The room fell silent the moment the doctor turned the screen toward them. The monitor flickered softly, outlining the tiny shape floating inside Aaliyah's womb. Damiano reached for her hand, squeezing it with a tension he didn't even try to hide. The doctor smiled gently, his tone warm but serious. "Your baby is doing well… and congratulations—she is a girl."
Aaliyah inhaled sharply, tears rising immediately. Damiano's lips parted as if he had forgotten how to breathe. A daughter. He already felt the world shifting under his feet.
But the doctor's expression changed. He clicked through a few images before looking at them again, this time with a heavier tone.
"However… I need you both to listen carefully. The levels of stress Aaliyah is experiencing right now are dangerously high. There are signs that point toward a risk of pregnancy complications—possibly even a loss—if her anxiety and panic don't decrease soon."
Aaliyah's heart dropped. Damiano straightened in his seat, his jaw locking at the doctor's words.
"She needs stability," the doctor continued. "Peace. Support. No pressure. No harassment. No emotional chaos."
Everything she didn't have right now.
They walked out of the clinic through a back exit, but the paparazzi were already waiting at the front, shouting her name, shouting insults, shouting lies. Italian gossip sites had twisted everything—calling her a "homewrecker," a "career leech," claiming she had tricked Damiano into a scandal just as Måneskin was facing internal tension from the sudden attention Two Lovers had brought back.
Rumors were already spreading that the band was arguing behind the scenes. Too many interviews. Too many questions about Aaliyah instead of their music. Too many headlines linking their legacy to a woman who hadn't asked for any of this.
While Damiano rushed her into the car, another story was exploding online:
Aaliyah's ex-band had given an interview in New York, and the clips went instantly viral. One of the members—someone she once called family—said publicly, "She always wanted drama. Aaliyah loved attention. This is exactly her brand."
A cold knife straight to her chest.
Hours later, Damiano had his own interview. What was supposed to be about the band turned into a trap. The host pushed, and pushed, and pushed—
"Are you the father?"
"Did you cheat?"
"Is Aaliyah destroying Måneskin's image?"
Damiano snapped. "Enough. Talk about the music or end the interview."
The clip spread like wildfire within minutes.
Back at the apartment, Aaliyah sat on the couch in oversized clothes, one hand over her stomach, trying not to fall apart. Damiano paced the living room, tension radiating from him.
"We need to slow everything down," he said, running his hand through his hair. "This pressure… it's not just affecting you. It's affecting her."
The word "her" made Aaliyah's throat burn.
She nodded, her voice breaking. "I can't lose her, Dami… I can't."
He kneeled in front of her immediately, taking her hands as if anchoring her back into reality.
"You won't," he whispered fiercely. "But I need you to trust me. Even if the world hates us right now. Even if my band is falling apart. Even if the past comes back to attack you. I'm not going anywhere."
His voice was shaking, but steady enough to feel real.
Outside, journalists kept shouting.
Online, conspiracy theories kept spreading.
Inside Måneskin, pressure kept rising.
Inside Aaliyah, fear kept poisoning every breath.
But for the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to lean forward and let Damiano pull her into his chest. His heartbeat hammered against hers, as if trying to convince her that the world could slow down if they stayed like this long enough.
For a moment, everything calmed.
Just a moment.
But it was enough.