Brandon thought for a moment, then asked, "Hold on, dude—how exactly did you pull off the whole claiming thing? Like, did you just show up at your mother-in-law's place and drop the bomb that her grandson's actually yours? Or wait—did you kidnap them and run off or something?"
Damian laughed, shaking his head at Brandon's wild imagination. Calvin, Elliot, and Owen chuckled along, amused.
"No, it wasn't that dramatic," Damian said. "But it definitely wasn't easy, especially at first." The group quieted down, giving him their attention—they always appreciated hearing him talk. He had a way of making even the tough stuff sound like a story worth learning from.
"My mother-in-law, thankfully, is a very understanding woman," he continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I've never met my father-in-law, but from what I've heard, he's not exactly someone you want to deal with. And then there's my son…"
"Stubborn as hell—just like his dad," Elliot cut in with a smirk.
Damian laughed. "You're not wrong, El. That boy didn't accept me right away. You see me now, proud dad to a seventeen-year-old, but what you don't see is what it took to get here. Man, it felt like I had to pass through the eye of a needle to earn his trust."
"Wait—Pearl wasn't there to talk to him? To tell him the truth?" Brandon asked, earning a round of eye-rolls from the group.
Calvin rested a hand on his shoulder. "Bro, if she'd been involved, the whole thing might've gone sideways. She probably wouldn't have let Damian go through with it."
"Yeah," Owen chimed in, explaining further. "She might've thought he was trying to take her only child away. You know how it goes—some women get really protective over the people they love. It can come off as selfish."
Damian shook his head lightly. "Pearl wasn't like that, not really. She didn't keep the truth out of spite—she just thought if I found out, I'd hate her. She was scared I'd never forgive her."
Brandon let out a low, surprised, "Damn…"
"I still remember the first time I told my son who I really was," Damian said with a laugh. "Kid kicked me so hard, I swear it felt like he trained with professionals."
"He didn't believe you?" Calvin asked, grinning.
"Not at first," Damian admitted. "He was angry. Thought I abandoned him and his mom. Thought I never tried to look for them. He said I left him and his mom in the dark for so many years."
He gave a small shrug. "But despite everything, he's still my son. And now? We've got each other. That's all I ever wanted."
"So, you—" Calvin started to say something, but the words died on his lips when Philomena came sprinting toward them.
She looked pale, breathless, like she'd just seen something she couldn't make sense of. All five men turned instinctively to look behind her, expecting someone—something—to be chasing her. But there was nothing. Just stillness.
Philomena stumbled to a stop in front of them, gasping for air, bent over with her hands on her knees. Her chest heaved as if every breath hurt. Whatever she'd seen had shaken her deeply.
Owen's face tightened with concern. This wasn't like her. He stepped forward quickly, placing a steady hand on her back.
"Babe, what happened? Who's after you?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.
She shook her head slowly, trying to speak but failing. Her lips moved without sound, and her eyes were wide, wild with fear.
Owen leaned closer, gentler now. "Hey… hey, it's okay. Breathe. Just breathe, alright? You're safe. Talk to me."
He rubbed small, calming circles on her back, trying to anchor her.
Finally, Philomena lifted her head. Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. "I… I saw her. She was there…"
She pointed behind her with a shaky hand, though there was nothing but empty space.
"I saw her… standing there," she said again, her words slurred by panic. "She… she looked right at me…"
Her voice cracked, faltering. She sounded unhinged—frightened, confused—like someone trying to describe a nightmare they weren't sure was real.
The five men stared at Philomena, puzzled and uneasy. Her words made no sense, and her panic only deepened the confusion.
Instinctively, they all looked to Owen. If anyone could make sense of this, it was her husband.
Owen stepped forward and gently took her face in his hands, holding her like something fragile. "Babe, I know you're in shock right now, and everything's jumbled in your head—but just give me something. Anything. I'll understand, I promise."
Philomena shook her head slowly, her hand still pointing in the direction she'd come from. Tears brimmed in her eyes, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
"We have to go…" she said, her voice cracking. "We have to save her. She's drowning."
"Drowning? Who?!" Damian, Elliot, Calvin, and Brandon said at once, stepping in, alarmed.
Owen's voice rose, panic starting to creep in. "Philomena—who's drowning?"
Her hand trembled, still outstretched. "I saw them… Charlotte and Pearl… at the back of the cruise…"
She swayed on her feet, her breath faltering.
"She—Charlotte—she pushed Pearl over the railing… into the ocean…"
Her voice fell to a whisper, the final words barely escaping her lips before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed into Owen's arms.
"Shit!" Damian shot off like a bullet, sprinting toward the back of the ship. Elliot, Brandon, and Calvin tore after him without hesitation.
Owen, still holding Philomena in his arms, veered off the main deck, rushing to get her to safety. He found Jessica, Christine, and Regina nearby and carefully passed her into their care before turning and running back toward the others.
When the four men reached the stern, they came to a jarring stop.
Only a sleek silver railing stood between them and the vast, black ocean below. The water churned in the moonlight, dark and endless. And there—thrashing helplessly in the middle—was Pearl. She was sinking fast. She couldn't swim.
Then, out of the corner of their eyes, they saw Charlotte. She was already in handcuffs, restrained by FBI agents. Her face was a wreck of panic and guilt, her voice hoarse from pleading.
"I didn't mean to!" she cried. "Please—I didn't mean to!"
But Damian wasn't there to hear it.
The men turned—searching, scanning.
"Where the hell is Damian?" Calvin asked.
Then came the splash.
They all whipped their heads toward the railing, eyes widening in horror.
"Holy shit!" Brandon gasped.
"Jesus Christ," Calvin and Elliot muttered in disbelief.
Owen arrived moments later, breath ragged. "Where is she? Did he get to her? Is she okay?" His words tumbled out in a panic.
No one responded. They just stared over the edge, eyes locked on the water below, hoping—praying—for a sign that Damian had reached her in time.
Owen's eyes locked on Charlotte—and rage surged through him like a tidal wave. His jaw tightened, fists clenched at his sides as he stepped toward her.
"You..." he spat through gritted teeth. "You're going to regret this. I swear it."
He had never liked her. From day one, Charlotte had reeked of trouble. Manipulative. Arrogant. Toxic. Why Damian ever dated her still baffled him. She wasn't just a bad influence—she was pure poison.
A devil in human skin.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the waves, Damian was cutting through the water, lungs burning, heart pounding. He turned in every direction, eyes wide and frantic. He couldn't lose her. Not Pearl. Not the woman he had loved through every season of his life.
The ocean was icy, but he barely felt it. His panic burned hotter than any cold could touch.
Time was running out.
But he was trained for this. A skilled swimmer, calm under pressure—until now. This wasn't just survival. This was love. This was her.
Then—he saw it. A faint shadow drifting downward.
Pearl.
He pushed deeper into the dark, where the ocean swallowed the last traces of light. Just then, a beam from a flashlight above pierced the water, cutting through the blackness—and revealed her.
She floated motionless, hair billowing around her like ink in water. Pale. Still. So heartbreakingly still.
Damian's chest seized.
No. Not like this.
With a powerful kick, he shot toward her, slicing through the water with desperate strength. Within seconds, he reached her and wrapped her in his arms.
She was cold.
Limp.
But she was there.
And he wasn't letting go.
Unaware of the chaos unfolding above, Damian surfaced with Pearl lifeless in his arms, her body limp against his chest.
His friends and a team of rescue personnel spotted him, immediately rushing to the riverbank. Relief mixed with horror as they saw her—unmoving, pale, still.
On deck, the FBI had already escorted Charlotte away in handcuffs. She was no longer resisting—just crying, her face a mess of guilt and fear—as she was placed into the back of a waiting police van.
The rescue divers moved into the shallows, reaching for Pearl as Damian stumbled toward them. He was drenched, shaking, but he wouldn't let go until they carefully took her from him. Paramedics were already waiting, racing forward as the ambulance doors swung open.
An anesthetist dropped to his knees beside Pearl, checking for a pulse. Another started CPR.
From the ship, partygoers—previously laughing and drinking—now crowded the rails and shoreline, whispering, filming, watching.
Yellow police tape went up quickly, stretching across the area. The FBI and officers began holding the crowd back, forming a barrier around the scene.
Damian tried to follow the medics as they lifted Pearl onto a stretcher.
"Sir, you need to stand back," one of the officers said firmly, stepping in front of him.
"Get out of my way!" Damian shouted, his voice cracked and raw. "That's my wife! I need to see her!"
Two officers grabbed him as he lunged forward, trying to break past.
"Damian!" Owen ran over and gripped his shoulders, trying to coax him. "You've got to calm down. Let them work."
"Where is she?" Damian's voice was shaking now, his eyes red and full of rage. "Where is Charlotte?!"
"Focus on Pearl, man," Calvin said, stepping in. "Don't lose yourself now. She needs you calm—present."
But Damian couldn't stop shaking. His fists clenched. His heart pounded. And all he could see was Pearl's lifeless face as she was taken away.
Charlotte remained in FBI custody, slouched on a bench near the patrol van, flanked by agents still questioning her about the night's incident. Her voice was shaky, her answers scattered.
Then—Damian appeared.
He stormed into the scene like a force of nature. Without hesitation, he marched straight to Charlotte and struck her across the face with a brutal, open-handed slap.
The crack of it silenced everything.
Charlotte reeled, eyes wide in disbelief. She hadn't seen it coming.
"Damian!" one of the officers shouted, immediately moving to intercept.
Owen and Brandon sprinted in and grabbed him, trying to pull him back.
"You sly little bitch!" Damian roared. "How dare you? I swear, I'll kill you!"
His entire body was trembling, his voice a weapon of rage. His face burned crimson, veins bulging with fury. He looked unrecognizable—blinded by grief and fury.
"Damian, enough!" Owen snapped. "Back off. It's over. They've got her—don't ruin your life for her!"
But Damian yanked his arms free. "Let go of me!" he barked. For a moment, he felt unstoppable. Even his friends couldn't hold him.
Charlotte broke down in tears as officers shoved her toward the police van.
"I'm sorry, Damian… I didn't mean to… please…"
But her words couldn't reach him anymore.
In one swift motion, Damian pulled a pistol from his waistband and fired three rounds into the night sky.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The crowd scattered. Screams rang out. Brandon, Elliot, and Calvin ducked for cover, shielding their ears. Only Owen remained on his feet and lunged for Damian, tearing the weapon from his grip.
"Are you out of your damn mind?!" Owen shouted.
Damian stood frozen, his chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes clouded with rage and panic.
Then, a voice cut through the commotion.
"You reckless man," a sharp-toned anesthetist said, storming toward him. "You let that woman throw your pregnant wife into the ocean."
Damian turned to her, stunned. "Pregnant…?"
"Yes. Your wife is a few weeks pregnant." she said with bitter emphasis. "You better pray she wakes up—and that nothing happens to your unborn baby too. Or you'll have more than the law on your hands. You'll have guilt you'll never bury."
She walked off without waiting for a response.
The sound of the ambulance fading into the distance swallowed the silence.
Damian's knees gave out.
He dropped to the sand, soaked, breathless, eyes fixed on the road where the ambulance had disappeared.
His wife.
His unborn child.
Gone, for now—and maybe forever.
He was paralyzed. Couldn't speak. Couldn't cry. Just knelt there, as the weight of everything sank into his bones.
How didn't I know?
Did she keep it from me again?
Was it meant to be a surprise? Or was she scared—like last time?
The thoughts spiraled. The guilt pressed harder.
He was going to be a father again—and he hadn't even been given the chance to feel it, to celebrate it. And now, it all hung by a thread.
Emotion gripped him—grief, shock, fear, even fleeting joy—and he could no longer hold himself upright.
His friends stood quietly behind him, unsure of what to say or do.
Damian stared into the night, whispering a silent plea to whoever would listen.
Please let her come back to me. Please save them both.