Chapter 3
Corine's POV
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our penthouse, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. The scent of fresh flowers from the balcony mixed with the warm aroma of the lavender-scented candle I had burning on the coffee table. I curled my fingers around the stem of my crystal glass, sipping my infused lemon water as I scrolled through my emails.
Natasha was already here, sprawled across my velvet couch, her legs tucked under her as she scrolled through her own phone. She had a habit of visiting almost every day—practically living here at this point. She and Allen got along well, sometimes too well, and I was grateful for their friendship. My life looked perfect from the outside. A successful career, a devoted husband, and my beauty empire, Luxe Beauty, which was preparing for another major launch.
Yet, something felt off today. A gnawing sensation at the back of my mind, like I was missing something. It started a few days ago—the exhaustion, the waves of nausea, the slight dizziness whenever I stood too fast. At first, I blamed it on the stress of work and the upcoming product launch, but now I wasn’t so sure.
“Hey, Cori, you okay?” Natasha’s voice pulled me back. I realized I had been staring at my phone screen without reading a word.
“Yeah, just tired,” I said, forcing a small smile. “It’s been a long few weeks.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe you need a break. Or better yet, a spa day.”
“Maybe,” I murmured, but my mind was elsewhere. A small voice in my head whispered the possibility, but I wasn’t ready to say it aloud yet. Instead, I pushed myself up from the couch, stretching. “I think I’ll go freshen up.”
As I stepped into my en-suite bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My usually radiant skin had a subtle pallor, and my eyes—though still bright—held an exhaustion I couldn’t shake. My hand drifted to my stomach involuntarily, and the thought solidified. I had to know.
Minutes later, I found myself staring at a pregnancy test, my heart pounding against my ribs. The seconds stretched into eternity as I waited, my breath shallow. And then, the result appeared. Positive.
My breath caught. I sank onto the edge of the bathtub, my mind racing. I was pregnant. A mixture of emotions surged through me—joy, fear, disbelief. I should have been ecstatic, yet all I could feel was the weight of this secret pressing down on me.
I didn’t tell Allen right away. Instead, I threw myself into work, preparing for Luxe Beauty’s new lip liner launch. Every day, I walked into meetings, oversaw campaigns, and perfected the product, all while carrying the biggest secret of my life. Natasha noticed my sudden change, my exhaustion, my absent-mindedness, but she didn’t push.
The night before the launch, Allen and I had dinner in our private dining room, the city lights twinkling beyond the windows. He poured me a glass of wine, but I hesitated, my fingers curling around the stem without taking a sip. He noticed immediately.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his deep blue eyes searching mine.
I took a deep breath. This was it.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out a tiny velvet box and sliding it across the table to him. His brow furrowed as he picked it up, flicking it open. Inside, nestled in silk, was a tiny gold keychain with the words “Daddy’s baby"engraved on it.
He stared at it, confusion flashing across his face before realization dawned. His eyes widened, and when they met mine, they were filled with so many emotions I couldn’t even begin to decipher them.
“Cori…” His voice was barely a whisper.
I nodded, my throat tight. “We’re having a baby, Allen.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, in an instant, he was around the table, pulling me into his arms, his lips pressed against my forehead as he breathed me in. “I love you,” he murmured. “So much.”
And for the first time in weeks, I felt like everything might just be okay.
The launch of Luxe Beauty’s new lip liner was nothing short of a spectacle.
Weeks of preparation had led to this moment, and as I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my dressing suite, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of exhilaration and nerves.
My fingers traced the edge of the Luxe Beauty packaging on the vanity, the sleek design a symbol of my hard work and vision.
This wasn’t just another product—it was a statement, a piece of me shared with the world.
Natasha sat on the velvet chaise, sipping champagne, her eyes following me as I adjusted my diamond earrings.
“Cori, you are about to shake up the beauty industry again,” she mused, setting her glass down.
“The world is obsessed with you right now, and they don’t even know you’re carrying the heir to the Woods empire.”
I smirked, running a hand over my still-flat stomach. I had told Allen about the baby days ago, in a moment that was private and perfect, just like us. Now, I carried that secret with me, even as the cameras flashed and the world anticipated my every move.
Allen had been the one invited to the Met Gala, a testament to his ever-growing influence in the media world.
His company was a multi-million-dollar empire, yet we remained intensely private, only allowing glimpses of our lives to seep into the public sphere.
It was a delicate balance between fame and intimacy, one that we had mastered over the years.
The launch event was an exclusive affair held at a luxurious rooftop venue overlooking the LA skyline.
Celebrities, influencers, and industry elites filled the room, the air buzzing with excitement.
The stage was bathed in soft golden lighting as I stepped forward, microphone in hand, my Luxe Beauty lip liner in its elegant packaging displayed on grand pedestals.
“This isn’t just makeup,” I said, my voice steady yet passionate.
“It’s confidence.
It’s power.
It’s a signature that defines you before you even say a word.”
Applause erupted, and I caught Allen’s gaze from the front row, his deep blue eyes filled with pride.
The moment was surreal, but there was no time to bask in it.
In less than 48 hours, we would be stepping onto the Met Gala red carpet, another whirlwind event that demanded perfection.
The theme this year was Old Hollywood Glamour, and every designer in the world had wanted to dress me.
I had chosen a custom gown—a shimmering black and gold silk creation that clung to my figure like a second skin, the train cascading behind me like liquid metal.
The delicate embroidery caught the light with every step, creating an ethereal glow that followed me like a halo.
My hair was styled in deep, glossy waves, pinned to one side, a modern tribute to screen legends of the past.
Lips painted in the very shade of Luxe Beauty’s new launch—bold, powerful, unforgettable.
Allen, always effortlessly elegant, stood beside me in a sharp tailored tuxedo, his presence commanding yet understated.
He exuded quiet confidence, his dark hair neatly styled, a slight five o’clock shadow adding to his rugged charm.
The watch on his wrist gleamed under the city lights, a subtle flex of wealth and power.
The car ride to the Met Gala was quiet, our fingers intertwined as we watched the flashing lights grow nearer.
The tension in the air was palpable—the anticipation, the thrill of knowing we were about to step into a night that would be talked about for years to come.
When our car finally pulled up to the grand entrance, the world outside erupted into chaos.
Camera flashes turned the night into a blinding spectacle of white light, reporters shouting questions, the sound of voices blending into an indistinct roar.
The velvet ropes barely held back the sea of photographers vying for a single perfect shot.
The moment we stepped out, the energy shifted.
A hush, an intake of breath, as if the world itself had paused to take us in.
“Corine! Over here!”
“Allen, how does it feel to have the most stunning woman in the room on your arm?”
The golden carpet beneath our feet seemed to glow, a regal path leading up the iconic Met steps. Allen held out his hand, guiding me with practiced ease, his touch reassuring amid the frenzy. Each step was measured, deliberate. I knew how to play this game—to let the cameras feast on every calculated turn of my head, every graceful movement, every smirk that hinted at the secrets we held.
The grandeur of the Met Gala was breathtaking. The entrance, adorned with cascading red roses and gilded chandeliers, felt like stepping into a dream. Inside, a symphony of laughter and champagne glasses filled the air, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with the warmth of candlelight. Celebrities and designers mingled, each more dazzling than the next, a parade of fashion and influence.
Natasha was waiting just inside, a vision in emerald silk that made her red hair even more striking. “Took you long enough,” she teased, handing me a glass of champagne. “You’re the moment, Cori. I swear, the world is obsessed with you tonight.”
I let out a soft laugh, my fingers grazing the diamonds around my neck. “Let them watch.”
As the night unfolded, we danced the delicate dance of fame and secrecy. Every conversation was laced with intrigue, every glance calculated. Allen and I stole moments of solitude amid the crowd—a hand at the small of my back, a whispered word in my ear that sent a shiver down my spine.
But beneath it all, beneath the shimmering lights and whispered admiration, I carried a quiet truth—a tiny heartbeat, a future unknown, a love that was only just beginning to grow.