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2025-05-18 00:32:51
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Beyond A Substitute 36
The car ride was silent. Beth sat on one side of the backseat, her sunglasses hiding what little expression she still allowed herself. Kingsley sat on the other side, hands clasped, eyes locked on the skyline as they drove through Midtown. The silence was louder than shouting—louder than anything either of them had said the night before. The elevator ride up to the penthouse was quick. Familiar. Sterile. When the doors opened, Anna Rowe was already waiting. Pristine in a pearl sweater and silk trousers, she stepped forward and kissed her son on the cheek, then gave Beth a brief, cool embrace. “You’re here. Good,” she said. “Your father’s in the drawing room.” They followed her in. Micheal Rowe sat in his usual chair, a cup of black coffee resting on the side table, The Wall Street Journal folded neatly on his lap. He didn’t look up as they entered. “Sit,” he said flatly. “Let’s not waste the morning.” Beth sat. Kingsley did the same, though slower, his shoulders heavy
Beyond A Substitute 35
The café had emptied out slowly, until only the warm hum of the lights remained. Katherine was wiping down the last table, her movements slower than usual, heavy with everything the day had dragged in. Her hands paused over the damp cloth as she glanced at the door. She still felt Beth’s voice in her ear. The sharpness. The judgment. The weight of someone else’s mess suddenly thrown over her shoulders. The bell above the door jingled softly. She looked up. Jordan stepped in. Still in that same dark denim jacket, hands in his pockets, expression quiet but clear. She raised an eyebrow, forcing a little smile. “You’re back.” “I waited until you were almost done,” he said, walking toward the counter. “Didn’t want to crowd you earlier.” She nodded. “Thanks.” He looked at her for a long moment. “You weren’t okay.” “No,” she said softly. “I wasn’t.” Silence stretched between them, gentle but full. Then he shrugged a little. “So, how about that ice cream?” Katherine
Beyond A Substitute 34
8:07 PM — The Quiet Brew Café Brooklyn, New York The last customer had left. The chairs were stacked. The windows were dimmed. Katherine had just finished wiping down the espresso machine when she heard the soft knock. She didn’t go immediately. She let him wait for a moment. Then she walked over and unlocked the door, pushing it open. The cold from the outside rushed in with him, but her eyes were colder. Kingsley stepped inside, slowly, as if unsure if he’d be allowed to. Before he could say hi or even draw a breath— “I am not a substitute.” Her voice hit like glass. No softness. No curve. Just sharp edges. “I am beyond a substitute, Kingsley,” she continued, folding her arms. “You don’t just get to come to me every time your life goes off the rails. I’m not your emergency exit. I’m not your second choice.” “Katherine—” he tried, voice low. “No,” she cut him off, “you did this before. You remember? When you I took you to the hospital ? I was the one who took
Beyond A Substitute 33
Late morning sun spilled through the wide glass windows of the wellness center, glinting off the polished reception desk and soaking into the quiet hum of clients moving between therapy rooms. The scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air. Everything about the place was calm—too calm for the storm Kingsley brought through the door. He stepped in sharply, dressed in a tailored navy coat, drawing more than a few curious eyes. A receptionist looked up from her screen. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” “I’m here to see Carolina Marks. It’s personal.” The receptionist blinked, unsure. “Is she expecting you?” “No,” Kingsley said, tone clipped but polite. “Just tell her it’s Kingsley Rowe.” She hesitated, then picked up the phone. A few moments passed. Kingsley stood still, trying to swallow the anticipation clenching his chest. Then she came out. Carolina froze the moment she saw him. Her brown eyes narrowed, mouth pressing into a hard line. She crossed her arms, post
Beyond A Substitute 32
Beth was in the bedroom, the sheer curtains casting a pale shadow across the hardwood floors as she stood by the tall window, phone pressed to her ear. She had been pacing the room for ten minutes, heart thudding with quiet, clipped rage, her silk robe rustling with each sharp turn. The line clicked, and finally, the voice came through. “Hello?” She didn’t wait. “What did you find out?” The woman on the other end cleared her throat, her voice steady but careful. “I called his office this morning. I made sure to speak to someone who’d know the schedule… and, um—there’s no business trip, Mrs. Rowe. Kingsley wasn’t assigned to anything out of town. In fact, they said he didn’t put in any request to travel. They thought he was taking personal time.” Beth’s jaw tightened. Her fingers clenched around the phone so hard her knuckles paled. “Are you sure?” “Yes, ma’am. It’s not a work trip. Not officially. He’s not attending any meetings, and not representing the company in any w
Beyond A Substitute 31
Kingsley stayed there longer than he should have. His coffee had long gone cold, untouched for the most part, just resting in his hands as he sat back in the corner of The Quiet Brew. He wasn’t trying to be invisible, but he wasn’t trying to make a scene either. He just needed to be near her. Even if she didn’t want to see him. Even if she had every reason to hate him. From where he sat, he had a quiet, steady view of her. Katherine. Moving like she always did, purposeful, elegant in that no-nonsense way. She kept her eyes on her work, didn’t glance at him once, and Kingsley respected that—though it pained him. The café began to thin. The lunch rush had died down, and the crowd that once hummed with conversation and orders was settling into scattered pockets of quiet. A few people still lingered with laptops and mugs, but the counter had no line now. And she finally looked up. Katherine stared across the café at him for a long moment, then set the rag in her hand aside, pull
Beyond A Substitute 30
The soft hum of the air conditioning unit was the only sound in the dim hotel room when Kingsley stirred. The morning light filtered lazily through the half-closed curtains, painting warm streaks across the ceiling. He opened his eyes slowly, feeling the dull ache of a restless night weigh heavy on his chest. He sat up, rubbed his face, and reached for his phone on the nightstand. Fifteen missed calls. Beth. A groan escaped his lips as he stared at the screen, the last few calls coming in around 2 a.m. He had completely forgotten to let her know he’d left town. No message, no note. Nothing. Just vanished and he forgot he had put his phone on silence when he walked inside Katherine cafe to prevent any calls distracting him. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, swiping to call her back. She picked up after two rings, voice sharp, clipped, already charged with suspicion. “Kingsley.” “Beth. I—I’m sorry. I meant to call, I just—things got complicated and I forgot.” “You
Beyond A Substitute 29
There was a silence so deep it swallowed the rest of the noise in the room, at least for the two of them. The café was still bustling. People were still talking, still sipping and ordering, but in that space between them — it was just the two of them. And it felt like the past had cracked open, pouring all its forgotten weight into the room. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out at first. Her brows pulled together — not in confusion, but in something closer to disbelief. Or maybe irritation. “What are you doing here?” she asked finally, her voice low, guarded. Kingsley took a breath. “I came to talk to you.” Her jaw tightened. She shook her head, turning slightly, like she couldn’t quite look at him fully. “Talk to me? About what, Kingsley? What could we possibly have to talk about?” “Just… please. A few minutes. That’s all I’m asking.” “No,” she said, immediately, firmly. She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was flat. “We have nothing to talk about. You shou
Beyond A Substitute 28
The morning air was heavy with the kind of stillness that made everything feel louder. The soft hum of the city outside Kingsley’s penthouse windows barely registered in his ears as he stood in front of his mirror, buttoning the sleeves of a crisp navy shirt, one cuff slower than the other. The watch he wore—an old one Katherine had once gifted him back when anniversaries still meant something—sat heavy on his wrist, a silent weight that dragged his thoughts back into places he had tried, and failed, to leave behind. He moved slower than usual. Not sluggish, exactly, but careful, precise—like someone retracing a forgotten path. His hair was already combed, his shoes polished, his cologne faint but present. Everything on him looked like he was heading into a meeting, maybe lunch with a board member or a prospective investor. But he wasn’t. Not today. Today, Kingsley Rowe was going to Brooklyn. He had replayed Nathan’s words a dozen times since that meeting in the office—the one w
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