Page 60 of Fateful Exposure

"What do I do, Ashton?" she whispered, as I inched closer to her so that our sides would press together.

Taking her cheek in one hand, I softly pressed my lips to hers. "Don’t allow it to reduce you to ashes."

Her sigh fanned my face. Then she exhaled and seemed to think about it before nodding. "I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Let's do this."

My grin was so wide that I thought it would split my face into two. "That's my girl."

The following two weeks were spent in Selma's office, developing new designs. I had no idea if having sex was part of the designprocess or if she was just horny all the time, but I didn't complain and whipped out my cock every time she requested it.

It helped because her creative juices flowed as quickly as the ones between her legs. I gave her space when she needed it so as not to crowd her, instead working on repairing her bruised public image with Maria.

All hands were on deck. I called Milo, and he offered to help by using his influence in the music industry. I offered to give him a sloppy kiss in return, but the fucker was less than appreciative of my payment choice because, and I quote, “You're ugly, and you've got no titties."

Bastard.

On my end, I called in favors with the media houses that had requested my services on a scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours basis years ago. I'd never had reason to cash in these favors, but now that they controlled the public's minds on a matter that concerned me, it was only fair that I used them, too.

Soon, articles highlighting Selma's creativity and unique style began to roll out. There was some criticism, but that was expected. No one truly had it easy. But it got better. I anonymously chipped into a particular media house to drag their attention to Selma's odd series of sabotage and how it could be from a rival company.

That took the spotlight off Selma and onto Alex and his little backstabbing girlfriend. After all, Alex had broken up withSelma right before her brand took a downward tour, taking her intern slash cousin with him and starting their own company. Anyone with a brain between their ears could figure it out.

If that didn't scream, “I'm behind your downfall,” then I don't know what did.

Pretty soon, it was all anyone could talk about. Twitter was ablaze with how Selma was the victim here and had been gravely misunderstood. Alex became the bad guy overnight, much to my pleasure. But that didn't mean Selma was out of the woods yet.

Maria posted a teaser on her Instagram page about the leaked designs not being Selma's actual designs. Then she made a TikTok explaining in detail how the new designs were size-inclusive, regardless of shape. It was well received by women around the world, and the contagious excitement spread like wildfire.

In all my years in this industry, I'd never seen this much buzz behind a designer's upcoming collection. Honestly, I couldn't believe the damage control had worked.

However, while we could curtail the effect of the design leak, there was only so much we could do about the pregnancy news leak. I concluded that I would never work with him, albeit very late, because he was admittedly slow, and Alex had gone ahead to reveal my name.

It was still speculation, as nothing had been proven yet, but that was enough to take some of the spotlight back on Selma.While getting pregnant was a normal occurrence when a woman had unprotected sex, the public didn't believe that Selma, or any unmarried woman actually, whether famous or not, should engage in any sexual activity that could lead to pregnancy.

Or maybe it was a 'don't get caught' kind of shit because everybody was fucking. They only judged the people whose personal lives were out there for them to feast on as the vultures they were.

In my opinion, it was a stupid notion, especially given that they had nothing against the man, who was me in this instance. Not even one single finger had pointed toward me. It did take two to tango, but apparently, it was the woman's fault for not being careful enough.

I wouldn't lie; it irked the fuck out of me. How society was so quick to place blame on the woman when the man could as well have prevented this kind of shit. Leaving aside the fact that sex was an activity to be enjoyed by every single individual at the right age and with the proper awareness about it, there was also the slight inconvenience of the misguided sense of importance people had toward another person they knew nothing about.

Fucking hypocrites, all of them.

In the end, sex sells like crazy, and it always would. And having dabbled in the industry for years, Alex knew that, and he used it to his advantage. There wasn't a day since that night on the rooftop when I didn't wish I'd pummeled his fucking face into the ground.

In a few weeks, Selma would begin to show. I had no doubt the paparazzi and their flashing cameras would be waiting in tow for their next juicy story about how Selma had truly gotten pregnant by her photographer. And then the public would bring out their nasty claws and blood-sucking fangs, hoping to further tear apart a career Selma had built by herself for the past couple of years.

Because that was precisely what the media did. They saw you lying helplessly on the ground, and they stomped you even more, dashing any hope to recover enough to get up.

I would be here with her, making sure she didn't have to go through it alone. And when the baby came, I would still stay and show her that I was nothing like her father. No matter how much she expected me to be.

Until then, we needed to focus on the new designs. The unveiling window was very short. Given that Maria already posted that nothing had leaked and everything was going to plan, Selma had to ensure the designs were ready at the appointed time.

"What do you think?" Selma asked me one week before the unveiling, handing me her iPad from the opposite sofa in her office. Her shoulders were tensed, and dark circles were forming under her eyes. We'd gone to a doctor's appointment last week together, though Selma tried to talk me out of it. The doctor had said that stress was not good for Selma or the baby.

However, this couldn't be helped. I gave her a massage every night, but I might as well have been pressing into a stone because she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the bed.

I watched her as she slept in my arms. I noticed the way her lashes flickered, and her eyelids fluttered in tandem, as though images ran in her mind and she was watching them fly past. I studied her heart-shaped lips and the slight pink hue that kissed her cheek.

My heart swelled impossibly with affection. It was one of those moments of epiphany when you knew you loved someone, but didn't realize how much you actually loved them until it hit you like a moving truck.

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