The mahogany doors clicked shut. The sound was deafeningly final.
They stood in the anteroom, the executive assistant staring at them with wide, terrified eyes. She looked from Kian’s stony face to the closed doors of the boardroom, as if she could hear the silence of a collapsing dynasty.
Kian didn’t acknowledge her. He kept Audrey’s hand in his, a warm, solid anchor, and led her to the private elevator.
The doors slid closed, encasing them in a box of brushed steel and silence. As they began their descent, Audrey finally let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her knees felt weak.
Kian pulled her against him, wrapping both arms around her. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
“Is it… is it really over?” she whispered.
“The war is,” he said, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “Now we manage the fallout.”
The elevator doors opened into the stark concrete of the private garage. The world outside didn’t know it yet, but a queen had been deposed. A scandal was about to break.
“Where do we go?” Audrey asked as he opened the car door for her.
“My place,” he said, his expression unreadable. “It’s the only place I know is secure.”
He drove them not to the small apartment by the docks, their secret world, but to a sleek high-rise on the other side of the city. The penthouse. The place he had avoided, the symbol of the life he ran from.
Now, he was using it as a fortress to protect her.
The apartment was vast and sterile, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a god’s-eye view of the world they were about to set on fire. It was beautiful, but it felt like a showroom. No pictures. No clutter. Just expensive furniture and empty space.
Kian immediately went to the kitchen, pouring her a glass of water. His phone started buzzing on the marble countertop. He glanced at the caller ID. “Marcus.”
He answered, putting it on speaker.
“It’s done,” Kian said, his voice all business.
A sharp, energetic voice replied from the phone. “The board is in motion. The vote is a formality. What about the press? The museum incident hit the police blotter an hour ago. The vultures are circling.”
“We get ahead of it,” Kian commanded. “All of it. We release the entire story. Now.”
Audrey looked at him, her heart starting to pound again. “All of it?”
Kian met her eyes, his own softening for a moment. “On our terms,” he clarified, both to her and to Marcus. “The narrative is simple, because it’s the truth. Audrey Wells, a respected curator, was the victim of a coordinated, malicious campaign of harassment by her obsessive ex-boyfriend, Cole Anderson. His actions culminated in the destruction of her exhibit and her assault.”
“Good. Strong,” Marcus’s voice crackled. “What about your mother?”
Kian’s face hardened. “The campaign was funded and encouraged by Beatrice Sterling, who saw Ms. Wells as a threat to her control over the family. Her removal from the board is a direct result of the discovery of her illegal and unethical actions.”
“And the Cassandra Thorne angle?” Marcus pushed.
“We release the affidavit,” Kian said without hesitation. “Frame it as part of the same malicious plot. A desperate attempt by Beatrice to create a public scandal and drive Ms. Wells away.”
Audrey wrapped her arms around herself. Her entire life, her most private pains, were about to become a press release. A headline.
“Kian,” she started, her voice small.
He walked over to her, taking the phone with him. He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. “It’s the only way, Audrey. We give them the whole truth so they can’t invent their own lies. We control it.”
“It’s the right move,” Marcus said through the speaker. “We position Audrey as the dignified victim of a billionaire’s twisted family drama. She’s David. They’re Goliath. The public will eat it up. I’ll draft the statement and send it to the Associated Press. It’ll hit the wire in an hour.”
“Do it,” Kian said, and hung up.
He put the phone down and gave Audrey his full attention. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m sorry your life has been turned into a strategy.”
“Don’t be,” she said, leaning into his touch. “You’re just doing what they did. You’re just fighting back.”
For the next hour, they sat on the enormous white sofa, the city sprawling beneath them. They didn’t talk. They just held on, waiting for the explosion.
It came just as Marcus had promised.
Kian’s phone lit up with notifications. He opened a news alert and turned the screen to her.
STERLING MATRIARCH OUSTED IN SHOCKING BOARDROOM COUP; EX-BOYFRIEND ARRESTED IN MUSEUM ATTACK. Curator Audrey Wells at Center of Vicious Plot.
The article laid it all out. The sabotage. Cole’s arrest, with a damning mention of Jenna’s on-scene confession. The bombshell of Cassandra Thorne’s affidavit, painting her as a pawn in Beatrice’s cruel game. And the climax: Beatrice’s forced resignation for misusing corporate funds to ruin the life of her son’s partner.
It was brutal. It was efficient. It was the truth.
Audrey’s own phone began to vibrate. A text from her boss at the museum.
Audrey, just saw the news. Horrified for you. The board offers its full, unequivocal support. Take all the time you need. Your job is safe. We stand with you.
Tears pricked her eyes. Tears of relief.
Kian turned on the large television, flipping to a cable news channel. Her face was on the screen, a professional headshot from the museum’s website. Next to it were a scowling mugshot of Cole and a regal, imperious photo of Beatrice.
“…an absolutely shocking story developing,” the anchor was saying. “Our sources confirm that Audrey Wells, the curator at the center of this scandal, has been the target of a relentless campaign. The statement from Sterling Industries paints a picture of a woman bravely withstanding attacks from two fronts: a dangerous ex-fiancé and one of the most powerful women in the city.”
The narrative had been set. She wasn’t a gold-digger or a home-wrecker. She was a survivor. Her reputation, so carefully built and so viciously attacked, was being restored before her eyes.
The storm wasn’t just passing. It was turning, its full force now directed at the people who had created it.
Kian watched the screen for another moment, his expression grimly satisfied. Then he picked up the remote and turned the television off, plunging the room back into silence.
The noise of the world, the headlines, the scandal—he shut it all out.
He turned to her, his eyes holding hers. The magnate was gone again. It was just Kian.
“The world can have the story,” he said softly, his hand finding hers. “They can talk about it, analyze it, and forget it by next week.”
He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.
“All that matters is right here. It’s over. We’re safe.”
She looked at him, the man who had weathered the hurricane with her, who had used his power not to control, but to protect. The chaos was finally fading, the last echoes of the war dying out. For the first time in a very long time, the future wasn’t a terrifying unknown. It was a quiet room with the man she loved.
It was peace.