The morning after was quiet.
Sunlight streamed through the large warehouse window, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Audrey woke up feeling safe. Anchored.
Kian’s arm was a heavy, warm weight around her waist. His breathing was a steady rhythm against her back. This small, sparse apartment felt more like a home, more like a sanctuary, than the luxury condo she was supposed to be living in.
Last night, all the secrets had been burned away in a fire of desperation and confession. Now, in the calm light of day, there was only the truth. Messy. Complicated. But theirs.
She slipped out of bed, pulling on his t-shirt. It smelled like him. She padded into the small kitchen area. He had a real coffee maker, not some fancy pod machine. It was another small detail that felt authentic. Real.
As the coffee began to brew, he emerged from the bedroom, his hair a mess, a slow smile spreading across his face when he saw her.
“Morning,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I could get used to this.”
She leaned back against his chest, her hands covering his. “Don’t,” she said, but there was no heat in it. Only a fragile, budding hope. “We have ten days until the world potentially explodes.”
“Then we have ten days,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “Let’s not waste a second of them.”
He moved to the small TV on the counter, flicking it on to a national morning news program. The cheerful chatter of the hosts filled the quiet apartment, a normal sound on a normal morning. It was almost enough to make her believe it.
He started pulling eggs and bread from the small fridge. “How do you feel about a completely undeserved, decadent breakfast?”
She smiled. “I feel like I could eat all of it.”
The news anchors were teasing their next segment. “—and coming up, a shocking, exclusive interview. A mother’s tearful story of love and abandonment, and the powerful billionaire she says turned his back on his own child.”
Audrey’s smile faded.
Kian froze, his hand hovering over the carton of eggs.
On the screen, a professionally shot photo appeared. It was of a striking woman with dark hair, holding the hand of a small boy. The name flashed underneath: CASSANDRA THORNE.
“You know her,” Audrey stated. It wasn’t a question.
Kian’s jaw was tight. His entire posture had shifted from relaxed lover to coiled predator. “She’s an old acquaintance. From a long time ago.”
“When we return,” the anchor chirped, her face a mask of practiced sympathy, “Cassandra Thorne speaks out for the first time about her secret relationship with shipping magnate Kian Sterling.”
The show cut to a commercial for laundry detergent.
The silence in the apartment was absolute.
“Kian?” Audrey’s voice was a whisper.
He turned to face her, and the man from last night was gone. In his place was the magnate. Cold. Focused. His eyes were like chips of ice.
“This is my mother,” he said, his voice a low growl. “This is her move. The timing, the platform, the public execution. It’s all her.”
The commercial break ended. Cassandra Thorne was now sitting in a plush armchair opposite the interviewer. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She clutched a tissue in her hand. She looked beautiful and broken.
“Cassandra, thank you for being brave enough to share your story,” the interviewer began. “Tell us about Kian Sterling.”
Cassandra took a shaky breath. “Kian… was the love of my life,” she began, her voice cracking. “He was charming, intense. He swept me off my feet. He promised us a future. A family.”
The camera zoomed in on her face as a single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek.
“And what happened?”
“He just… changed,” she sobbed. “When I told him I was pregnant, he became cold. Distant. He said he would take care of us, but then the calls stopped. The money stopped. He disappeared. He left us with nothing.”
On screen, they flashed a grainy but clear photo. It was Kian, years younger, laughing as he held Cassandra’s toddler on his shoulders. The boy was beaming.
Audrey’s stomach plummeted. A photo. Just like the one Cole had threatened her with. This was a masterclass in manipulation.
“My son asks for his daddy,” Cassandra wept into her hands. “What am I supposed to tell him? That his father is one of the richest men in the world, and he wants nothing to do with him? It’s a mother’s worst nightmare.”
Kian swore, a sharp, violent curse. He grabbed his phone from the counter.
Audrey felt a cold dread seep into her bones. She believed him. Logically, she knew this was a performance, a carefully orchestrated attack by Beatrice. But the image of that little boy… the raw, public accusation of a man abandoning his child… it struck a new and terrifying chord inside her.
He had promised her. He had sworn he would be there for her baby, no matter what.
And the whole world was now being told that he had already broken that exact promise to someone else.
The interview ended. The anchor looked into the camera, her expression grave. “A truly heartbreaking story. We reached out to Mr. Sterling’s office for comment but have not yet received a response.”
Kian was already dialing. “Marcus,” he snapped into the phone. “Did you see it? Good. I want our PR team, our legal team, and our security division on a conference call in five minutes. No, I don’t care what time it is in London. Make it happen.”
He hung up, his fingers already flying across the screen, firing off texts. He was no longer the man who worked at the docks. He was a general commanding an army.
He finally looked up and saw her standing there, her arms wrapped around her stomach in a protective gesture she hadn’t even realized she’d made.
His face softened instantly. The general vanished, and the man returned.
“Audrey,” he said, taking a step toward her.
“Is any of it true?” she asked, her voice quiet. She needed to hear him say it.
“No,” he said, without a flicker of hesitation. “Cassandra and I dated briefly, over three years ago. It was casual. It ended. That boy is not mine. The photo is from a charity event I attended. I don’t even know the child’s name. This is a lie, manufactured from whole cloth by my mother to destroy me in your eyes.”
She nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. She believed him. She hated that she did, hated the part of her that was still so easily swayed by him, but the alternative was unthinkable. She had seen this kind of war game before. Cole had been the amateur. Beatrice Sterling was the professional.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to fight,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous tone again. “My mother thinks she can control the narrative. She’s about to find out what happens when the Sterling empire she loves so much is used against her.”
His phone buzzed. And again. A relentless assault of notifications. The world was reacting.
But it was her phone, buzzing on the counter, that made her breath catch.
A single text message. From a number she knew by heart.
Jenna Anderson.
Audrey stared at the screen, her blood running cold.
Audrey, I just saw the news. Oh my god. Are you okay? I’m so worried for you. Cole always said that man was bad news.