Beyond A Substitute

The bedroom was cold. Still. Katherine stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself as silent tears streamed down her face. Her body trembled—not from the air but from the weight of everything she had just heard. A divorce. After all this. After all they had shared. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the curtain as she stared out at the night sky, blinking through the blur of her tears. How did we get here? she thought. How could I have been so stupid to believe in forever? She turned away from the window, walked to the edge of the bed, and sat down slowly. Her hands, shaking, rested in her lap. She couldn’t stop the wave of memories that rose unbidden in her mind—taking her back to a night that felt like it belonged in someone else’s life. It was late—close to midnight. The restaurant had closed its doors to the public early that evening, but she hadn’t known that at the time. Kingsley had blindfolded her in the car, teasing her about a surprise. She had la

**** The city was quiet that night. Not silent, no—but the kind of quiet that made headlights feel too bright and made even the softest footsteps echo a little louder than usual. The streets were mostly empty, bathed in the dim orange hue of the streetlamps that flickered like they were tired. It was past midnight, and the world was resting. Katherine had just closed up the small coffee shop where she worked part-time. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders as the cool wind tugged at her hair. Her boots clicked softly on the pavement as she walked the same path she always did. There was nothing unusual about the night—until she saw something on the side of the road. Someone. She slowed down, eyes narrowing as she stepped cautiously closer. A man was lying there, half on the sidewalk, half in the grass. His expensive jacket was crumpled and stained with spilled liquor. One of his shoes had come off. His head was turned slightly to the side, and even from a distance, K

The weeks had passed like a strange dream—slow, foggy, and tangled in quiet moments that seemed both too fragile to touch and too powerful to ignore. Kingsley was no longer the shattered man Katherine had found that night on the roadside. He wasn’t whole either. But there was… stillness in him now. A kind of calm that unnerved her. It was a Saturday morning when she arrived again. The sun was barely up, but she’d already cooked his favorite—sweet potato hash with grilled turkey sausage and a sunny-side egg. She was humming when she stepped out of her car, Cap in tow, her Labrador bounding ahead with excitement. But something was off. As soon as she turned into the driveway of the apartment complex, her smile faded. There were cars. Not just ordinary ones—sleek, black SUVs with dark-tinted windows, lined up perfectly like chess pieces across the front lot. Five of them, engines idling, quiet but imposing. Cap stopped too, his ears perked and body tense. “What the hell…?” Ka

The boardroom buzzed with tension. Kingsley stood at the head of the long polished table, twenty faces staring at him — some skeptical, some angry, some calculating. Kingsley sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his fingers steepled under his chin, his sharp blue eyes flicking over the faces of the board members. To his left, Michael Rowe — his father — sat with his arms crossed, jaw tight. To his right, Anna Rowe watched him anxiously, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Across the table, the board members whispered among themselves. Men and women in expensive suits, some old, some young, all staring at Kingsley with thinly veiled doubt. “Let’s begin,” Kingsley said, his voice steady. For a moment, there was silence. Then, one of the senior board members — an older man with silver hair and sharp glasses — leaned forward. “Mr. Rowe,” he began carefully, “you understand the situation you’ve put us in.” Kingsley gave a slight nod. “I do.” “The media fallout f

After that night — after that kiss — things didn’t immediately return to how they had been before. Katherine was cautious. She didn’t throw herself back into Kingsley’s arms without hesitation. And Kingsley — well, Kingsley was patient. For the first time in a long time, he understood that rushing her, or trying to force things, would only push her away. So they started slowly. At first, it was just quiet messages. A text here. A check-in there. Kingsley would send a short, careful note: How’s your day going? or Did you eat today? or I’m thinking about you. Katherine would reply — sometimes quickly, sometimes after hours — her responses simple but warm. A few days later, Kingsley sent a car. Come out for coffee with me, he’d texted. Katherine hesitated — but after a long, thoughtful pause, she finally texted back: Okay. The car pulled up outside her apartment, sleek and black, the chauffeur politely opening the door for her. Katherine felt her heart flutter nervously a