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 laughed the whole way, playfully swatting his arm and demanding to know what he was planning. When he finally removed the blindfold, she blinked into the warm glow of candlelight. The entire restaurant was empty—except for them. Soft jazz music floated through the air, and the table before her was set beautifully, a single red rose lying across her napkin. White petals were scattered across the floor, and a low fire crackled gently in the fireplace nearby. She had gasped. “Kingsley… what is all this?” He just smiled. “Dinner,” he said simply, and offered his hand. “With the love of my life.” He had always known how to make things magical, how to make her feel like she was the only woman in the world. That night had been no different. They ate, they danced in the quiet, empty space, and he held her like the world outside didn’t exist. At one point, he pulled her close, swaying slowly to the music. His lips brushed her temple as he whispered, “I want every night to feel like this. Just us. Just peace. Just love.” Then—when she thought the night couldn’t get more perfect—he slowly stepped back. “I have something else,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket. Katherine had frozen, her breath catching. And then, right there beneath the golden light of the chandelier, he got down on one knee. She remembered her heart pounding in her ears, her hands covering her mouth as he opened the velvet box. The ring sparkled like a thousand tiny stars. “I know this is crazy,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “but I don’t want to wait anymore. I love you, Katherine. I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. You make me feel alive. Real. Like I’m not just some puppet in front of the world. You make me human. And I want to spend every moment of my life making you feel the same. Will you marry me?” Her “yes” had come out before he even finished the question. She remembered kneeling to the floor with him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he slipped the ring onto her finger. She remembered how he whispered, over and over, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. Now, in the silence of their bedroom, the memory burned. Katherine covered her face with her hands, sobbing softly. “Was it all a lie?” she whispered to herself. “Was any of it real?” The door creaked open behind her. She froze. Her spine stiffened, but she didn’t turn around. “Katherine?” His voice. That familiar voice. She didn’t respond. Kingsley stepped inside, then stopped. The air between them was tense, weighted. He could feel the grief radiating from her like heat. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly. She slowly turned, her face tear-streaked and hollow. “But you did.” His eyes softened. “I meant what I said. I’ll make sure you’re okay. You’ll never want for anything.” Katherine rose to her feet. “I don’t want your money, Kingsley.” He looked at her, confused. “I wanted you,” she said, voice trembling. “I still do.” For a moment, he faltered. Just for a second, his confident mask slipped, and something real—something pained—crossed his features. But then it was gone. “Katherine…” “Don’t,” she said, stepping back. “Don’t say my name like that. Not after everything.” Her hands shook at her sides. “You made me believe in us. You made me hope. You proposed to me like I was the only woman in your world. And now you’re trading me in for a public fairytale.” “I love Beth,” he said softly. Katherine’s heart shattered all over again. She stood facing him, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. Her eyes—those eyes Kingsley once claimed to love—were rimmed red, but sharp with pain. “Then why are you still here?” she asked, voice cold. Kingsley held up the folder in his hand. “So you can sign the divorce papers.” Katherine’s lips parted. For a second, the words didn’t register. When they did, she let out a bitter laugh—more like a choked breath of disbelief. “I can’t believe you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What went wrong? You showed me so much love. You asked me to marry you. You made me believe in everything… What changed?” Kingsley didn’t answer right away. “Is it… Is it because she’s a celebrity?” Katherine asked, her voice cracking. “Because she’s From your class? Because my family is nobody and hers is everywhere? Is that why you want to leave me?” She took a step closer, desperate now, needing something to make it make sense. “What did I do wrong, Kingsley?” Kingsley sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Then why?” she cried. “Why are you doing this to me?” He looked at her, eyes filled with something unreadable. “I never really loved you, Katherine.” The words hit like a slap. “I liked you,” he continued slowly, almost guiltily. “But I never loved you. The only reason I married you was because of your eyes. Your facial expressions. The same eyes. The same way you smiled when you were nervous. The way you looked at me across the table. Everything.” Katherine’s mouth dropped open, her throat tightening painfully. “So I was… what? A replacement?” Her voice was hollow now. “A shadow of the girl you really wanted?” “She’s always been the one,” he said softly. “Even when I left, she never left me.” Katherine’s voice rose. “Then why didn’t you marry her in the first place? Why leave her? Why find me? Why ask me to marry you if she was always the one?” Kingsley rubbed his forehead, frustration building behind his eyes. “It’s not that simple—” “It is that simple!” she cut in. “You married me. You stood at that altar. You looked me in the eyes and made vows to me. You never told me anything about her. I didn’t even know she existed. And now you’re just… throwing me away like I was nothing?” She laughed bitterly again. “You’re unbelievable.” Kingsley stepped closer. “Katherine—” “No,” she said, backing away. “If I’m going to sign that divorce paper, if you’re going to walk out of here and leave me with nothing but lies, then I deserve the truth. I need to know the full story. I need to understand why.” She straightened her back, her voice firm now despite the tremble in her lips. “Tell me why you left her. Tell me why you chose me. And then tell me why you’re running back to her now.” Kingsley looked at her for a long time. There was silence—heavy and thick—between them. Then he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “If that’s what will make you sign the paper… I’ll tell you everything.” He walked to the armchair near the window and sank into it slowly, the weight of his past suddenly pressing hard on his shoulders. “I’ll tell you everything—how it started with Beth, how it ended, and how I found you. I’ll tell you why I thought I could move on… and why I couldn’t.” Katherine sat on the edge of the bed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “I’m listening,” she said quietly.Kingsley leaned his head back against the couch, his voice distant and soft, as if he was speaking more to the past than to Katherine in front of him. “I still remember the first time I saw her. We were in this little coffee shop just off campus. She was sitting by the window, sipping on an iced caramel macchiato, lost in whatever book she was reading. And then she looked up.” He paused, swallowed. “Her eyes… Katherine, they were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. This pure, crystal aqua blue—like the ocean right before sunset. It stopped me. Right there. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. Just… those eyes.” Katherine turned her face slightly, trying to hide her reaction, but the hurt still showed. Kingsley glanced at her, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. I just need you to understand. Those eyes—they pulled me in. And when she smiled? God. Her entire face would light up. She had this soft way of tilting her head when she was curious, the
**** 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
Kingsley was discharged from the hospital two later He didn’t say much during his stay. The doctors asked questions, and he gave short answers. Nurses poked and prodded, monitored vitals, and adjusted IV fluids. Through it all, Kingsley said very little. But every time Katherine visited—twice a day, without fail—his eyes would soften like the tight coil of pain in his chest loosened a little. It was her presence that grounded him. Not the medicine, not the sterile sheets, not the therapist that popped in briefly. Just her. When he was discharged, he didn’t return to his towering penthouse, Instead, he requested to be dropped off at a quiet, inconspicuous street on the edge of the city. That’s where he wanted to be. A small, two-bedroom apartment tucked between a florist and a closed-down laundromat. It had peeling gray paint, creaky floorboards, and a door that stuck when you tried to close it all the way. To anyone else, it was just another forgotten space on a forgotte
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 sun dipped low outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting an amber glow across the marble floor. The skyline glittered beyond, but inside the penthouse, the air was heavy, tight, filled with a silence that felt like it might crack at any second. Kingsley sat on the edge of the leather couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. He heard the elevator chime. He didn’t look up. He knew who it was. The click of expensive heels entered first — his mother. Soft perfume, delicate, elegant. Then the sharp, heavy footsteps of his father, leather shoes striking the floor like a judge’s gavel. They were here. And they were angry. “Kingsley,” his father’s voice cut through the room, cold and precise. “We need to talk.” His mother’s voice followed, softer, trembling, “Sweetheart… why didn’t you answer our calls?” Kingsley rubbed his face roughly, forcing himself to sit up straighter. His eyes flicked up, meeting theirs for the first time
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
Katherine stood framed in the doorway, dressed casually, her hair slightly messy, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she didn’t speak — she just stared at him, as if trying to process the fact that he was really standing there. Kingsley’s gaze swept over her, drinking her in like a man starved. His eyes locked onto hers — those beautiful, striking eyes that had haunted his dreams for months. Aqua blue. Clear, deep, endless. The kind of eyes that, long ago, had first reminded him of Beth — but now, standing here, looking into Katherine’s face, he realized they had become so much more than that. These weren’t Beth’s eyes. These were Katherine’s. And he loved them. He loved the way they softened when she smiled, the way they sharpened when she was angry, the way they seemed to see straight through all his defenses, all his walls. His throat tightened painfully. “Katherine,” he breathed. For a long moment, they just stood there, staring at each other. Neither spoke
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
It was late afternoon when the sleek black car pulled up outside the quiet house. Katherine stood at the window, her heart clenching the moment she saw who stepped out. Kingsley’s mother. Tall, graceful, dressed in an elegant cream coat, sunglasses shielding her sharp eyes. Two assistants followed behind, one carrying a delicate handbag, the other holding a tablet. Katherine’s pulse spiked. She hadn’t expected this — not today, not like this. She hurried to smooth her hair, pressing her hands to her chest to steady her racing heart as the doorbell rang. Moments later, she opened the door. “Mrs. Adewale,” Katherine whispered softly. Kingsley’s mother removed her sunglasses slowly, her perfectly arched brows lifting slightly. “Katherine.” Her voice was smooth, polite — but cool. “May I come in?” Katherine stepped aside, her throat dry. “Yes, of course.” Inside, the atmosphere was stiff, uncomfortable. Kingsley’s mother moved gracefully through the living room, he
Katherine’s hand hovered over the paper, the pen trembling between her fingers. She stared down at the divorce papers — the final, sharp end to everything they had once built. Her breath came shaky. Her chest tightened. And then — Her hand froze. Slowly, she pulled the pen back and let it fall onto the table with a soft clink. Kingsley’s head shot up from where he sat, his eyes narrowing. “Katherine?” She pressed her hands hard against her face, letting out a broken, shaky breath. “I… I can’t,” she whispered. “What do you mean you can’t?” Kingsley’s voice tightened. “You promised, Katherine. You said if I told you everything — if I answered your questions — you’d sign.” Katherine let her hands drop, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet his. Her eyes were raw, pained, full of a storm he hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “And you promised me forever.” Kingsley flinched, just slightly. “You promised me,” Katherine went on, her voi
The night after the proposal, Kingsley sat alone in his study, staring into the fireplace. The flames danced quietly, casting golden light across the room, but his mind was racing too fast to notice. His fingers drummed nervously on the armrest. His heart pounded, not with excitement this time — but with dread. He had to tell them. He had to tell his parents. For a long moment, he sat frozen, trying to gather the right words, the right explanations. And then — with a deep, shaky breath — he stood, smoothing a hand down his shirt and heading toward the grand, double doors at the end of the hall. Behind those doors, he knew, his parents were waiting. The family’s kitchen was nothing like a normal home kitchen. It was enormous — polished marble counters, gleaming brass fixtures, long wooden shelves filled with expensive spices and rare ingredients. Chefs usually worked here during the day, preparing elaborate meals for the family and guests. But tonight, the room was empty
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
Katherine stood framed in the doorway, dressed casually, her hair slightly messy, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, she didn’t speak — she just stared at him, as if trying to process the fact that he was really standing there. Kingsley’s gaze swept over her, drinking her in like a man starved. His eyes locked onto hers — those beautiful, striking eyes that had haunted his dreams for months. Aqua blue. Clear, deep, endless. The kind of eyes that, long ago, had first reminded him of Beth — but now, standing here, looking into Katherine’s face, he realized they had become so much more than that. These weren’t Beth’s eyes. These were Katherine’s. And he loved them. He loved the way they softened when she smiled, the way they sharpened when she was angry, the way they seemed to see straight through all his defenses, all his walls. His throat tightened painfully. “Katherine,” he breathed. For a long moment, they just stood there, staring at each other. Neither spoke
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
The sun dipped low outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting an amber glow across the marble floor. The skyline glittered beyond, but inside the penthouse, the air was heavy, tight, filled with a silence that felt like it might crack at any second. Kingsley sat on the edge of the leather couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. He heard the elevator chime. He didn’t look up. He knew who it was. The click of expensive heels entered first — his mother. Soft perfume, delicate, elegant. Then the sharp, heavy footsteps of his father, leather shoes striking the floor like a judge’s gavel. They were here. And they were angry. “Kingsley,” his father’s voice cut through the room, cold and precise. “We need to talk.” His mother’s voice followed, softer, trembling, “Sweetheart… why didn’t you answer our calls?” Kingsley rubbed his face roughly, forcing himself to sit up straighter. His eyes flicked up, meeting theirs for the first time
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
Kingsley was discharged from the hospital two later He didn’t say much during his stay. The doctors asked questions, and he gave short answers. Nurses poked and prodded, monitored vitals, and adjusted IV fluids. Through it all, Kingsley said very little. But every time Katherine visited—twice a day, without fail—his eyes would soften like the tight coil of pain in his chest loosened a little. It was her presence that grounded him. Not the medicine, not the sterile sheets, not the therapist that popped in briefly. Just her. When he was discharged, he didn’t return to his towering penthouse, Instead, he requested to be dropped off at a quiet, inconspicuous street on the edge of the city. That’s where he wanted to be. A small, two-bedroom apartment tucked between a florist and a closed-down laundromat. It had peeling gray paint, creaky floorboards, and a door that stuck when you tried to close it all the way. To anyone else, it was just another forgotten space on a forgotte