Chapter 13: The Mask He Wears

Emery’s POV

Every smile carried a story.

Every tear carried a story.

Every sorrow left a scar.

And every person carried a tale. 

So I understood him, because I too had a shadow that I had seen again and again for the hundredth of time in my mirror— it hung on my shoulder, not spoken. Not healed.

The silence between us after Killian's confession was thick— tense, trembling like a storm waiting to break.

He had become more open and had started to talk more about himself now, and I was no longer intimidated by his presence. I was finally able to meet his gaze without fear clouding mine. 

And he was the complete opposite of what Tobias had described him to be.

I had understood that the Killian I once knew was what his family and world had painted him to be.

I was sure he didn't want to say much or say anything, but he had spoken about them— his father's cruelty and his disgust for the poor and how he belittled them, which shaped him to what he was. He had also talked about his mother's death.

His upbringing was rough, and it wasn't easy for young Killian to wear a mask that wasn't his— picked up by his father, who shaped him into a weapon and not a son. It was like a fracture ran through the polished armor he wore. 

And there he was, the boy beneath the mask, but it was just for a moment, and I so wanted to reach out to him and give him a squeeze to tell him I was there for him, but I couldn't because the moment left as quickly as it came. 

The world had forbidden us from having a peaceful and tender moment and reminded us of who we were because the next moment, Tobias strode into the office with me a folded newspaper in his hand, uninvited

“Hello, brother, or should I say hello, Mr Wolfe?” he said with that annoying smirk, and I suddenly had the urge to wipe it off his face. 

“ This is private. Excuse us,” Killian said, his voice rigid.

“You may want to read this, brother,” Tobias said, stressing the word BROTHER with thick sarcasm. He ignored Killian and he tossed the newspaper on the table, sliding it closer to him.

And on the front page, a headline in bold red screamed : “Beauty and the Bastard: Emery Sinclair's Dangerous Game With Mr Wolfe And Mr Sinclair.”

And there was a picture of Killian and me, our hands were interlocked. We were at a gala, and I was just out of the car. My eyes shined— raw. Open. From the angle of the shot so that you could see my heart in them, we looked real. too real to be pretending— like I was obsessed with him. Like he was too

Killian snatched the paper. His eyes scanned the content, hand trembled. That’s how I knew it wasn’t just a hit piece—it was a message.

“Lawrence Hawthorne,” he muttered.

Tobias gave a smug shrug. “You made enemies, brother. Not just me. And it would be wonderful to watch the upcoming show.” He let out a laugh— sharp and mocking as he strode out, humming a tone I couldn't catch.

It felt like he had seen this coming. Like he had planned every move. Was this his way of bringing Killian to his knees and getting me back?

I didn't know, but his voice had a hint of victory, like he had just won a battle, and my guts wouldn't stop reminding me to be conscious.

I sat frozen in my chair. The name sent a chill down my spine. Hawthorne. A rival corporate titan with more skeletons than morals. The man had a reputation for taking people apart brick by brick, and now… I was part of the battlefield.

And I knew there was no escape. My best chance to come out of the battlefield unharmed was with Killian. 

If I ran alone, I wouldn't make it and it also dawned on me that the game had gotten far more dangerous than I thought it would be and I had gone too deep in it to turn back

“They’re going after me now?” I asked, my voice brittle. My hands trembled and my heart pounded in my ears as fear crept into my very core

Killian didn’t answer immediately. But his silence screamed louder than any denial.

“I’ll handle it,” he said finally, eyes burning with a deadly calm.

And that’s when I saw it again—that flicker of ruthlessness beneath the man I was starting to trust. The darkness he kept so tightly leashed. The side of him that wasn’t afraid to break things to win.

Even people.

Even me?

I didn’t want to believe it, but the thought took root. And a chill ran down my spine at the thought. 

My hands trembled and blood ran out of my face at the thought of me being their new target. The media wasn't the only one on my tail anymore, Killian's Enemies had also been added to the list. Just like Killian had said, I was the weaker line. When he had first said so, I found his words offensive but I had begun to see the truth in them. 

They were after me because I was his weak spot, but what if they were wrong and I wasn't his weak spot? I had always felt like a pawn in his game, no matter what he told me. I didn't want to get my hopes up 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of boardrooms and quiet tension. Security was doubled. My phone was taken “for safety.” I wasn’t allowed outside without a driver. I felt like a bird in a golden cage.

Was I protected?

 Yes, but I also felt like a prisoner too.

That night, I stood on the balcony of Killian’s penthouse, staring at the city lights. My dress was too expensive. My shoes pinched. And yet, I felt completely bare.

“You should be asleep,” came his voice behind me.

I didn’t turn. “Hard to sleep when the world is painting a target on your back,” I replied and my grip on the balcony pillar tightened

He stepped beside me. Not too close. Not this time.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For which part?”

He hesitated. “All of it.”

I looked at him—really looked. The tailored suit. The calculated calm. But also the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched when he thought I wasn’t watching.

“You’re not the only one with scars, Killian,” I whispered. “But I’m starting to wonder if you’re just collecting more.”

His head turned toward me slowly. “You think I’m using you.”

“Shouldn’t I?” My voice cracked despite myself. “You said you leaked the first story. Now I’m being used as leverage in some business war, Killian. I don’t even know what side I’m on anymore.”

He closed the distance between us then, his hand brushing my arm. “I have made mistakes. But you are not just some pawn to me.”

I wanted to believe him. So badly. But there was still a flicker of fear I couldn’t shake. There was just a feeling deep down that kept bothering me as a reminder to not believe everything I saw.

I turned away. “You say I’m not a pawn, but I don’t feel like anything more than a bargaining chip in your empire.”

He cursed under his breath, low and harsh. “I’m trying, Emery. I’m trying to protect you.”

I looked over my shoulder. “And what happens when the next threat comes? Will you lock me away again? Use me as bait?”

His silence was a confirmation I wasn’t ready to face and I felt my heart tightened like someone was trying to squeeze the life out of it. His silence was like a quiet yes that was really to tear me apart. 

It was cold but I felt sweat forming on my forehead and the thought of another threat.

That night, I slept in the guest room.

Or at least, I tried to.

But sleep didn’t come.

And in the darkness, I wondered—not for the first time—if I was falling for the man behind the mask… or if he was just better at wearing it than anyone else

I lay curled in the guest bed, eyes wide open in the dark. The silence was deafening and sometimes interrupted only by the low hum of city traffic beneath the penthouse. I could still feel his presence—his frustration, his guilt—lingering in the air between our rooms.

The door suddenly opened slightly.

I didn’t move.

“Emery,” Killian’s voice was quiet, cautious. “Are you awake?”

I didn’t answer. Not right away. But I didn’t have to.

He stepped into the room, the dim hallway light framing him in gold and shadow. He was barefoot, his dress shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned, as though sleep had rejected him too.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said, standing at the foot of the bed. “Not like this.”

My voice was hoarse. “Do what?”

“Be… with someone. To be real.”

I sat up slowly. “Then why keep trying?”

“Because you’re the first person I don’t want to lie to,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “The first person who makes me want to be someone better than what they made me.”

My breath caught.

He crossed the room in three steps and stopped beside the bed, but he didn’t touch me—not yet. “I didn’t come in here to convince you. I came because I couldn't stand knowing you were hurting in the next room and thinking I didn’t care.”

“Do you?”

He bent down and leveled his face with mine. “Too much.”

His hand hovered over my cheek, waiting like he was asking for permission but no permission was needed

And I leaned in giving him a go-ahead silently telling him that he didn't need to ask

That was all he needed.

His lips brushed mine softly at first like he wasn’t sure he had the right. But I kissed him back—because I needed to feel something real. Something that wasn’t strategy or sacrifice or survival.

His hands tangled in my hair, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. The kiss deepened. Grew. Shifted from fragile to fierce.

Clothes loosened. Walls lowered. And in the hush of that night, we met in the space between fear and desire.

It wasn’t rough or possessive like before. It was slow. Honest. Like he needed to memorize every piece of me—not for control, but because he wasn’t sure how long he’d be allowed to keep it.

When it was over, we stayed tangled in the sheets, our breathing slow, our bodies warm and trembling from something neither of us could name.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

His hand brushed down my arm. “So am I.”

I stared at the ceiling. “This changes everything.”

“It already has.”

And for a few quiet minutes, we just lay there. No lies. No games. No headlines.

Just two people trying to find shelter in each other’s ruin.

But the world outside didn’t sleep.

The buzzing of Killian’s phone shattered the moment. He groaned, reaching for it on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

His expression hardened.

“What is it?” I asked, already knowing it wasn’t good.

He sat up, jaw tightening. “They’ve moved against the company. Lawrence made his first move.”

I clutched the sheets to my chest, heart thudding. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re out of time.”

The softness faded from his face. The man beside me was no longer just Killian.

He was the Wolfe again.

Cold. Calculating. Ready for the war that was about to come.

And I realized then that no matter what we shared in this bed, the outside world wouldn’t let us stay safe in it.

Not for long.