The anonymous “insider” seemed to know every detail: Teresa was supposedly nearing her due date, had purposely kept the "batsy," and was up in Jonathan’s mansion to use the child as leverage.
Worse, the article printed the exact address–Forlisle Rose Estates, Nareigh’s priciest townhouse enclave.
Teresa’s fingers shook against the glass. Confusion tangled with pure anger. She scrolled to the comments–each line uglier than the last. She thought, ‘Are these paid trolls or just ghouls with keyboards?’
[Gold–digging witch.]
[Used a condom with a pinhole–classic trap.]
[Probably did IVF behind his back.]
A few voices swung at Jonathan: [He couldn’t keep it zipped? Out of all women, he knocks up his ex?]
Horizonlead Group’s empire dwarfed Teresouth, and seeing Jonathan dragged through the mud made Teresa’s blood boil. She fumed, ‘Neither of us is like this. Who has the time–and malice–to fabricate this garbage?’
Then, as fast as the tide rolls in, every vicious post about Teresa vanished. Only the anti–Jonathan comments remained. No matter how many times Teresa refreshed, her name wouldn’t populate; the comment field rejected every attempt to type it.
She was reaching for her phone to call Jonathan when his name lit the screen. “You awake?” he asked, a tight urgency beneath the calm.
“Yeah. Just saw my phone. There’s… a lot about me out there.”
“I know,” Jonathan said. “I’m five minutes away. Don’t get upset–no stress, okay? Don’t trigger anything. Protect the baby. I’m coming.”
Teresa promised she wouldn’t. Worthless to panic now. She was furious, but she still had no clue who the “insider” was.
One thing was clear: the leaker had chosen not to mention Michael. They must know he was conceived before the divorce–less scandal there.
The real target was the baby she carried now, three years post–divorce, no remarriage on record. ‘Slut–shame me or paint Jonathan the deadbeat–either headline tanks both companies.’
Her first suspect flashed neon: Irene. ‘Is she finally getting even? Hurting Jonathan in the crossfire doesn’t seem to bother her!’
She was still turning the thought over when the front door opened. Jonathan strode straight to her. “Who leaked it?” Teresa asked before he’d even kicked off his shoes.
Only a handful of people knew about the pregnancy–Miriam, Edward, Benny, Donald, and Jennifer. None of them felt like snitches, which left Irene as the only possibility.
Jonathan’s brow knitted. “Probably a woman named Yalena.”
Teresa blinked. “The Kelly Group heiress? The one you were supposed to marry?” She’d met Yalena maybe twice. ‘How could she know?’ she thought.
Jonathan’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. My mom told her. They talk all the time. When Mom realized I wouldn’t go through with the arranged marriage, she… torched the bridge.”
Teresa gave a hollow laugh that tasted more like bile. ‘I should’ve seen Irene’s knife coming.’ Teresa said, “Michael’s still asleep. I’ll wake him up and we’ll move out before reporters–or worse–show up.”
“Hold on.” Jonathan caught her wrist. “There’s another way. We could—”
Teresa jerked free, already heading for the stairs. “No time. I’m packing.”
Jonathan exhaled, helpless. He thought, ‘She never lets anyone finish a sentence.’
Jonathan’s private phone kept screaming. He’d already killed the business line, but the personal one wouldn’t quit. Teresa’s associates, Hayden, were asking for answers.
‘I’ll deal with them later,’ he decided, pocketing the phone. ‘Right now, the only person I need to calm down is Teresa.’
A security guard burst through the front door. “Mr. Lynn, we’ve got a problem–reporters are packed wall–to–wall at the gate."
“I know,” Jonathan answered, calm but firm. “Keep it quiet. Don’t scare my wife or the baby.”
The guard blinked. ‘W–wife?’
Upstairs, Teresa froze mid–fold, a tiny sweater dangling from her fingers. ‘Did he just say “my wife”?’
Jonathan took the stairs two at a time. He eased the suitcase from her grip and slid it back under the bed, then set both hands on her shoulders.
Jonathan said, “Take a breath. The vultures are outside. You really think they’ll let you and Mike waltz out the front door?”
Teresa didn’t answer. She thought, ‘Touch my kids and I’ll bite.’ She asked, “So what’s the plan? We each post a statement? Half the internet will call us liars before we hit send.”
Jonathan nodded. “Exactly. No matter what we say, it’ll read ‘unmarried couple, surprise baby.’ You’re eight months along–we can’t hide it, and I’m not letting you cinch yourself into some dangerous binder again.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Teresa shot back. “We need to stop the bleeding before our stocks hemorrhage.”
Jonathan exhaled. “Yalena tipped the outlets last night. Even if I start slapping gag orders around, the story’s burning too hot to smother.”
“So what now?” Teresa’s voice cracked, fury trembling in every syllable. ‘Yalena again–first my company, now my life.’
He searched her face, his voice dropping. “There’s one play–hear me out before you bolt.” He hesitated, then locked eyes with her. “Let’s remarry.”