The moment the video dropped, everything changed. Not just in Italy — everywhere. The superstar who had messaged Aaliyah privately days before finally went public. A clip appeared across all platforms, a calm, powerful voice speaking into the camera:
Superstar: "I've worked with Aaliyah. I know her heart, her talent, and her professionalism. The things being said about her are not just wrong — they're cruel. She deserves protection, not persecution."
Within minutes, the internet exploded.
Hashtags in multiple languages trended worldwide. Fan accounts posted compilations defending her. Journalists began questioning the original narrative. And suddenly, Aaliyah — the girl who had been dragged through the mud — became the center of global attention.
But for Aaliyah, none of that noise mattered. She was sitting on the couch with a blanket over her legs, her hand resting instinctively on her stomach. All she cared about was Estrella… and whether the world's chaos would affect her again.
Damiano knew it too.
That's why he was pacing the living room, rehearsing, editing, deleting, rewriting.
Tomorrow, he had a press conference — the biggest of his entire career.
Damiano: "I need to get this right. I can't screw this up."
Aaliyah: "You won't."
Damiano: "It's not just about me, amore. It's you. It's her. Everything I say tomorrow becomes the truth people believe."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and fear mixing in his chest.
Aaliyah reached for him, pulling him closer.
Aaliyah: "You've protected us every single time. This won't be different."
But part of him wasn't convinced.
Because he knew something she didn't: the label had given him an ultimatum — one he still hadn't told her about.
Meanwhile, Winona wasn't resting.
She had received a message from a journalist — anonymous, encrypted — containing a folder of audio files and documents. Something felt wrong. She opened them carefully, reading line after line, feeling her stomach twist.
This wasn't just gossip.
This wasn't just harassment.
This was a setup — organized, intentional, and dangerous.
She stepped into the living room, her expression sharp.
Winona: "Aaliyah, baby… we have a problem."
Aaliyah looked up, her pulse jumping.
Aaliyah: "What… kind of problem?"
Winona: "The kind that doesn't happen on its own. Someone has been feeding the press. Someone with access. Someone with motives."
Damiano stopped pacing.
Damiano: "Who?"
Winona: "Not the band. Not anymore. This is bigger."
Aaliyah felt her chest tighten.
Every time she thought the storm was calming, another wave crashed.
Later that night, Aaliyah sensed something wrong — something deeper, internal.
A shift.
A tightening.
A pressure she didn't recognize.
She pressed her hand against her stomach.
Aaliyah: "Damiano… she's… moving weird."
He rushed to her.
Damiano: "What do you feel?"
Aaliyah: "I don't know — it feels different."
Not painful.
Not dangerous.
But not normal either.
Damiano's eyes filled with fear he didn't bother hiding.
Damiano: "We're going to call the doctor right now."
In the background, her phone kept vibrating—notifications from around the world, messages of support, interviews, statements from celebrities.
Aaliyah couldn't even look at them.
All she cared about was Estrella…
and the quiet dread rising in her chest.
Because she could feel it:
Something was coming.
And the whole world was watching.