Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires, #2)(55)

Declan stands and follows after me out of his bathroom. I’m careful not to slip on any more puddles, although it seems like enough time went by for them to evaporate.

“Thanks again. For all this.”

He says nothing, but the satisfied look on his face speaks volumes. I escape his room and crawl into bed with the biggest smile on my face.

All thanks to Declan.

I drop my empty luggage by the foot of the bed so I can answer my ringing phone.

“Please tell me you’re not pregnant.”

“I’m sorry? Did you just ask if I’m pregnant?” I slam a fist to my chest twice to help me breathe.

“Yes.”

“Why?!” I double-check my period tracker app despite the fact that I haven’t had sex in months.

“You don’t know.” Mom’s voice cracks.

My knees shake, so I take a seat on the edge of the mattress. “What happened?”

“There are…stories coming out about you.”

“Me?”

“And Declan.”

My stomach drops. “Send them to me.”

She makes a noise. “I think it’s better if you don’t see them.”

Shit. Acid crawls up my throat as I ignore my mother and type my name into the search engine with shaky fingers. The results are horrifying. Each headline somehow seems worse than the last. Buzzwords like fake marriage, baby clause, and gold digger. News articles I can handle, but it’s the comment sections that really sting. After the first one claims I don’t deserve children because of the mockery I made out of marriage, I exit the internet application. If that’s the first one, I can’t imagine how awful the rest are.

My social media profiles are no better, with all of them being clogged with people sending me direct messages. Even a few direct threats.

My stomach churns. “None of this is true.”

Except, isn’t it?

I mute my phone and proceed to scream into the mattress.

Mom remains unaware of my breakdown. “Obviously not. I’ve seen the way you two interact. These soulless people are just looking to ruin anyone so they can sell a few copies.”

I have no idea what my mom thinks she saw but I refuse to argue with her. There are way bigger fish to fry.

“What am I supposed to do?” My voice shakes.

“My poor baby.” Mom’s voice cracks. “I hate that they’re saying these things about you. Them calling you a money-hungry…” Her voice drifts off, as if it pains her to finish that sentence.

Don’t worry, Mom. It hurts me just as much. The amount of women who wrote nasty comments on my social media posts is nothing compared to the ones who privately messaged me their thoughts. I set my accounts to private, but the stain of their words still lingers.

I’m so close to cracking with each shuddery breath I take.

“Don’t let these people get to you.” Mom’s voice stands firm, and it helps ease the smallest fraction of tension from my shoulders.

“It’s a little too late for that,” I grumble.

“They’re nothing but rumors.”

“Except everyone is talking about my marriage, including freaking Finance Today.” I know I’ve officially hit rock bottom when the spreadsheet nerds are out to get me.

“They can say anything they want, but that doesn’t make any of it true.”

Oh, Mom. If only you knew. “But—”

“No buts. These reporters will come up with any kind of story to sell some papers. It’s disgusting that they would come after your marriage like this, but I’m not surprised.”

Me neither when I come to think of it. The timing is almost too perfect, with Declan and me being unable to do anything about it from here.

With each article I read, my anger intensifies. I know exactly who released these stories into the world, hoping for this kind of reaction. Seth Kane is lucky I’m thousands of miles away from him or else I would give him a piece of my mind.

Or fist.

I don’t think anyone could read comments like that about themselves and not feel some kind of emotion toward it. But despite my feelings, I know who I am and what I stand for. Nothing anyone says will change my mind, but it doesn’t mean their words still can’t affect me.

Unlike Declan, I didn’t grow up in this kind of world. I’m not accustomed to having my image plastered all over every celebrity gossip site, picking at everything that makes me who I am. It makes me want to hide away from everyone and everything, but it also makes me want to fight.

“I’m going to fix this.” I hold my chin up.

“How?”

I won’t allow logistics to kill my motivation. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Oh, baby. You can’t change people’s narratives. They are going to think what they want based on the facts they’re presented with, and nothing you do will change that.”

Mom’s words cause a lightbulb to shine above my head—as if it was blessed by God himself.

What if I create a story so enticing, they can’t help but want to change their view? I can control how people perceive us. It might take a bit of work on my end, but it has to be better than the alternative. Because if stories like this continue to pile up, Brady Kane’s lawyer will most likely start questioning the authenticity of everything.