You Ruined Me on Live TV, So I Walked the Red Carpet With Him

The heavy hospital door swung open before the discharge nurse could finish unhooking my IV line.

My mother walked in first, flanked by Greg, the lead showrunner for *The Mercer Dynasty*, and two junior network executives carrying identical leather binders.

Monica didn't look at the empty plastic bassinet in the corner. She didn't look at the pale paper band around my wrist, or the exhaustion etched into my face. She tossed a thick production schedule directly onto my rolling tray table.

"The discharge is set for two o'clock," Monica said, checking her gold watch. "We have lighting trucks already parked outside your townhouse. We need you on camera before the five o'clock news cycle."

I stared at the glossy cover page of the folder. In bold black font across the top, it read: *Calloway Marriage Crisis: Special Event.*

"What is this?" I asked, my voice dry and low.

"It's the solution," Monica replied smoothly. "We're pivoting the entire premiere. Jace's agents are already on board, and network legal cleared the treatment twenty minutes ago. You sit down in the living room together. You address the hotel video directly."

I looked up at her, my fingers tightening against the thin cotton blanket. "And say what?"

"You admit you crossed emotional boundaries," Greg chimed in, adjusting his glasses. "You don't admit to physical infidelity, obviously. Just that the stress of the season made you seek support in the wrong place. Then Jace takes the high road. He appears on camera, visibly conflicted but willing to navigate the path toward forgiveness."

"A path toward forgiveness," I repeated, the taste of the words bitter on my tongue. "For something I didn't do."

"It saves everything, Sloane," Monica said, stepping closer and tapping a polished fingernail against the paper. "It protects Jace's endorsement portfolio, it salvages your beauty line's spring launch, and it secures the highest ratings the network has seen in five years."

"I lost my baby yesterday, Mom."

The room went completely quiet for a fraction of a second.

"And we're addressing that tragedy as the emotional centerpiece of the second episode," Monica answered without missing a beat. "It makes the redemption arc impossible for the public to resist."

I felt a cold, sharp clarity settle into my bones.

"I was in Beckett's suite because he had proof of what Jace and Tessa were doing behind my back," I said, my voice cutting through the clinical air. "I didn't sleep with him. Why are you asking me to confess to a lie?"

Monica sighed, looking at me with thinly veiled impatience.

"Truth isn't the issue. Narrative is." She leaned over the bed, lowering her voice. "Three major retail partners have already paused their distribution deals for your cosmetic line since the post-game broadcast. If you don't cooperate with this special, Mercer Productions will not deploy crisis management on your behalf. You will be on your own."

I looked at the mother who had put a microphone on my chest when I was sixteen and never taken it off. To her, the blood on my white dress wasn't a loss. It was just a plot twist.

"No," I said quietly.

Monica froze. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not doing the special." I pushed the tray table away, sending the production binder sliding across the laminate floor with a loud slap. "And I'm invoking the termination provisions in every broadcast release I've ever signed concerning my personal life. Effective immediately."

"Sloane, don't be childish—"

The door opened again.

Jace stood in the threshold, holding a massive arrangement of white orchids. He was dressed in a pristine gray cashmere sweater and dark jeans, looking every inch the remorseful golden boy the media loved.

He took in the tension in the room and gestured toward the hall. "Give us five minutes."

Monica hesitated, gave me a warning look, and walked out with the producers.

Jace set the flowers on the windowsill and walked to the edge of the bed. He looked down at me, his expression tight with conflicting emotions, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

"You look exhausted," he said quietly.

"Did you come here to ask how I am?" I asked.

Jace shoved his hands into his pockets. "I came here because we need to fix this before it gets completely out of hand." He pulled a chair over and sat down, leaning his forearms on his knees. "Sloane, just be honest with me. Tell me everything that happened in that suite. Tell me the whole truth, and I'll walk out to those cameras right now and publicly confirm the baby was mine."

I stared at him.

The silence between us felt deafening.

"You'll confirm it?" I said, the words barely louder than a whisper.

"Yes," he said, nodding as if offering me a lifeline. "I'll shut the paternity rumors down completely."

"You'll grant me the privilege of acknowledging your own child," I said, my voice hardening with every syllable. "As a reward for groveling."

"That's not what I meant—"

"You shoved me down a flight of concrete stairs, Jace."

"You tripped!" His voice rose, sharp and defensive. "You were lunging at me, Sloane! I didn't push you, I put my hands up to create space. You lost your balance!"

I didn't argue. I didn't raise my voice.

I simply reached over to the metal nightstand, picked up the diamond wedding ring I had removed hours ago, and dropped it into his open palm.

From beneath my pillow, I pulled out the document my attorney had couriered to the nurses' station an hour before Monica arrived. I uncapped a black pen, pressed the paper against the hard clipboard, and signed my name on the authorization line.

I handed him the carbon copy.

Jace looked down at the header. The color visibly drained from his face as his eyes scanned the text: *Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.*

"A divorce filing?" His voice cracked, the composed facade slipping entirely. "Are you serious? You're doing this now? Sloane, you're not thinking straight. You're in the middle of a physical trauma. You can't make life-altering decisions when you're emotionally unstable."

"I have never seen things more clearly," I said.

The door flew open as Monica marched back in, having heard Jace's raised voice. She saw the document in Jace's hand, and her eyes flashed with pure fury.

"If you file those papers and walk away from this franchise, you lose everything," Monica warned, her voice dropping into a venomous register. "The Mercer name built your brand. Without the show's platform, your company dies overnight."

I reached for my phone on the bedside table.

"You really should have read my corporate restructuring filings two years ago, Mom," I said calmly.

I tapped my screen and put the call on speakerphone. It rang once before my Chief Operating Officer answered.

"Elena," I said clearly.

"I'm here, Sloane. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I replied, keeping my eyes locked on Monica. "Execute the contingency protocol immediately. Send termination notices under every licensing, trademark-use, and product-placement agreement with Mercer Productions. Pull every piece of our inventory from their broadcast sets, and issue a cease-and-desist if Mercer uses our logo in any new production or promotion."

"Understood," Elena answered without hesitation. "Filing the notices right now."

I ended the call.

Monica stared at me, her mouth slightly open, her perfectly composed mask entirely shattered. Jace stood motionless, clutching the cold metal of my wedding ring like a dead weight.

"Get out," I told them both. "All of you."

Before either of them could speak, my phone buzzed sharply in my hand.

A text banner from an unsaved number appeared at the top of the screen.

*Unknown: I have the complete hotel footage.*

A second message flashed immediately underneath it:

*Unknown: And it proves exactly what happened that night.*