The morning after their confession felt strangely calm—demasiado calm. Damiano had barely slept; he spent most of the night tracing circles on Aaliyah's back, memorizing the way she breathed, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay. But calm never lasted long in their world. And that day, everything exploded.
The first blow came early. Aaliyah's phone wouldn't stop vibrating. Notifications piling up one after another. She frowned, picked it up, and froze.
A rumor had leaked.
A gossip page had posted:
"Source says Damiano David is expecting a child with a mystery woman. Identified? American singer Aaliyah."
Her hands shook. "Damiano… the internet knows."
His jaw tightened. "No. Someone wants attention."
But before he could say more, a second punch landed.
The band's manager called, voice sharp and panicked:
"We need you two here NOW. Someone sent us photos."
Photos?
Aaliyah felt her heart stop.
When they arrived at the studio, the manager threw a tablet on the table.
And there it was.
A blurry picture of Damiano with his hand resting protectively on her stomach from the night before.
They weren't kissing.
They weren't even touching intimately.
But the pose… the lighting… the closeness…
It said everything.
"Who took this?" Aaliyah whispered.
Damiano clenched his teeth. "Someone must have followed us. Or… someone inside posted it."
Before they could even process it, another voice echoed in the hallway—the last one they wanted to hear.
Giorgia.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes cold, looking at Damiano like she no longer recognized the man she spent six years with.
"So it's true," she said, her voice steady but full of venom. "You didn't just leave me. You replaced me."
Aaliyah stepped back unconsciously, every insecurity flooding her at once.
Damiano moved instinctively in front of her.
"Giorgia, this isn't the time—"
"No?" Her laugh was sharp, broken. "You think I care about timing? My friends sent me the rumor this morning. But the photo…" She pointed at the tablet. "The photo confirms everything."
Damiano opened his mouth, but she didn't let him speak.
"You think people won't do the math? You were still with me when you met her. You destroyed us for a girl you've known for—what?—a month?"
Aaliyah felt the sting of the words hit hard. Her chest tightened painfully.
Damiano's voice dropped. "Giorgia, enough."
But she wasn't done.
"Oh, and congratulations," she added bitterly. "Seems you two are having a baby. Maybe the world should know that too, right?"
Aaliyah's breath caught.
Her vision blurred.
Damiano's entire body tensed.
"You had no right to say that," he growled.
"And you had no right to lie to me for months," she snapped before storming out.
For a moment there was silence—horrible, suffocating silence.
Then the manager breathed, "We can't contain this anymore. The press is already digging. Within hours it'll be everywhere."
Aaliyah felt the walls close in.
This wasn't how she wanted the world to find out.
This wasn't how she imagined her first pregnancy announcement.
This wasn't even how she imagined surviving the day.
Damiano reached for her hand, gently, cautiously.
"Aaliyah… breathe. I'm right here."
She looked up at him, tears burning her eyes. "Damiano, this is too much. The rumors, the photo, Giorgia… the whole world finding out before we were ready. I don't know if I can do this."
He stepped closer, ignoring everyone else.
"You're not doing this alone. I'm with you—every step. I'll face the press, the band, Giorgia… everything. Just don't walk away from me."
Her voice trembled. "I'm scared."
"So am I," he admitted, pulling her into his chest. "But I'm more scared of losing you than any rumor or headline."
And right there, in the middle of chaos, public scrutiny, betrayal, and heartbreak, he held her like the world was trying to tear them apart—and he refused to let go.
Aaliyah clung to him, breathing in shaky, broken breaths, knowing that everything had changed.
The secret was out.
The world knew.
Their lives were no longer private.
And yet…
They still had each other.
For now.
For whatever came next.
For the story that had just begun—louder, messier, and more dangerous than ever.