sophie, that is private.”
The correction arrived after the child had already been given access to the information.
Alyssa stood. “Carmen will take you to the art room.”
“I haven’t finished breakfast.”
“You can bring the strawberries.”
Carmen removed the headphones and guided Sophie from the kitchen with the plate in one hand.
Vanessa remained near the table, shaking her head.
“I am so sorry,” she repeated.
Alyssa faced her. “Stop apologizing.”
Vanessa went quiet.
“Apologies have become your preferred method of continuing,” Alyssa said. “You cross a boundary. You make yourself smaller. Damian explains the harm as fear or confusion. The result stays in place.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Fairness has received more attention in this house than truth.”
Damian moved between them. “Enough.”
Vanessa stepped back. “She has every right to be angry.”
The sentence gave Alyssa permission she had never requested.
Damian looked at his former fiancée. “Go to the guesthouse.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled. “Of course.”
She left through the terrace doors.
Alyssa watched her cross the pool deck in the white morning light. Vanessa did not rush. She kept her head lowered until she passed the glass wall, where Damian could no longer see her expression.
He turned to Alyssa. “Legal is tracing the leak.”
“The files came from my office.”
“We don’t know that.”
“The posts include notes from my final consultation. Those notes were never emailed.”
“Who had access?”
“Me. You. Dr Levin. Marta and Elise handled my leave paperwork.”
“Marta left the foundation three years ago.”
“She had access while she worked there.”
“Elise still does.”
Alyssa stared at him. “You think Elise leaked my fertility records?”
“I am listing possibilities.”
“Elise sat with me after the second miscarriage.”
“That does not remove her from an investigation.”
“Yet Vanessa lives a hundred and fifty feet from the cabinet and remains protected from one.”
Damian pulled out a chair. “Sit down.”
“No.”
His hand stayed on the backrest.
Alyssa hated that chair. Every serious conversation now involved Damian inviting her to sit while he stood and arranged the facts.
“Vanessa amplified the leak,” she said. “You recognized that immediately.”
“She exercised terrible judgment.”
“You knew her response would spread it.”
“Yes.”
“You understand the provocation.”
“I understand why you’re furious.”
“Yet you still expect all restraint to come from me.”
Damian’s expression sharpened. “I sent her out.”
“After she read my medical history to the public.”
“I cannot undo that.”
“You could consider how she obtained the details.”
“We are considering it.”
“No. Your lawyers are searching for a technical breach. You are searching for an explanation that leaves Vanessa innocent.”
“That is not true.”
“Ask her to surrender her devices.”
“She is protected under an active court order. I cannot seize her phone.”
“You gave it back after deleting one post.”
“Because it belongs to her.”
“So did my records.”
A muscle moved near his mouth.
Alyssa took her coffee and walked toward the hall.
Behind her, Damian said, “Why do you keep giving her the reaction she wants?”
She stopped.
The question was quieter than the others. It carried concern, frustration and the belief that he had offered useful advice.
Alyssa turned.
“You know she wants a reaction.”
“I know she provokes you.”
“And responsibility still lands with me.”
“I am asking you to protect yourself.”
“From the woman you keep here.”
“From being drawn into scenes that damage you.”
“She commits the act. I object. You explain why my objection is strategically unwise.”
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“It is what you have done since she arrived.”
Damian’s gaze dropped to the phone in her hand. “You are angry enough to make decisions you may regret.”
“I have regretted remaining calm.”
The answer silenced him.
Alyssa left the kitchen before he could convert it into another discussion about tone.
At noon, she met Martin Lewis in a private room above a Cuban restaurant in Coral Gables.
Martin had represented Alyssa’s father during a property dispute years earlier. He wore navy suits, disliked public elevators and had never once described Damian’s wealth as impressive.
A plate of untouched croquetas sat between them.
“You want me to document your marriage without filing anything,” he said.
“For now.”
“That means you believe the problem may resolve.”
“I believe I need records before Damian decides my memory is a legal issue.”
Martin removed his glasses. “Has he threatened guardianship, psychiatric detention or control of your assets?”
“No.”
“Has he restricted your movement?”
“No.”
“Access to accounts?”
“Not yet.”
“Physical intimidation?”
“Never.”
“Infidelity?”
“No.”
Martin put the glasses back on. “Good. The absence of those facts matters. It does not make his conduct acceptable.”
Alyssa slid a folder across the table. Inside were screenshots, dates, photographs and a written summary of every incident since Vanessa arrived.
Martin read without comment.
“The bracelet concerns me,” he said when he finished.
“Because of its value?”
“Because it creates a theft allegation in both directions. Her bag. Your property. No reliable camera record.”
“The footage was removed.”
“Using your husband’s account.”
“Yes.”
“Which gives her several ways to frame the story later.”
A waiter delivered coffee. Martin waited until the door closed.
“Do you have independent property?”
“My design company owns an apartment in Brickell.”
“Does Damian know?”
“He knows the company owns investment property. He has never asked for the address.”
“Accounts?”
“Separate operating accounts. Personal funds at First Atlantic.”
“Enough to leave without asking him?”
“Yes.”
Martin nodded. “Keep it that way.”
“I am not leaving today.”
“I didn’t suggest you should. I’m asking whether the choice exists.”