chapter 7: No turning back

Father reached out to touch my arm, his eyes filled with regret, as if realizing he had gone too far with his words. But I didn't care. The damage was done already.

“Myla,” he called softly, his voice trembling. It was the same voice that once soothed me as a child, but now, it only intensified the hatred I felt for him.

“I… fucking… hate… you, not just you, but every single one of you sitting in this room,” I snapped.

Without waiting for their reaction, I turned and walked up the stairs.

When I reached my room, I slammed the door shut and fell onto the bed. My sobs sank into the pillows, while my father’s harsh words replayed in my mind.

He has hurt me more than I could bear, breaking me in ways I never imagined.

“I've had enough.” I hissed through gritted teeth, wiping my tears away with shaky hands. “Enough of Vanessa and her mind games. Father has no idea the fire he's playing with.”

I stood up, ran my fingers through my hair, and grabbed my suitcase. I packed furiously, tossing my clothes in without a second thought.

My hands shook in anger as I yanked open the drawers, tossing in documents, jewelry, and everything else I thought I might need.

“This is it, Myla,” I muttered, staring at the half-packed suitcase. “This is the last time they’ll ever see me like this.”

When I finally zipped up the bag, I glanced around the room one last time. This room had been my solace, but now it felt like a prison. I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and wiped my face.

As I made my way down the stairs, dragging my suitcase behind me, all eyes turned to me, their stares filled with guilt and shock. The room fell silent. And for the first time, I didn’t care.

“Myla,” Damien’s mother called, standing up abruptly. "Where do you think you’re going?" Her voice was filled with panic, but I ignored her. My focus was on the door.

She grabbed my arm and pleaded, "Myla, please, don’t leave like this. Damien made a mistake, but think of his reputation. Think of the family name. We can fix this. Just marry Damien again. Save him. Save us.”

I froze for a moment, staring at her in disbelief. “Save Damien? Save his reputation? Do you have any idea what he did to me?!” My voice cracked as I yanked my arm free.

Her eyes filled with tears as she stammered, “It wasn’t his fault, Myla. We didn’t show up on time because Michael had a heart attack that morning. We had to rush him to the hospital. Please, understand. Damien was in the hospital throughout the day. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen."

“ Oh, I see,” I said, my voice low. “Damien, is that what you told them? You’re such a pathetic liar.”

His face paled, and I could see the panic in his eyes.

“Please, Myla, don’t go. We can settle this as one family. It’s not Damien’s fault.”

“So now it’s my fault too? Let me tell you something, Mrs. Brooks. None of this, none of it, matters anymore. I’ve made up my mind."

“Myla, I’ll offer you a million dollars to stay. Just re-marry Damien and help us rebuild our name.” Michael Brooks, Damien's father, said standing up from the couch with his pale face.

I froze mid-step, A million dollars? The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath.

I turned slowly to face him, a bitter smile curling my lips. "A million dollars is a whole lot of money," I said slowly, walking toward him. His face lit with hope.

“But let me make one thing clear…” I leaned in closer, my voice like ice, “ I do not need your money. And I would never sell my happiness for it."

The collective gasp from the room was deafening. I glanced at Damien, who looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Myla,” Damien hissed, stepping forward. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting crazy!”

“One more word from you," I said, my voice sharp, “ I’ll squeeze those tiny balls of yours so hard you’ll never have kids. Do you understand me?”

Damien flinched, clenching his fists, his face turning pink. The shame in his eyes gladdened my heart with satisfaction.

I grabbed my suitcase and marched to the door, with Cynthia walking behind me. As I reached the entrance, I turned around to face the family one last time.

"And oh, by the way," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “ my night with Jaxon Brooks—your beloved eldest son—was incredible. Hot, steamy, sweet, and everything Damien could never be. If you want more details, feel free to ask him. I’m sure he’d love to share. I’m done answering your questions.”

The shock on their faces was priceless. Vanessa’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, and Damien looked like he might faint. With that, I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me.

Outside, the stares and whispers of neighbors followed me like shadows. “Isn’t that the bride who got dumped?” one woman whispered.

“She’s the scandal queen,” another said, laughing.

I clenched my jaw and kept walking, refusing to let their words get to me. Cynthia was waiting for me in her car, and as soon as I got in, she drove off.

"You okay?" she asked, glancing at me nervously.

I didn’t answer. My hands were shaking, my mind racing with everything that had just happened. "Just drive," I muttered, staring out the window.

“Do not listen to them, Myla. You’re better than this.” Cynthia said, but I didn’t reply.

My phone buzzed with messages and calls from my father, Vanessa, and Damien. I ignored them all, tossing the phone aside. Nothing they said could change my mind.

~~~~

Two weeks has passed, and I couldn't leave the country I stayed at Cynthia’s house, hiding from Jaxon, the press, and the police. Pictures of me and Jaxon were everywhere—on blogs, social media, even international news outlets. "Myla Calloway: Mistress or Victim," one headline read.

I couldn’t leave now that I wanted to, someone had filed a missing person’s report and has ordered the police to search for me. Officers were stationed everywhere, including the airport, making my escape impossible.

Jaxon had even gone to extreme lengths to find me. He’d offered a six-million-dollar reward for information about my whereabouts, and his desperate search had become international news.

“You’re famous now,” Cynthia joked one night, holding up her phone to show me the latest headlines.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This isn’t funny, Cynthia. I can’t even leave the house without being recognized.”

Her expression turned serious. “But on a real note, are you okay? You’ve been sick for two weeks now. You need to see a doctor,"

I shook my head. “It’s probably just stress. I’ll be fine.”

Cynthia frowned. “I don’t think so, Myla. Your symptoms—fatigue, nausea, mood swings—they’re not normal.”

A wave of fear washed over me. "What are you saying?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated, her eyes filled with worry. “ I think you’re pregnant, Myla.”

My heart stopped. “What? That’s ridiculous! I can’t be... it’s impossible!”

“Think about it,” she interrupted. “The timing adds up. The symptoms match. It makes sense.”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “It’s not possible.”

“Well, I got you a pregnancy test,” she said, holding up a small box.

My hands trembled as I took it from her. Minutes later, I stared at the result, my heart pounding in my chest.

Two lines. Positive.

Cynthia sat beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this. I promise.”

I nodded slowly, tears streaming down my face. My life had taken another unexpected turn, and I had no idea what was coming next.

I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand, my heart pounding in my chest as different emotions swept through me.

My mind was far from being relax. " Myla you are fucking pregnant, this is bad," I muttered under my breath.

I gulped hard, struggling to breath as Cynthia held me tight. I couldn't cry, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. The fear of being a single mom in a society where I knew I won't be accepted crushed me deeply.

Suddenly, hard, deliberate knocks echoed through the room. Someone was outside. I froze, my fingers gripping the test tightly, and my eyes darted to Cynthia.

"Are you expecting anyone?" My voice was barely a whisper, but it was laced with tension.

“ No... why?” she replied, shaking her head, and her face was drawn with concern.

We tiptoed to the door, barely breathing, trying to catch a glimpse of who was outside. Before we could react, the door flew open, sending cold shivers down my spine.

Standing there, was Jaxon Brooks.