The morning light was grey and soft, filtering through the single tall window. Audrey lay still, listening to the steady beat of Kian’s heart against her ear. His arm was a heavy, warm bar across her back, holding her in place. For the first time in years, she hadn’t woken up with a knot of anxiety in her stomach.
The events of the previous night played back in her mind—the restaurant, the ring, Cole’s face contorted with rage, her running, Kian’s quiet fury. She had done it. She had actually walked out.
A tremor of fear went through her, but Kian’s arm tightened, as if he could feel it even in his sleep. She wasn’t alone.
She slipped out of bed, pulling on Kian’s discarded button-down from the floor. It smelled like him. She went to the small kitchen and found the coffee, moving with a quiet purpose. She needed to think. What was her next move? Find a lawyer? Pack a bag?
Her own phone, which she’d left in her purse in his truck, sat on the counter. She stared at it like it was a viper. She knew it would be full of venom. Missed calls and threatening texts from Cole.
Kian came up behind her, his bare chest warm against her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
“I just blew up my entire life,” she whispered. “I have to figure out what happens now.”
“What happens now,” he said, turning her around to face him, “is you have breakfast. Then we figure out the rest. Together.”
He said it so simply. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if taking on her chaos was nothing.
Her phone buzzed violently on the counter, making them both jump. It buzzed again and again.
Not a text. A call.
The screen read: CLARA. Her assistant.
Audrey’s blood went cold. She never called this early unless it was a catastrophe. She answered, putting it on speaker.
“Audrey? Oh, thank god!” Clara’s voice was high-pitched with panic. “Are you okay? Have you seen the news?”
“Clara, slow down. What news?”
“It’s everywhere. The morning arts blotter, the financial pages… The National Historical Foundation. They just announced an eight-million-dollar anonymous donation. Eight million! It came in late last night.”
Audrey frowned, confused. The NHF was their biggest rival, constantly competing for the same grants and patrons. “That’s… good for them, I guess. Why are you calling me?”
“Because of the timing!” Clara shrieked. “The board is going insane. First, a career-ending complaint against you is filed, and twelve hours later, our biggest rival gets a king’s ransom from a secret benefactor? They think someone is sending a message! They think our museum is unstable, that you’re a liability, and now the money is running away!”
The coffee mug slipped from Audrey’s hand, shattering on the floor.
Kian’s arms tightened around her as she swayed.
It wasn’t a coincidence. First, the surgical strike on her reputation. Now, the financial carpet-bombing of her institution. This was a coordinated attack. This was war.
But this wasn’t Cole’s style. His attacks were personal, psychological. This was different. This was big money. This was power.
“Audrey?” Clara’s voice was a tinny buzz from the phone. “Mr. Davies is calling an emergency meeting.”
“I’ll… I’ll be there,” Audrey said numbly, and hung up.
She stared at the shattered ceramic on the floor.
Kian didn’t say anything. He had gone completely still. She looked up at him. The sleepy warmth was gone from his face. In its place was a chilling, absolute cold. A lethal stillness that terrified her more than Cole’s rage.
He knew.
“Who would do this?” she whispered, the question aimed at him, at the universe.
“This isn’t about money,” Kian said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “It’s about leverage. Someone wants you out of that museum. They want you isolated. Powerless.”
He spoke with such certainty. Not like a dockworker guessing at the motives of the rich, but like a general analyzing a battlefield he understood intimately. He walked away from her, pacing the small room like a caged panther.
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
He stopped, turning to face her. His eyes were dark, intense. “Because this is how they fight. They don’t use fists. They use foundations and anonymous donations. They bleed you dry where no one can see.”
They?
“I can fix the complaint from Cole,” he said, his jaw tight. “I have contacts. I can make that go away. But this… this is another level.”
A desperate, wild hope flared in her chest. “What can we do?”
“We aren’t doing anything,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are going to go to your museum and hold your head high. You are going to let me handle this.”
“Handle what? Handle who? You don’t even know who we’re fighting!”
“I have a good idea,” he bit out, the words sharp and final.
He strode to the small closet and pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He dressed with a brutal efficiency, his movements tight with contained violence. He looked like a man preparing for battle.
She felt a chasm opening between them. He knew more than he was saying. So much more.
Her phone rang again.
The screen flashed with a name that made her stomach clench. MUSEUM DIRECTOR.
She looked at Kian, her eyes wide with dread. He nodded once, a silent command to answer it.
She swiped the screen. “Mr. Davies.”
“Audrey,” his voice was strained, devoid of its usual professional warmth. “I’m glad I reached you.”
“I heard about the donation,” she said, her voice small.
“The entire board has heard. They’re panicking. They see this as a direct consequence of the complaint filed against you.”
“That complaint is a lie.”
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “It only matters what it looks like. And right now, it looks like you are costing this museum millions of dollars in donor confidence.”
The injustice of it was a physical blow. She put a hand on her stomach, a reflexive, protective gesture.
“Audrey,” Mr. Davies continued, his voice dropping. “The board has called an official review. This afternoon. Two o’clock.”
He paused, and she could hear the unspoken words hanging in the air.
“This is about my job, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“This is about your future with this institution,” he corrected, but there was no difference. “Be here.”
The line went dead.
She lowered the phone, her hand trembling. She looked at Kian. The fury on his face was a terrifying thing to behold.
He crossed the room in two strides and took the phone from her hand, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“Go to your meeting,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “Don’t back down. Don’t let them see you’re afraid.” He brushed a stray piece of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I have to go out. I have to make a call.”
“Where are you going?”
“To fix this,” he said, the promise echoing the one he’d made last night. He leaned in and kissed her, a hard, quick kiss that tasted of anger and possession. “I’ll be back. Lock the door behind me.”
He walked out, shutting the door with a quiet click.
Audrey stood alone in the silent apartment, the shattered mug at her feet. She was trapped between two enemies. One she knew, and one she couldn’t see.
And the only man who had sworn to protect her had just walked out into a war she didn’t understand, armed with secrets she couldn’t begin to guess.