Chapter 4

Killian's POV

When Tommen asked me about this get-together, I thought he was just following tradition—reestablishing the Anderson-Knight generational friendship that his grandfather and mine had started. It was meant to ensure the new generation understood the bonds not just of business but of familial relationships. Yet, I’ve never gotten the impression he cared about any of that.

Personally, I don’t either. Only tradition forces me to oblige the Tommen.

We meet to discuss business logistics when required, but beyond that, we can barely be called business associates. I first got to know him during one of these trips. The Hamptons house—our family’s vacation home—is far removed from the world I truly live in. It’s just another façade, like everything else in my life. This place has always served this purpose. With no real explanation for his request, I decided to humor him. After dinner, we stepped into the garden. He lit a cigarette, and I slid my hands into my pockets, standing under the yellow glow of the garden lights. I looked at him—at the bags under his eyes, barely concealed by the arrogant tilt of his head or the sparkle of his Rolex.

My jaw clenched. I despise cigarettes.

“I don’t allow smoking in my presence,” I warned.

“Come now, Killian,” he replied dismissively.

I should never have humored this man. I fixed him with a cold stare, watching as he visibly shivered. He tried to hide it, but the arrogant glint vanished from his eyes. Now he was probably remembering exactly where he was and who he was with. The cigarette fell to the ground, and he stubbed it out. I looked away, impatient. He seemed nervous now, which wasn’t unusual—I’m used to people reacting that way around me. But his cold eyes reminded me of someone else. Mila. Her wide, shocked eyes and flushed cheeks from our earlier interaction flitted through my mind. I’d much rather be seeing her. He wasn’t speaking, and I was curious about one thing.

One person. “Tell me about Mila,” I said.

At dinner, her downcast eyes and slumped shoulders had caught my attention. The woman who had looked me in the eye and all but scolded me earlier wasn’t the same woman at that table. That woman had seemed more like a shy girl who couldn’t speak to save her life.

“She’s your eldest, yet you’ve never brought her around before.”

“Don’t be bothered by her. Since her mother died, she’s been reserved. No one’s managed to draw her out of her shell, and she prefers it that way. Adeline insisted she come,” he explained.

During her time here, Mila had only spoken to people when politeness demanded it. She wasn’t close to her stepmother, but from what little I’d seen, she got along with her younger sister. Tommen’s indifference toward his eldest daughter was glaringly obvious. I clenched my fist in my pocket, noting the affection he seemed to reserve for his second wife. Mila’s lack of interaction with her family made sense, but there was something about the fearlessness in her eyes that felt... different.

“I called you out here to talk about my son,” he finally said, breaking the silence. My instincts went on high alert as I sensed movement at the corner of a wall about ten feet away. I shifted slightly to keep both Tommen and the shadow in my view.

A shoulder peeked out from behind the wall. “Your stepson,” I corrected, watching his reaction.

“My son needs your support when the board votes for the next chairperson.”

“Why would there be a vote?” The Anderson succession plan had always been clear: the firstborn Anderson would take the seat. Despite this 70-year-old tradition, which made no distinction between genders, every generation thus far had conveniently produced firstborn sons. By that logic, Mila Anderson should be the next chairperson. Tommen’s desire to have his stepson as heir would undoubtedly stir controversy among the board.

“You know the board. They’re a bunch of outdated fools who cling to tradition, insisting the firstborn Anderson should take the chair,” he said, clearly agitated.

“And yet you believe your stepson is a more suitable candidate, even though he’s not an Anderson?”

“He is an Anderson,” Tommen said, meeting my eyes for the first time. Interesting. He looked away, taking a sharp breath.

“The Anderson-Knight bond is the foundation of both our empires. We need strong leaders to uphold that bond. You’ll find Nicolai far more capable than Mila,” he continued.

There were too many pieces of this puzzle that didn’t fit. Normally, I wouldn’t concern myself with such matters, but now... this was becoming intriguing. I needed more information.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, watching his reaction. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but he wisely chose not to argue. Nodding reluctantly, he turned to leave.

“Very well, then. It’s settled,” I said, dismissing him. As he walked away, a puff of smoke curled from the corner of the wall. My lips twitched. Tut-tut.

I approached the wall quietly, keeping my steps light, but the shadow moved as if sensing me. Rounding the corner, I caught a flash of red disappearing around the next wall. I glanced down at my feet, noting the half-smoked cigarette lying on the ground, its embers fading.

My sweet Mila, you’re going to get punished.

Turning away, I headed in the opposite direction, knowing exactly where she’d go. Passing Kate without a word and ignoring Nina mopping by the staircase, I made my way to the back door that led to the pool. The pool glimmered under the moonlight as I reached the door. There she was, swiftly shutting it and checking over her shoulder to ensure no one had followed her. Circling the pool, I approached just as she turned around. Her eyes widened in shock when they met mine.

“Got you, love.”