Chapter 4 - God, how I wanted.
So I closed my eyes and let it happen. A gentle, sweet meeting, completely different from those passionate moments in his apartment. This was slower, more meaningful, loaded with the promise of a future and real commitment instead of just physical attraction and instant chemistry.
When we finally separated, both of us breathing a little faster, Andrew rested his forehead against mine with that small, genuine smile that completely transformed his face.
“We’re going to make this work. I promise you.”
There on that old sofa in my tiny apartment, with rain beating against the windows and Koko probably listening to everything from her room, I finally let the fear go and allowed myself to believe in him, in us, and in the possibility that maybe love really could be enough to make this work.
The 8th month of pregnancy arrived faster than I had imagined possible, transforming my body in ways that still surprised me every time I passed a mirror and saw the huge belly that seemed to have a life of its own.
The baby kicked constantly, especially at night when I was trying to sleep. Andrew had developed the adorable habit of talking to my belly before bed, telling our son about his day and making promises about the future that always made me cry.
The relationship had gone public 2 months earlier when hiding my 8-month belly simply stopped being viable. We decided together that it was time to face reality and whatever consequences came with it.
Andrew made an official announcement through Leprince Corp’s communications department, keeping details minimal but confirming that yes, we were expecting a child together, and yes, we were in a serious and committed relationship.
The media speculated intensely in the first weeks. The tabloids published articles about the age difference between us, my humble origins versus his wealth, how we had met, and the pregnancy timeline. But surprisingly, the coverage was mostly respectful, focusing on us as a beautiful couple and speculating about when the inevitable wedding would happen. Instead of painting the situation as sordid or inappropriate, they seemed interested in the romance of it.
I had started to relax. I had started to believe we could get through this without major drama or devastating complications.
I had started planning the future with Andrew in a real and concrete way, talking about names for the baby and about how we wanted to decorate his room in the new apartment Andrew had bought for the 3 of us, a middle ground between the opulence of his penthouse and the simplicity of my tiny apartment.
Then Phoebe Wittmann decided to destroy everything.
I woke on a Tuesday morning with my phone exploding in notifications. Dozens of messages from unknown numbers and emails from journalists asked for comments on a story I had not yet seen.
With trembling hands and my stomach turning over in a way that had nothing to do with morning sickness, I opened the browser and typed my name.
The results made all the air leave my lungs at once.
Leprince Corp CEO Deceived by Baby-Trap Scammer.
Ex Reveals Shocking Truth.
Ambitious Intern Uses Fake Pregnancy to Trap Billionaire.
Exclusive Photos: Elila Smith with Secret Lover During Alleged Pregnancy.
I clicked on the 1st article with numb fingers, and what I saw made me feel as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath my feet.
There were photos, dozens of them, showing me on dates with a man who definitely was not Andrew. Romantic dinners. Walks holding hands. Intimate embraces in public places. The images looked incredibly real, capturing perfect angles and lighting, with my clothes and hair exactly as I currently wore them.
But I had never been to any of those places.
I had never seen that man in my life.
The photos were completely fabricated.
The article quoted Phoebe extensively. Andrew’s ex-girlfriend, whom I had only seen in photos online, described hiring a private investigator out of genuine concern for her ex-boyfriend after hearing about our relationship. She said the investigator had discovered my alleged affair. She said it was her moral duty to expose the truth before Andrew made the mistake of marrying me and giving his last name to a child who possibly was not even his.
My phone rang in my hand. Koko’s name appeared on the screen, but I could barely process anything beyond the absolute panic spreading through my body like fire.
“Did you see?” Her voice was tense and worried. “Elila, please tell me you’re seeing this and not doing anything stupid.”
“I saw,” I managed, my voice thin and brittle. “Koko, those photos. I never—I don’t know that man. I’ve never been to those places. I swear.”
“I know,” she interrupted firmly. “I know, honey. Anyone who really knows you knows. Those photos are obviously fake. Probably AI or high-level Photoshop. But the question is, does Andrew know that?”
My stomach turned violently at the question.
Suddenly, I was running to the bathroom, getting sick in a way that had nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with pure terror.
When I finally managed to get up from the cold bathroom floor, washing my face with ice water while trying to control my breathing, which was becoming increasingly difficult, all I could think was that Andrew had probably seen the articles too, and everyone would believe them.
How could they not?
The photos looked so real, so convincing. Who would believe the word of a poor intern against photographic evidence and the testimony of a respected socialite?
I tried to call Andrew, but my hands were shaking so much that the phone fell to the floor, the screen cracking but fortunately still working. I picked it up with numb fingers. That was when I felt the 1st wave of pain cross my abdomen, followed immediately by another that made my knees give out.
“Elila?” Koko was screaming through the phone I had dropped again. “Elila, answer.”
“Hospital,” I managed to gasp, the pain intensifying while my vision started to darken at the edges. “Koko, I need to go to the hospital. Something’s wrong.”
The next few hours passed in a confused blur of ambulance, paramedics asking questions I could barely answer, and finally the hospital emergency room, where doctors and nurses moved around me with urgent efficiency while monitoring my vital signs and the baby’s.
“Dangerously elevated blood pressure,” I heard someone say. “Extreme stress causing premature contractions. We need to stabilize her, or we’re going to have an emergency delivery on our hands.”
Koko was beside me, holding my hand tightly while I tried to control my breathing through the contractions coming in irregular waves.
“Where’s Andrew?” she asked no one in particular, grabbing her phone and dialing frantically. “He needs to be here now.”
“He probably believes it,” I managed between painful gasps, tears flowing freely down my face while everything I had built with Andrew over the last few weeks seemed to crumble around me. “The photos, the lies. Everyone’s going to believe them, Koko. Why would he be different?”
“Because he loves you, you idiot,” Koko said with her brutal honesty, even in that terrible moment. “And because he’s not stupid enough to believe obvious AI photos without even talking to you first.”
But I could not believe that. I could not believe anyone would choose to trust me against such convincing evidence, especially when our story already seemed too improbable to be true from the beginning.
The room door opened violently.
Andrew was there, his hair messy, his suit wrinkled as if he had run out of an important meeting without caring about his appearance. He went straight to my bed, ignoring Koko and the doctors, his blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made more tears fall.
“How is she?” he asked without taking his eyes off me, his voice tense with worry.
“Extreme stress, dangerously elevated blood pressure,” the doctor responded professionally. “We’re having premature contractions. We need to lower the stress level, or we’ll need to induce emergency delivery. At only 8 months, that brings risks.”
Andrew turned to me, taking my free hand and bringing it to his lips in a gesture so tender it made my heart break.
“Hey. Look at me, Elila.”
I forced myself to meet that blue gaze through the fog of tears, mentally preparing to see doubt or accusation there, to see that he, too, had succumbed to Phoebe’s convincing lies.
“You saw the photos.”
It was not a question. It was a defeated statement.
“The news. Everything they’re saying about me.”
“I saw,” he confirmed simply, his voice calm in a way that seemed impossible given the situation.
“And you…”
My voice broke completely, more tears falling.
“You believe them. You believe I cheated on you, that everything was a lie, that the baby might not be yours.”
Andrew stayed silent for only a second before answering with absolute firmness that left no room for doubt.
“I believe in you.”
He paused, his thumb making comforting circles on the back of my hand.
“Those photos are AI, Elila. Fake. Obvious to anyone with half a functioning brain.”
The surprise must have been clear on my face because a small, tired smile appeared on his lips.
“How are you so sure?” I asked, still processing that he was not accusing me, not doubting, just trusting.
“Because I know who you are,” Andrew answered with devastating simplicity. “Because I trust you completely. And because…”
The smile got a little bigger, touched with genuine humor despite the terrible situation.
“The photos have basic rendering errors in the window reflections and lighting inconsistencies. I work with tech too, remember? I recognize poorly done AI when I see it.”
I could not help the laugh that came out more like a sob, relief and love and gratitude mixing into a whirlwind of emotions too much to process.
“Oh. You’re a nerd.”
“Your nerd,” he corrected gently.
Then his expression became more serious, more determined.
“And, Elila, I already sued Phoebe for defamation and fabrication of false evidence. I sued all the outlets that published the articles too. My lawyers have been on this since I saw the 1st headline at 6:00 this morning. They’re all going to retract today.”
“Andrew,” I began, not knowing what to say or how to thank him for the blind trust I felt I did not deserve. “Do a DNA test. When the baby’s born. To prove to everyone he’s yours. That I didn’t lie about anything.”
“No.”
Andrew said it with a vehemence that surprised me, his blue eyes shining with fierce determination.
“I don’t need to prove anything to anyone. He’s my son. You’re my woman. End of discussion.”
More tears fell, but this time they were from pure relief instead of fear.
“Andrew—”
“Marry me,” he said suddenly.
The declaration was so unexpected that for a moment I thought I had heard wrong.
“Today. Now. Here in the hospital. We can call a chaplain. Have a simple ceremony. Just us and whoever you want present.”
I stared at him in absolute shock, trying to process that he was really proposing in a hospital room, in the middle of the biggest scandal of our lives, while I was 8 months pregnant and probably looked like a complete mess.
“Here? You want to marry me here and now?”
“Why wait?” Andrew asked with devastating simplicity, his free hand going to my belly and making those comforting circles the baby always seemed to respond to. “You, me, him arriving in a few weeks. I don’t need anything more than that. I don’t want to wait 1 more day to call you my wife.”
I looked at him through the tears, seeing the absolute sincerity and unconditional love stamped on every line of his face, and knew there was only 1 possible answer.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Then louder, more firmly, “Yes. Marry me. Today. Here. Now. I don’t care where or how. I just want to be yours.”
The smile that lit his face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Then he pulled me into a careful embrace that took my huge belly into account, our lips meeting in a sweet, promising moment that sealed our future together.
Outside, the scandal continued exploding. The tabloids published increasingly absurd theories. Phoebe probably believed she had managed to permanently destroy our relationship.
But in that hospital room, 8 months pregnant and about to marry the man I loved despite all the impossibilities, I had everything that mattered.
A week after the scandal had been completely resolved, with Phoebe facing criminal charges for fabrication of evidence and defamation, and all the outlets having published full retractions admitting the photos were artificial-intelligence fakes, I started to breathe again and believe we might finally have peace.
Andrew showed up at his apartment, where I had spent the last week resting under strict medical orders, with a mysterious look on his face that immediately made me curious and slightly nervous.
“Elila, I need to take you somewhere.”
I looked at him with amused suspicion, running my hand over my huge belly, which seemed to have grown even more in recent days.
“Where? I can barely walk without looking like a clumsy penguin.”
“Do you trust me?” he asked, his blue eyes shining with barely contained excitement.
I could not help but smile because he knew exactly how to disarm me.
“Always.”
He helped me up from the sofa with the grace of someone assisting a beached whale.
The car took us through familiar streets before turning toward the most expensive part of the city. When we finally stopped in front of the ornate gates of the most exclusive private botanical garden I had ever seen, my heart started to race with anticipation.
Andrew helped me out of the car carefully, his hand firm on my back as we walked along a path illuminated by hundreds of small lights that looked like stars floating in the air around us.
Then I saw the full decoration, and the air left my lungs completely.
Flowers in shades of white and pink formed delicate arches all along the path. Suspended lights created a magical, ethereal atmosphere. In the center was a simple but absolutely beautiful altar decorated with more flowers and flowing fabrics that danced in the gentle evening breeze.
“Andrew, what is this?”
He turned to face me and, to my absolute surprise, began to kneel right there in the middle of the path, a visibly difficult task considering my huge belly between us, but he managed it with touching determination.
“Elila Smith,” he said, his voice loaded with emotion as he took a small velvet box from his pocket. “You transformed my life in ways I didn’t even know were possible. You made me remember how to really laugh, how to really feel, how to live instead of just existing in meetings and obligations.”
He opened the box, revealing a stunning ring that sparkled under the suspended lights. Tears were already streaming down my face before he asked the question.
“Will you marry me for real? Like we always dreamed? Not in a hospital room with doctors around, but here, like this. The right way.”
My voice came out in a tearful whisper.
“Here? Now? But I thought we had already decided to do it at the hospital.”
“Koko’s over there.”
Andrew pointed to the side, where, to my complete surprise, my best friend stood in a beautiful dress, holding a bouquet and trying not to cry.
“With a dress. The priest is waiting right there. All that’s missing is your yes.”
I looked around, seeing everything prepared perfectly, the attention to detail that had clearly taken planning and time, and felt more tears fall as I processed that he had done all of it for me.
“But I’m huge. I look like a whale. I can’t get married like this.”
“You’re pregnant with my child,” Andrew said with his gentle firmness, blue eyes shining with unconditional love. “You’ve never been more beautiful. You’re perfect, Elila. You always have been.”
The tears came harder.
“Yes. A thousand times yes. Forever yes.”
The ceremony was small but absolutely beautiful, exactly the way I would have chosen if I had dared to dream of something like it.
I wore a flowing white dress Koko had somehow magically obtained, one that accommodated my belly perfectly and made me feel beautiful instead of awkward. Koko stood at my side as maid of honor, crying openly and unashamedly as the priest began the ceremony.
“Andrew,” the priest said in a solemn but warm voice, “do you take Elila as your lawful wife, to love and respect her, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, all the days of your life?”
“I take her,” Andrew answered without hesitation, looking straight into my eyes. “And our son. And any crazy adventure that comes our way. I take everything that makes her who she is.”
The priest turned to me with a smile.
“And you, Elila, do you take Andrew as your lawful husband?”
“I take you,” I answered, my voice thick but firm. “Your protective ways, which are sometimes suffocating but always come from love. And I promise to stop running when you show up in the company hallway.”
Laughter echoed through the garden. Koko let out a sound that was half laugh and half sob, and even the priest was smiling as he declared that we could seal our union.
Andrew pulled me closer carefully, the huge belly definitely between us and making the angle strange. But when our lips met, it was absolutely perfect. The entire moment was magical in a way I had never imagined possible.
When we finally separated, he whispered against my mouth in that husky voice, “Mrs. Leprince.”
“I really like the sound of that,” I answered, smiling through the happy tears that would not stop falling.
Two weeks later, at 3:00 in the morning on a Monday, the contractions started for real.
What followed were 16 of the most intense and painful hours of my life.
Andrew was by my side the entire time, holding my hand even when I probably crushed it several times, wiping my face with a cold cloth, and being the main target for all the anger and pain I felt.
“I hate you,” I screamed during a particularly brutal contraction, squeezing his hand hard enough to cut off circulation. “This is your fault. All yours.”
“I know,” Andrew responded calmly, not seeming at all offended by my irrational fury. “You can hate me now. You can hate me later too, if you want.”
“I will hate you for years. For the rest of my life.”
Another contraction made me scream again.
“I’m never doing this again. Never.”
“That’s fine,” he said with infinite patience, his thumb making comforting circles on the back of my hand. “I can take it. You can hate me as long as you need to.”
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of pain and effort, I heard the most beautiful sound in the entire world.
Our son’s strong and healthy cry.
“Healthy boy,” the doctor announced with evident enthusiasm. “7 pounds. All vital signs perfect.”
I looked at Andrew and saw tears streaming freely down his face. It was the 1st time I had seen him truly cry, and that sight made my heart squeeze with love.
“He’s perfect,” Andrew said, his voice completely broken with emotion.
When they placed our son in my arms for the 1st time, I was exhausted but absolutely radiant. I could not stop looking at that tiny little face.
“He looks exactly like you,” I said in admiration. “Andrew, look. He’s your spitting image.”
Andrew took our son with a reverence that made more tears fall from my eyes, holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the universe.
“Hi, son. Dad’s here.”
His voice was loaded with raw emotion.
“Sorry for all the confusion so far. I promise it’ll be calmer from now on.”
As if he had understood his father’s words, the baby opened his eyes for the 1st time, revealing that unmistakable light blue, exactly like Andrew’s.
“He has my eyes,” Andrew said with absolute wonder, the most beautiful smile I had ever seen lighting his face.
“He has your complete face,” I agreed, laughing through the tears. “DNA test officially waived. No one can deny he’s your son.”
“I told you we didn’t need a test,” Andrew answered with genuine humor.
Months later, our son’s 1st word was unmistakable.
“Da,” Oliver shouted with excitement.
“He said Daddy.”
Andrew practically melted, coming to take our son in his arms with that huge smile that never got old.
“He says that to everyone,” I warned with humor. “Yesterday he called Koko ‘Dada’ for 15 minutes straight.”
“Don’t ruin my moment,” Andrew protested, holding Oliver against his chest.
“Then how’s our 2nd product line going?”
I placed my hand on my 4-month belly, feeling that comforting familiarity.
“Good. Nausea is finally passing.”
“Boy or girl this time?” Andrew asked, excitement in his gaze.
“Girl,” I answered with a smile. “And she’s going to look exactly like you too.”
“Probably. Same blue eyes, I bet.”
“Impossible,” Andrew said, leaning down to give me a sweet kiss. “She’ll be beautiful like her mother.”
Oliver made an exaggerated face, and we all laughed.
“Our perfect family,” Andrew said softly, looking at me and Oliver with unconditional love.
“Perfect and chaotic,” I corrected with a smile.
“The best kind.”
Andrew paused, that intense look always making my heart race.
May you like
“I love you, Mrs. Leprince.”
“I love you too,” I answered, feeling deep gratitude for the whole crazy journey. “My favorite CEO.”
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