Maya's POV
"That's not me," I say into the microphones, my voice shaking. "I was never at that clinic. Someone faked that photo."
"Then where were you yesterday at 2 PM?" the reporter demands.
"At the police station. Giving a statement about James Walsh attacking Derek."
"Can anyone verify that?"
"Detective Martinez. She interviewed me for hours." I look desperately at Ethan. "Tell them this is fake."
"The photo is clearly doctored," Ethan says firmly. "Someone is trying to destroy Maya's reputation. We'll be pursuing legal action against whoever created this false image."
"But Ms. Chen," another reporter calls out, "you can see the clinic sign clearly in the background. You can see your face, your clothes. How do you explain that?"
"I can't explain a lie!" My voice rises with frustration. "I'm keeping this baby. I would never—"
I stop. My hands instinctively go to my stomach, protective.
Cameras flash, capturing my defensive posture. Tomorrow's headlines write themselves: "Pregnant Woman Denies Abortion Clinic Visit Despite Photo Evidence."
"This press conference is over," Ethan announces, pulling me toward the building.
Security guards hold back the reporters as we rush inside. But their questions follow us.
"Is the baby really Ethan Stone's?"
"Were you planning to terminate the pregnancy?"
"Why should we believe you over photographic evidence?"
In the elevator, I collapse against the wall. "This is a nightmare. Who would do this?"
"James Walsh," Ethan says grimly. "He's trying to make you look unstable. Unfit to be a mother. Then he can petition for custody."
"But the photo is fake! Technology experts can prove it!"
"Which will take days or weeks. Meanwhile, the damage is done. Public opinion has already turned against you." Ethan pulls out his phone, scrolling through social media. "Look at this."
He shows me Twitter. My name is trending. The comments are vicious.
"She's a liar and a gold digger."
"Poor Ethan Stone. He doesn't know the baby isn't even his."
"She was going to abort Derek's baby and trap the billionaire. Disgusting."
"Women like this deserve to lose their children."
I read comment after comment, each one cutting deeper. Strangers who don't know me are calling me terrible names, making assumptions about my life, wishing horrible things on me and my baby.
"I can't breathe," I gasp. "This is too much. I can't—"
"Sit down." Ethan guides me to a chair. "Put your head between your knees. Breathe slowly."
I follow his instructions, trying to calm the panic attack building in my chest. This baby needs me calm. Stress can cause miscarriage. I can't let these strangers hurt my child.
"We'll fix this," Ethan promises. "We'll hire experts to prove the photo is fake. We'll sue for defamation. We'll—"
"It won't matter," I interrupt. "The truth doesn't matter anymore. People believe what they want to believe. And they want to believe I'm the villain."
My phone rings. Sophie's name flashes on the screen.
"Don't answer it," Ethan warns. "You need rest, not more stress."
But Sophie is my best friend. I need her right now.
"Maya!" Sophie sounds frantic. "I just saw the news. That photo is fake, right? You weren't at an abortion clinic?"
"Of course not! I would never—"
"I know, I know. But girl, it looks real. Really real. Whoever made this is a professional."
"James Walsh hired someone to destroy me."
"Then we need to destroy him first." Sophie's voice turns fierce. "I'm calling everyone I know in the media. We'll get your side of the story out there."
"It's too late. No one will believe me."
"I believe you. That's all that matters." Sophie pauses. "Maya, there's something else. Vanessa just posted on Instagram."
My stomach sinks. "What did she say?"
"Hold on, I'll read it to you." Sophie clears her throat. "'My heart breaks for Maya Chen. Despite our complicated history, I wouldn't wish this kind of public scrutiny on anyone. Pregnancy is hard enough without the media attacking you. I hope she finds peace and makes the right choice for her baby. Praying for her.' Can you believe that fake sympathy?"
"She's loving every second of this," I realize. "She's pretending to be kind while watching me suffer."
"Classic Vanessa. Playing the martyr while secretly celebrating." Sophie sighs. "Maya, I'm coming over. You shouldn't be alone right now."
"I'm fine. Ethan is here."
"Ethan can't give you what I can—ice cream, trash TV, and permission to cry without judgment."
Despite everything, I smile. "Thanks, Sophie."
After hanging up, I check Vanessa's Instagram post myself. It already has thousands of likes and hundreds of comments.
"Vanessa is such a good person. Even after everything Maya did to her."
"This is what real class looks like. Forgiving your enemies."
"I hope Maya sees this and learns what grace means."
"She's playing them all," I say, showing Ethan. "And it's working."
"Let her play," Ethan says coldly. "When we prove she faked her illness, her sympathy will evaporate."
"If we prove it. James has lawyers and connections. He'll make our evidence disappear."
"Not if we release it ourselves. Directly to the public. No lawyers, no courts, just raw truth."
I think about Daniel's folder. The medical records proving Vanessa lied about being sick. The bank statements showing Patricia paid doctors. It's all there, waiting to be used.
"When?" I ask. "When do we expose her?"
"Soon. But first, we need to clear your name about this abortion photo." Ethan makes a call. "I'm bringing in a forensic imaging expert. They'll prove the photo is manipulated."
While he talks to the expert, I wander to the windows. Below, reporters still crowd the building entrance. Cameras point up at Ethan's penthouse, hoping to catch a glimpse of me.
I'm a prisoner in this luxury apartment. Can't leave without facing the mob. Can't defend myself without making it worse.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
"Having fun being destroyed? This is just the beginning. Give back what you stole, or your baby won't make it to birth."
My hands shake so badly I almost drop the phone.
Someone is threatening my baby. Again.
"Ethan," I call out. "Look at this."
He reads the text, his face darkening. "That's a death threat. We're calling the police."
"And tell them what? That someone sent me a scary text? They won't do anything."
"They'll trace the number—"
"It's probably a burner phone. Untraceable." I sink onto the couch. "Whoever is doing this knows how to cover their tracks. Just like the fake photo. Just like everything else."
Ethan sits beside me. "What did you steal? The text says 'give back what you stole.'"
"My grandfather's inheritance? The evidence against James? I don't know."
"Could it be Patricia? She lost her meal ticket when your grandfather changed his will."
"Maybe. Or James. Or Vanessa. Or any number of people who hate me." I laugh bitterly. "I have so many enemies now. Take your pick."
My phone buzzes again. Another text from the same unknown number.
This time, it's a photo.
A ultrasound image. My ultrasound image. From my doctor's appointment.
But written across it in red digital letters: "DEAD BABY."
I scream and throw the phone across the room.
Ethan picks it up, sees the image, and immediately calls his security team. "I need surveillance on Dr. Kim's office. Someone accessed Maya's medical records. I want to know who and when."
While he's on the phone, there's a knock at the door.
I freeze. "Who is that?"
"Stay here." Ethan checks the security camera. His face relaxes slightly. "It's Derek."
He opens the door. Derek enters, looking exhausted and worried.
"I saw the news," Derek says, rushing to me. "Maya, are you okay? That abortion photo—"
"Is fake," I interrupt. "I was never there."
"I know. I was with you yesterday, remember? We were at my apartment when my father attacked Daniel." Derek kneels in front of me. "I already released a statement to the press confirming you were with me. I'm vouching for you."
"That just makes it worse," I realize. "Now they'll say we're conspiring together. Making up stories."
"I don't care what they think." Derek takes my hands. "You're carrying my child. I'm going to protect you no matter what."
"Your father sent me a death threat," I show him the ultrasound photo.
Derek's face goes pale, then red with rage. "He's threatening our baby?"
"Someone is. I don't know if it's James or someone else."
"I'll kill him," Derek says simply. "If my father hurts you or our child, I'll kill him with my bare hands."
"Get in line," Ethan mutters.
My phone rings. Detective Martinez.
"Ms. Chen, we need you to come to the station. We have questions about the abortion clinic photo."
"I already told you it's fake—"
"We know. But we need an official statement. And Ms. Chen, there's something else. We found surveillance footage from the clinic. The woman in the photo isn't you."
Relief floods through me. "You have proof?"
"We have footage showing a woman who looks like you entering the clinic, but when we zoom in on her face, there are subtle differences. Different eye color. Different nose shape. Someone disguised as you."
"Who would do that?"
"That's what we need to find out. How many people have access to your personal information? Your medical records? Photos of you?"
Too many people. Patricia. James. Vanessa. Anyone with money and connections could have hired someone to impersonate me.
"I'll come to the station," I tell her. "Give me an hour."
After hanging up, I tell Ethan and Derek the good news. "They have proof the photo is fake. They have surveillance footage showing an imposter."
"That's great," Derek says. "But it still doesn't tell us who did this."
"Or why," Ethan adds. "What's the endgame? Destroy your reputation, threaten your baby, and then what?"
"Force me to give up," I realize. "Make me so scared and desperate that I hand over my grandfather's inheritance. Or give James custody of the baby. Or disappear entirely."
"You're not going anywhere," Ethan says firmly.
"Except the police station," I remind him. "I need to give my statement."
"I'm driving you," Derek insists.
"We're both going," Ethan adds. "Safety in numbers."
We take the service elevator to avoid reporters. But somehow, they know we're leaving. Cameras flash as we exit the building.
"Maya! Is it true you hired someone to impersonate you?"
"Derek! Are you standing by Maya despite the scandal?"
"Ethan! Do you regret getting engaged to her?"
We ignore them all, climbing into Ethan's car. Derek sits in the back with me, his hand protectively on my knee.
At the police station, Detective Martinez shows us the surveillance footage. A woman who looks remarkably like me walks into the abortion clinic. But the detective is right—when you look closely, it's not me. The eyes are wrong. The walk is different.
"Do you recognize her?" Martinez asks.
I study the footage carefully. Something about the way the woman moves seems familiar.
"I don't know," I admit. "Can you get a better angle?"
Martinez pulls up another camera angle. This one shows the woman's profile as she enters the clinic.
My blood runs cold.
"That's Vanessa," I whisper.
"Your stepsister?" Martinez looks surprised. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. She's wearing a wig and makeup to look like me, but that's definitely her." I point at the screen. "See that scar on her left hand? From when she cut herself on broken glass when we were teenagers. That's Vanessa."
Derek leans forward, examining the footage. "She's right. That's Vanessa."
"But why would your stepsister impersonate you at an abortion clinic?" Martinez asks.
"To destroy my reputation," I say. "To make me look unstable so James Walsh can take my baby. Vanessa is working with him."
"Can you prove that?"
"Not yet. But I will."
We leave the police station with more questions than answers. In the car, my phone buzzes again.
Another text from the unknown number.
"Nice try with the police. But it won't matter. By tomorrow, everyone will know the truth about you and your precious baby. And then you'll lose everything."
I show the text to Ethan and Derek.
"What truth?" Derek asks. "What else could they possibly reveal?"
"I don't know," I say. "But whatever it is, it's coming tomorrow."
That night, I can't sleep. I lie in bed at Ethan's penthouse, staring at the ceiling, wondering what fresh hell tomorrow will bring.
At 3 AM, my phone buzzes.
An email. From an anonymous sender.
The subject line reads: "OPEN THIS OR YOUR BABY DIES."
My hands shake as I open it.
Inside is a video file. I press play.
The video shows me—or someone who looks exactly like me—in what appears to be a doctor's office. The fake Maya is talking to a doctor about abortion options.
"I can't keep this baby," fake Maya says. "I don't know who the father is. I've been with too many men. The baby could belong to anyone."
The doctor nods sympathetically. "We can schedule the procedure—"
"As soon as possible," fake Maya interrupts. "I want this parasite out of me."
The video ends.
I'm shaking so violently I drop the phone.
This video is fake. It has to be fake. But it looks so real. The lighting, the doctor's office, the conversation—everything is perfectly staged.
When this video goes public tomorrow, my life is over.
No one will believe I didn't say those things. No one will believe it's not me.
And James Walsh will use it to prove I'm an unfit mother and take my baby.