Chapter 18
Hadley
Ron’s call came two days ago.
No greeting. No small talk. No fake politeness to soften the blow. Just his voice barking through the speaker like I was a contract clause that had started malfunctioning.
“Photoshoot Friday. Two p.m. Courtyard. Cal, you, the teen, the bump. Soft family spread. Magazine wants a behind-the-scenes baby announcement to shut down the scandal noise and clean up Cal’s public image. You’re doing it.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing the phone so tightly against my ear it left an ache long after he finished speaking.
“I don’t want cameras near Eli,” I said quietly.
“Too bad,” Ron snapped. “Contract says cooperate with PR obligations. You don’t, we pull financial support. Tutors gone. Security gone. You deal with paparazzi climbing the gate alone. Your choice.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the black screen, my reflection staring back like someone I barely recognized.
My hand slid automatically to my stomach.
The bump shifted slightly beneath my palm, a slow roll that always startled me, like the baby was reminding me that none of this was performance. None of this was staged.
We were real.
And we were trapped inside something carefully manufactured to look like love.
......
Friday arrived like a bruise blooming under skin, slow, inevitable, tender in all the wrong ways.
I dressed Eli in a clean navy button-down and dark jeans. He stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the collar like it was strangling him. His shoulders stayed tense, pulled slightly inward the way they did when he was overstimulated or anxious.
“I don’t like cameras,” he said. No whining. No pleading. Just a quiet statement of fact.
“I know,” I said gently, smoothing his hair down even though he would mess it up again within minutes. “Just smile once. Then we come upstairs. You can watch trains all afternoon. No interruptions.”
He studied my face through the mirror reflection, searching for something I couldn’t give him.
“Why do we have to do this?” he asked.
“Because…” I hesitated, the lie already sour in my mouth. “People want to see that we’re okay.”
He didn’t even blink.
“We’re not okay,” he said.
My throat tightened so hard it hurt to swallow.
“I know,” I whispered.
.....
The courtyard had been transformed into something that looked like it belonged in a glossy magazine spread instead of someone’s backyard.
White backdrop panels framed with climbing ivy.
Oversized potted palms placed strategically to soften camera angles.
A long farmhouse table decorated with fake coffee cups, untouched croissants, pastel macarons that looked too perfect to be eaten by actual humans.
There were throw blankets draped over chairs, carefully wrinkled to look natural.
It smelled like hairspray and sunscreen.
Assistants moved like choreographed birds, adjusting reflectors, testing lighting, murmuring over camera lenses. The photographer wore all black like he was attending a funeral for authenticity. Ron paced with his phone glued to his ear, barking orders in clipped bursts.
“This is damage control,” I overheard him say. “We need soft. Domestic. Redemption narrative.”
Cal arrived twenty minutes late.
Hoodie pulled up. Sunglasses still on despite the shade. He smelled faintly like last night’s whiskey layered under expensive cologne and something floral that definitely wasn’t mine.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t acknowledge Eli standing beside me gripping the hem of his sleeve.
He just nodded once toward Ron.
“Let’s get this over with.”
The photographer clapped his hands, stepping forward with artificial enthusiasm.
“Perfect! Okay, Cal, arm around Hadley’s waist. Hadley, hand on his chest. Eli, step just behind them, big natural smiles, guys! This is a family announcement, so we want warmth!”
Family announcement.
The words echoed unpleasantly in my chest.
Cal’s arm settled around my waist. Stiff. Mechanical. But his palm pressed against the small of my back, and despite knowing it meant nothing, my body reacted before my brain could catch up. Heat bloomed there, traitorous and unwanted, a ghost of intimacy we had never truly built.
I placed my hand on his chest like instructed.
His heartbeat was steady. Slow. Controlled.
The photographer began snapping photos rapidly.
“Closer together! Cal, tilt your head down. Hadley, look up at him like you’re sharing a secret!”
I lifted my eyes toward him.
For a fraction of a second, his sunglasses were lowered and I caught his gaze directly. There was exhaustion there. Confusion. Something flickering that looked dangerously close to vulnerability before it vanished behind the cold mask he wore so well.
It hit me unexpectedly.
A tiny, stupid spark of hope.
The kind that forms from scraps and survives on delusion.
“Cal, kiss her cheek, candid baby announcement moment!”
He leaned in.
His lips brushed my cheek. Quick. Cold. But I felt the faintest pause afterward, like he hesitated before pulling away. The warmth of his breath lingered along my skin, and my chest tightened painfully, hating myself for noticing it, for storing it away like it mattered.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
Behind us, Eli stood frozen. Arms crossed. His jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle flex.
“Okay, now hands on the bump, both of you,” the photographer said brightly. “Let’s show off the reason we’re here. This is the shot that tells the world.”
Cal hesitated for half a second before placing his hand over mine on my stomach.
The contact was light. Careful.
But it was the first time he had touched my bump in public.
The baby shifted beneath our palms. A slow flutter.
My breath caught. A sudden wave of emotion crashed into me, fear, longing, grief, hope, all tangled together in something raw and messy.
For one fragile moment, standing under blinding lights with cameras flashing and strangers watching, it almost felt like we were what they were pretending we were.
The photographer grinned. “Beautiful. Perfect. That’s the announcement shot.”
Syd stood at the edge of the set, arms folded, lips curled in a knowing smirk. Every time Cal’s hand brushed my stomach, her expression tightened like she was tallying debts she intended to collect later.
“Alright, family hug!” the photographer called.
Cal pulled Eli in awkwardly with one arm.
Eli’s entire body went rigid. He didn’t hug back. He just stood there, trapped inside the frame like furniture arranged for visual balance.
I felt him trembling, small, controlled tremors that most people wouldn’t notice.
I noticed.
“That’s amazing,” the photographer said. “So real. So authentic.”
Ron clapped sharply. “That’s enough. We’ve got it.”
Cal dropped his arm immediately and stepped away like the entire setup had burned him. He walked toward the house without looking back.
Syd followed, brushing her shoulder deliberately against his as they disappeared inside together, their laughter trailing behind them, low, private, intimate. Like the photoshoot had just been an inconvenience interrupting their real life.
.......
I took Eli’s hand and led him into the kitchen.
He didn’t speak until we were alone.
He sat at the island, staring at a plate of leftover fruit from the shoot. His fingers hovered over a slice of melon but never touched it.
“I don’t like it here,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
“He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t even look at me.”
My chest tightened painfully.
“He’s not good at connecting with people,” I said carefully.
“Then why do we stay?” Eli asked, looking directly at me. “Is it because of the baby?”
My mouth opened. Closed. I had no version of the truth that wouldn’t sound like betrayal.
He pushed the plate away.
“I’m not hungry.”
He walked upstairs. Closed his door softly.
That quiet click sounded louder than a slam.
....
That night, the sounds started again.
Cal and Syd. Down the hallway. Loud. Unapologetic. Moans. Bedsprings creaking rhythmically. Her laugh, high, breathless, almost theatrical. His low groan vibrating through the walls.
I walked to Eli’s room.
He was awake, sitting upright with his headphones already on, eyes shadowed with frustration.
“Again?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just try to rest.”
He sighed deeply, pulling his blanket over his head.
I closed his door gently and locked mine behind me. I slid down onto the floor, back pressed against the door, hands shaking as I texted Zariah.
I’m drowning.
My phone rang seconds later.
“Had,” she said immediately, voice tight with anger and worry. “Tell me what happened.”
I told her everything. The photoshoot. The staged baby announcement. Cal’s coldness. Eli’s questions. The sounds echoing through the hallway.
She didn’t interrupt once.
When I finished, she exhaled sharply.
“You don’t deserve this,” she said fiercely. “None of you do. That photoshoot? That’s exploitation, not damage control.”
“They said it would shut down rumors about Cal sleeping around,” I whispered. “Make him look stable. Responsible.”
“And you’re the prop making him look redeemable,” she snapped.
Tears burned my eyes. “I didn’t want Eli involved.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“I don’t know how to leave,” I admitted. “He controls everything. The money. The lawyers. The security. Ron said if I don’t cooperate, they pull all support.”
“Fuck Ron,” she said immediately. “And honestly? Fuck Cal too. You’re not his brand asset, Hadley. You’re a person.”
“I don’t have savings, Zariah,” I whispered. “I barely have independence right now.”
“You have me,” she said firmly. “I’m already looking at flights. If I need to come drag you out of there, I will.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Eli’s already struggling with change. I’m scared of uprooting him again.”
“You’re not uprooting him,” she said softer now. “You’re removing him from a toxic environment. That’s different.”
Silence stretched between us.
“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly. “Not just financially. I’m scared of what Cal could do legally if I leave.”
“We’d figure that out,” she said. “You don’t have to plan everything tonight. Just… don’t convince yourself this is normal.”
“I know it’s not.”
“Then don’t stay forever,” she said gently.
We talked for nearly an hour. She ranted. I cried. She promised she’d help me build a way out. For the first time in weeks, the idea of escape didn’t feel impossible, just terrifying.
....
After we hung up, I sat there listening to the quiet. They had finished down the hall.
A knock came at my door.
Soft.
“Hadley?” Kei’s voice murmured.
I didn’t answer.
“I saw the shoot today,” he said through the wood. “You looked miserable. Eli too.”
Silence stretched.
“I know you’re in there,” he added quietly. “I’m not leaving.”
I stood slowly and unlocked the door.
He looked tired. Hoodie pulled low. Eyes heavy with concern.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
We sat on the floor, backs against the bed.
“I’m scared,” I whispered. “I’m scared the baby will grow up thinking this is what love looks like. Cameras. Pretending. Women rotating through his bedroom while I smile for magazines.”
Kei stared at the carpet for a long moment before speaking.
“It won’t,” he said. “Because you know it’s wrong. That’s already more awareness than most people have.”
“I don’t know how to protect them,” I admitted. “Eli’s hurting. The baby isn’t even born yet and I feel like I’m failing already.”
“You’re not failing,” he said quietly. “You’re surviving in a situation built to control you. That’s not weakness.”
“I feel like I’m disappearing,” I whispered.
He shook his head slightly. “You’re still here. Still standing. Still fighting, even if it’s quiet.”
He didn’t promise solutions.
He just stayed.
And tonight, that was enough.
...
Later, alone in bed, I rested my hand over my stomach and stared at the closed door.
One thought circled endlessly in my head:
I can’t keep pretending this is survivable.
But leaving means risking everything.
And staying means losing myself piece by piece.
No resolution came.
Just dread.
Heavy.
Constant.
Growing louder every day.