Why not both?
Gabriel’s reply came less than a minute later.
Dinner tomorrow.
Not a question.
I stared at the message, amused despite myself.
I typed back.
You’re very confident for a man whose investment model I dismantled in front of two hundred people.
His answer appeared instantly.
And you’re very evasive for a woman who enjoyed doing it.
I laughed.
It was the first time in months that laughter did not feel borrowed.
Dinner became coffee.
Coffee became arguments over valuation models, healthcare reform, philanthropy, and whether billionaires should be allowed to use the phrase “changing the world” without being fined.
Gabriel Lancaster was not what I expected.
Publicly, he was controlled to the point of intimidation.
Six-foot-three.
Dark hair touched with premature silver.
A voice so calm that boardrooms became quieter when he spoke.
The financial press called him ruthless.
Competitors called him worse.
But in private, Gabriel listened.
That was what unsettled me most.
Julian had once listened because he wanted ammunition.
Gabriel listened because he wanted to understand.
When I told him an idea was bad, he did not punish me for embarrassing him.
He asked why.
When I contradicted him in meetings, he smiled.
When I told him one of his executives was lying about projected margins, Gabriel investigated instead of defending his ego.
The executive was gone by Friday.
Three months after London, Gabriel asked me to consult for Ascend Capital.
I refused.
He doubled the fee.
I refused again.
He offered me equity.
“You’re trying to buy me,” I said.
We were standing on the balcony of his Manhattan office, fifty stories above the city.
Gabriel leaned against the railing.
“No,” he said.
“If I were trying to buy you, I’d offer something you actually want.”
“And what do I want?”
His eyes moved briefly to my stomach.
By then, I was twelve weeks pregnant.
I had told almost no one.
Gabriel had known because I fainted during a meeting in Zurich.
He canceled the entire afternoon, called a private physician, and sat outside the examination room without asking a single invasive question.
When the doctor confirmed the baby was fine, I cried in the elevator.
Gabriel stared straight ahead and pretended not to notice.
Now, on the balcony, he answered quietly.
“Peace.”
That word nearly destroyed me.
I looked away.
The city blurred.
“I can’t offer you that,” he continued.
“But I can make sure no one takes it from you without a fight.”
I should have stepped back.
Instead, I trusted him.
That frightened me more than falling in love ever could.
Because love had betrayed me before.
Trust had buried me.
Yet somewhere between midnight strategy sessions and doctor appointments, between arguments about markets and quiet dinners where Gabriel never once asked me to explain my scars, something changed.
He never tried to become the center of my life.
He simply became the person standing beside me while I rebuilt it.
And now, five months pregnant, I stood beside him behind the private entrance of the Armand Grand Hall while my ex-husband laughed about me on the red carpet.
Gabriel watched the security monitor.
Julian kissed Dalia’s temple for the cameras.
“You can still leave,” Gabriel said.
I turned toward him.
“Do you want me to?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Then stop offering.”
For a second, something warm flickered in his eyes.
Then the ballroom coordinator approached.
“Mr.
Lancaster, Ms.
Bennett.
They’re ready for you.”
Ms.
Bennett.
Not Duval.
Never again.
Gabriel extended his arm.
I took it.
The doors opened.
The orchestra was playing when we entered.
It stopped three seconds later.
Not dramatically.
Not intentionally.
The violinist simply saw us.
Her bow faltered.
Then another musician missed a note.
The conductor turned.
Within seconds, silence spread through the ballroom like spilled ink.
Three hundred faces shifted toward the entrance.
I saw recognition happen in waves.
First Gabriel.
Then me.
Then my stomach.
Whispers began immediately.
“Is that Khloe Duval?”
“No, Bennett.
She changed it back.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“With Lancaster?”
“Oh my God.”
“Look at Julian.”
I did.
Julian had gone completely still.
Dalia still had one hand looped through his arm, but he seemed to have forgotten she existed.
His champagne glass hovered halfway to his mouth.
His eyes locked on my stomach.
For one terrible second, memories struck me with physical force.
Julian kissing my belly during my first pregnancy.
Julian assembling a crib badly and refusing to read the instructions.
Julian crying after our first loss.
There had been a man I loved once.
Maybe he had been real.
Maybe ambition had eaten him.
Maybe I had invented the best parts because I needed them to exist.
Either way, he was gone.
The man staring at me now looked less heartbroken than offended.
As though my pregnancy were a personal insult.
Gabriel placed his hand gently at my back.
Not possessive.
Steady.
We descended the staircase.
Every camera in the room turned toward us.
Julian recovered before we reached the bottom.
He always had excellent instincts when an audience was present.
His smile returned.
He released Dalia and walked toward us.
“Khloe.”
My name sounded strange in his mouth.
“Julian.”
His gaze dropped again.
“You’re pregnant.”
“So I’ve been told.”
A few people nearby laughed nervously.
Julian didn’t.
His attention moved to Gabriel.
“Lancaster.”
“Duval.”
They shook hands.
It was the most civilized declaration of war I had ever seen.
Dalia joined us.
Up close, she was breathtaking.
Not merely beautiful.
Engineered for attention.
Perfect cheekbones.
Glossed lips.
A posture trained by years of competitions where a single wrong angle could cost a crown.
She looked at me, then at Gabriel.
Her smile flickered.
That interested me.
“Khloe,” she said brightly.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I doubt any of it was accurate.”
Her expression tightened.
Julian laughed.
“Still sharp.”
“You used to like that.”
His eyes hardened.
Gabriel interrupted smoothly.
“Congratulations on your engagement.”
Dalia’s confidence returned instantly.
“Thank you.
And I should thank you too, Mr.
Lancaster.
Ascend’s sponsorship changed my life.”
“I’m aware.”
Something in his tone made her blink.
Julian looked between them.
“You two know each other?”
“Not personally,” Dalia said quickly.
Gabriel gave her a long look.
“No,” he agreed.
Not personally.
Interesting.
I filed it away.
Julian turned back to me.
“So,” he said, forcing casual amusement, “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
“They are.”
“When are you due?”
“February.”
He calculated automatically.
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But I knew him too well.
February meant conception around May.
Our divorce had been finalized almost two years earlier.
There was no possible claim, no scandalous overlap, nothing he could weaponize.
That seemed to irritate him.
His eyes moved toward Gabriel.
“Fast work.”
The insult was subtle.
Gabriel’s expression did not change.
Mine did.
I smiled.
“Careful, Julian.
People might think you’re jealous.”
The circle around us became very quiet.
Julian laughed too loudly.
“Jealous?
Khloe, I’m getting married.”
“Yes.
You’ve mentioned it in seventeen interviews.”
Dalia’s fingers tightened around her clutch.
Julian leaned closer.
“This isn’t the place.”
“You approached me.”
His smile vanished.
For the first time that night, I saw the man from the penthouse.
The one who believed public charm gave him private permission to be cruel.
“You disappear for two years,” he murmured, “then walk into my event pregnant on Lancaster’s arm.
What exactly are you trying to prove?”
My event.
That almost made me laugh.
Before I could answer, Gabriel did.
“It isn’t your event.”
Julian looked at him.
Gabriel’s voice remained calm.
“The Allesian Foundation owns the gala.
Ascend underwrites forty-two percent of tonight’s operating budget.”
A pause.
“And Khloe is here because I invited her.”
Julian’s nostrils flared.
Dalia stared at Gabriel.
Again, fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Then the master of ceremonies appeared onstage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats.
Dinner service will begin shortly.”
The moment broke.
But the war had started.
Gabriel guided me toward our table.
Table One.
Directly in front of the stage.
Julian saw the placement.
His face darkened.
He and Dalia were seated at Table Three.
For a man obsessed with hierarchy, two tables might as well have been two continents.
We sat beside Senator Hollis, a media chairman, the CEO of a pharmaceutical company, and an elderly woman named Isadora Vale who owned enough Manhattan real estate to make governments nervous.
Isadora studied me over her champagne.
“So you’re the woman who embarrassed Julian Duval at Northwestern.”
I nearly choked.
“That was fifteen years ago.”
“Good stories improve with age.”
Gabriel hid a smile.
Dinner began.
I barely tasted it.
Across the ballroom, Julian kept looking at me.
Dalia kept looking at Gabriel.
And Gabriel kept watching the stage.
Something was wrong.
I leaned closer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Several things.”
“Gabriel.”
He looked at me.
“Tonight isn’t only about facing Julian.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, applause erupted.
The master of ceremonies had returned.
“And now, we would like to recognize one of the extraordinary young women whose advocacy has helped raise awareness for educational access across underserved communities.”
A giant screen illuminated behind him.
Dalia’s face appeared.
The crowd applauded again.
She rose gracefully.
Julian stood beside her, proud and polished.
The announcer continued.
“Since winning the Crown of Nations title last year, Dalia Fontaine has become a global ambassador for the Future Her Initiative.”
Images flashed behind them.
Dalia visiting schools.
Dalia hugging children.
Dalia speaking at conferences.
Dalia wearing a white hard hat at a construction site.
Then the Ascend Capital logo appeared.
My pulse shifted.
“Gabriel.”
He did not look at me.
“Wait.”
Dalia stepped onto the stage.
She delivered a flawless speech.
Education.
Hope.
Opportunity.
Women supporting women.
She had memorized every pause.
Every smile.
Every moment of vulnerability.
When she finished, the applause was enormous.
Julian looked ecstatic.
Then the master of ceremonies returned.
“One final announcement.”
Gabriel stood.
The room quieted again.
Dalia’s smile froze.
The master of ceremonies gestured toward him.
“This year, Ascend Capital has chosen to increase its commitment to the Future Her Initiative to one hundred million dollars over the next decade.”
Gasps.
Applause.
Julian clapped first.
Dalia looked relieved.
Then Gabriel walked onto the stage.
I watched him take the microphone.
“Thank you.”
His voice filled the hall.
“Philanthropy has become very good at photography.”
A few uncertain laughs.
“Less good at accountability.”
The room went still.
Dalia’s face changed.
Gabriel continued.
“Six months ago, Ascend commissioned an independent audit into the foundations and ambassadors receiving funding under programs associated with our sponsorships.”
Julian stopped clapping.
My heart began pounding.
“We discovered irregularities.”
No one moved.
“Shell nonprofits.
Inflated invoices.
Fabricated school partnerships.
Misallocated grants.”
The screen behind Gabriel changed.
Financial documents appeared.
Transfers.
Dates.
Names.
Dalia went white.
Julian stared at her.
I whispered, “Oh my God.”
Gabriel continued.
“Approximately eleven-point-eight million dollars intended for educational initiatives was redirected through a network of consulting entities.”
Reporters were already standing.
Camera flashes exploded.
Dalia stepped toward him.
“This is insane.”
Her microphone was still live.
Everyone heard her.
Gabriel turned.
“Is it?”
“I had nothing to do with accounting.”
“Your signature appears on nine authorizations.”
“My manager handled those.”
“Your manager denies that.”
Dalia looked toward Julian.
He was frozen.
For once, the great Julian Duval had no script.
Then the screen changed again.
A corporate registration appeared.
Fontaine Strategic Holdings.
Authorized representative:
Julian Duval.
The room erupted.
Julian stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
“What the hell is this?”
Dalia stared at him.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen that company.”
Gabriel looked toward the audience.
“Mr.
Duval claims he has never seen the company.”
Julian marched toward the stage.
“This is defamation.”
“Then you should welcome the investigation.”
“What investigation?”
Gabriel paused.
That was when the ballroom doors opened.
Three federal agents walked in.
The crowd exploded.
People stood.
Reporters shouted.
Phones appeared everywhere.
Dalia stepped backward.
Julian stopped moving.
One of the agents approached the stage.
“Dalia Fontaine?”
She looked at Julian.
Then Gabriel.
Then me.
And suddenly I understood why she had been afraid.
This wasn’t new to her.
She had known.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
The agent identified himself and asked her to come with them for questioning regarding financial fraud and conspiracy.
Dalia’s composure shattered.
“No.”
Julian reached her.
“Don’t say anything.”
She spun toward him.
“You told me it was legal.”
The ballroom became silent.
Julian’s face drained.
“What?”
“You said everyone does it.”
“Dalia.”
“You said the sponsorship money could be moved through consulting accounts.”
“Stop talking.”
“You told me—”
“STOP.”
His shout echoed beneath the chandeliers.
Three hundred witnesses.
Dozens of cameras.
Julian realized it one second too late.
Dalia began crying.
Not elegantly.
Not like a beauty queen.
Like a terrified twenty-six-year-old who suddenly understood she might go to prison.
“You said your lawyers protected everything.”
Julian grabbed her arm.
An agent stepped forward immediately.
“Sir, release her.”
Julian did.
His gaze shot toward Gabriel.
“You set this up.”
Gabriel descended from the stage.
“No.”
Then his eyes moved to me.
“Khloe did.”
My blood turned cold.
Every head in the ballroom turned toward me.
Julian stared.
“What?”
I looked at Gabriel.
“What are you talking about?”
That was the first moment all night when Gabriel looked surprised.
“You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
Gabriel slowly reached inside his jacket.
He removed a thin envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Khloe Bennett.
My handwriting.
Except I had never written it.
Gabriel handed it to me.
“I received this six months ago.”
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside were financial records.
Account numbers.
Corporate registrations.
Transfers.
And a handwritten note.
You said once that power doesn’t announce itself.
Sometimes it waits.
Make sure they pay.
—K
My heart stopped.
“That isn’t mine.”
Gabriel’s expression hardened.
“I thought you sent it.”
“I didn’t.”
Across the ballroom, Julian was staring at the papers in my hand.
Then something strange happened.
He smiled.
Not broadly.
Not triumphantly.
But knowingly.
And every instinct inside me screamed.
The federal agents escorted Dalia away.
Reporters surged toward the doors.
The gala dissolved into chaos.
Julian ignored all of it.
He walked toward me.
Gabriel moved between us.
Julian stopped.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
I looked past Gabriel.
“Know what?”
Julian laughed softly.
“Ask him.”
Gabriel’s posture changed.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
“Oh, I will.”
Julian looked directly at me.
“Ask Gabriel who owned Fontaine Strategic Holdings before the ownership transfer.”
I turned.
Gabriel’s face gave nothing away.
“Gabriel?”
Silence.
The room seemed to disappear around us.
Finally, Gabriel said, “Khloe, this isn’t the place.”
My stomach dropped.
Those words.
Julian had said the same thing earlier.
Men always seemed to dislike public places when women began asking the right questions.
“Who owned it?”
Gabriel exhaled.
“An Ascend subsidiary.”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
“It was dormant.”
Julian laughed.
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“Shut up,” Gabriel said.
Julian’s smile widened.
“You brought her here pregnant, let her believe she was walking in beside her savior, and you never told her?”
I looked at Gabriel.
“What does he mean?”
Gabriel’s eyes met mine.
For the first time since I had known him, he looked uncertain.
That terrified me more than anything Julian could say.
“Khloe.”
“What does he mean?”
Julian stepped closer.
“The sponsorship didn’t just make Dalia famous.”
Gabriel’s jaw flexed.
“Julian.”
“It made her useful.”
I could hear my own heartbeat.
Julian looked almost delighted now.
“You think Gabriel discovered the fraud?”
He shook his head.
“He built the pipeline.”
Gabriel moved toward him.
Julian continued quickly.
“Ask him why.”
I stared at Gabriel.
He said nothing.
Then Julian looked down at my stomach.
His expression changed again.
Not jealousy.
Not anger.
Recognition.
My body went cold.
“What?”
I whispered.
Julian’s eyes lifted to mine.
“Tell her, Lancaster.”
Gabriel went pale.
And suddenly I knew.
Whatever came next had nothing to do with the gala.
Nothing to do with Dalia.
Nothing to do with eleven million dollars.
This was about me.
Gabriel turned toward me.
“I was going to tell you.”
Those six words hurt more than they should have.
“When?”
“After tonight.”
“Tell me now.”
He glanced at Julian.
Then at the cameras still circling the ballroom.
Finally, he lowered his voice.
“Your first pregnancy loss.”
The room tilted.
I stopped breathing.
“What about it?”
Gabriel’s eyes were full of something I had never seen there before.
Guilt.
“Khloe…”
Julian’s smile disappeared.
For the first time, he looked afraid too.
And that was when I realized the impossible truth.
They both knew.
Whatever secret stood between the two men in front of me had begun long before Dalia.
Long before the divorce.
Maybe even before Tuscany.
My hand moved protectively over my unborn child.
“Tell me.”
Gabriel opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, a woman’s voice came from behind us.
“Neither of them will.”
I turned.
An elderly woman stood at the edge of the ballroom.
Thin.
Silver-haired.
Dressed in an old black coat completely inappropriate for the gala.
Security guards were moving toward her.
But she did not seem frightened.
She looked at me as though she had been searching for me for years.
Then she raised a faded hospital bracelet in one trembling hand.
My name was printed across it.
KHLOE DUVAL.
And beneath it, in red ink:
INFANT — LIVE BIRTH.
The world stopped.
I stared at the bracelet.
“No.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears.
“Your first baby didn’t die, Mrs.
Duval.”
Julian whispered something I could not hear.
Gabriel closed his eyes.
And the woman spoke the words that shattered every truth I had lived with for nearly four years.
“Your daughter is alive.”
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
Source: Stories of Destiny · Huyen Huyen
