The Morning After

Chapter 4

Caleb’s POV 

I woke up because something was wrong.

It took a few seconds to place it. Not a sound, there were sounds. The faint hum of the city outside. The soft ticking of the clock on the dresser. Even breathing beside me.

But the wrongness lived in the air itself. The absence of something I expected without realizing I expected it.

I opened my eyes.

Gray morning light filtered through the curtains, washing the room in colorless calm. The ceiling looked unfamiliar, even though I’d stared at it a thousand times. The house felt hollow. Like it had been emptied overnight and no one bothered to tell it.

I turned my head slightly.

Seraphina lay beside me, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, lips parted in sleep. One bare shoulder peeked out from beneath the sheet. She looked peaceful. At ease.

Like she belonged here.

She didn’t.

I stared at her longer than necessary, waiting for something, comfort, satisfaction, relief. Something that justified the fact that she was here at all.

Nothing came.

My gaze drifted toward the doorway, half-expecting to hear movement from the kitchen. 

The clink of a mug. The low whirr of the coffee machine warming up. A voice humming softly, off-key on purpose.

There was nothing.

The house stayed quiet.

I swallowed and shifted onto my back, staring up again.

Don’t start that.

I didn’t miss coffee. I didn’t miss routines. And I definitely didn’t miss the way mornings used to feel when someone else moved through the house like they’d always been part of it.

Seraphina stirred.

“Caleb?” Her voice was thick with sleep.

I didn’t answer right away.

She propped herself up on one elbow and squinted at me. “You’re awake already.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said.

She smiled lazily. “You never can.”

She reached out, her fingers brushing my arm, warm and light. “What time is it?”

“Early.”

She sighed and let herself fall back against the pillow. “I thought maybe we’d…”

“I have to go in,” I cut in.

Her eyes opened again. “Already?”

“Yes.”

She studied my face, her smile fading just a little. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

It came out too fast.

She didn’t call me on it. Just nodded slowly. “You were restless last night.”

“I had a lot on my mind.”

“The divorce thing?” she asked carefully.

I stiffened. “It’s being handled.”

Seraphina hesitated. “You don’t talk about her.”

“I don’t need to.”

The room went quiet again. She sat up, pulling the sheet around herself. “I can make coffee,” she offered. “I saw the machine downstairs.”

The words landed wrong.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor biting into my feet. “I’ll grab something at work.”

She watched me dress, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to rush me out.”

“I’m not.”

It was a lie, but not one worth unpacking.

I buttoned my shirt and reached for my jacket. She stood too, wrapping herself in the sheet like armor.

“Call me later?” she asked.

“Sure.”

I didn’t look at her when I said it.

The drive to the office passed in a blur of red lights and empty streets. My phone buzzed once on the passenger seat, then again. I ignored it, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary.

The city rose around me like a familiar shield, steel, glass, motion. It never asked questions. Never waited for answers.

The building loomed ahead, tall and imposing, exactly where it was supposed to be.

Good.

I parked, rode the elevator up alone, and stepped onto my floor.

Something felt off immediately.

People moved with purpose, but their eyes followed me longer than usual. Conversations dropped a half-second too late. My assistant looked up sharply when she saw me, color draining from her face.

“Morning,” I said.

She blinked. “Good morning, Mr. Knight.”

I frowned. “Where’s Martin?”

She hesitated. “In your office. He asked not to be disturbed.”

That wasn’t like him.

I didn’t slow my pace.

Martin Hale, my CFO, stood near the windows when I walked in, his back to me. His suit jacket was off, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. Papers were spread across my desk in uneven stacks.

He turned when he heard the door.

One look at his face told me everything I needed to know.

“What happened?” I asked.

He swallowed. “We need to talk.”

“I’m here.”

He gestured toward the chair. “You might want to sit.”

“I’m not sitting,” I said flatly. “Tell me.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself. “We had several large withdrawals overnight.”

“How large?” I asked.

“All of them.”

I stared at him. “Try again.”

Martin crossed the room and placed a tablet on my desk, sliding it toward me. “The Ghost Investors.”

My jaw tightened. “What about them?”

“They pulled their funding.”

I picked up the tablet and scrolled, my pulse picking up with every red indicator flashing across the screen. Account after account. Capital withdrawn. Commitments terminated.

“All of them?” I asked again.

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “They’re independent.”

“On paper,” Martin replied.

I looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”

“It means the timing is too clean,” he said. “Too coordinated.”

My grip tightened on the tablet. “Who owns them?”

“We don’t know,” he admitted. “They’re layered through holding companies. Shells inside shells.”

“So find out,” I snapped.

“We’re trying.”

I set the tablet down carefully. “What does this do to us?”

Martin didn’t answer immediately.

“Martin.”

He met my eyes. “It puts pressure on our liquidity. Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.”

“How soon?”

“Soon enough.”

I turned away, staring out at the city below. The skyline looked the same as it always did. Solid. Unbothered.

“Any warning?” I asked.

“None.”

I let out a sharp breath. “They don’t just vanish without reason.”

“That’s what worries me,” Martin said.

My phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at it, then flipped it face down.

“Okay,” I said. “We stabilize. Cut discretionary spending. Delay expansion.”

“We can do that,” Martin said. “But there’s something else.”

I turned slowly.

He reached into his folder and pulled out a thick envelope, setting it on the desk between us.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Legal notice,” he said.

I stared at it. “From who?”

“Your wife’s attorney.”

A cold sensation slid down my spine.

“Ex-wife” I reminded him coldly 

“For what?” I asked trying not to show my curiosity 

She refused any collateral, why would she do anything?

He hesitated. “Alleged misuse of marital assets.”

I laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “That’s ridiculous.”

“She claims,” Martin continued carefully, “that company funds were redirected during the marriage. That personal expenses were disguised as operational costs.”

“That’s false,” I snapped.

“She’s filed anyway.”

I grabbed the envelope and tore it open.

The words blurred together at first. Legal language. 

Accusations. Dates.Amounts.

Misuse. Misrepresentation. Breach.

“This is bullshit,” I said.

“She’s asking for a forensic audit,” Martin added quietly.

My chest tightened. “She’s fishing.”

“Possibly.”

“She doesn’t have proof.”

“She doesn’t need proof to file,” he said. “Just enough to force discovery.”

I dropped the papers onto the desk. “This is retaliation.”

Martin didn’t argue.

My phone buzzed again.

 Unknown number.

I answered it.

“Caleb Knight,” I said.

“Mr. Knight,” a woman’s voice replied, calm and precise. “This is Rachel Moore. I represent your wife.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “I’ve seen the notice.”

“Good,” she said. “We’ll be in touch regarding next steps.”

“You’re wasting your time,” I said. “There was no misuse.”

“That will be determined,” she replied evenly. “Have a good day, Mr. Sterling.”

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone slowly.

“She’s serious,” Martin said.

“I know.”

Silence stretched between us.

Two blows. One night.

Funding gone. Lawsuit filed.

Unrelated, my mind insisted. They had to be.

Coincidence didn’t mean conspiracy.

But it didn’t mean nothing either.

“We’ll fight it,” I said finally. “Both of them.”

Martin nodded. “I’ll call legal and start damage control.”

“Good.”

He paused at the door. “Caleb?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated. “You should prepare for things to get… messy.”

The door closed behind him.

I sank into my chair and stared at the empty desk.

The office smelled faintly of stale coffee.

For a brief, stupid second, I thought of how the house used to smell in the mornings and immediately shoved the thought away.

I leaned back, jaw clenched, eyes burning.

Whatever this was, bad timing, bad luck, bad faith, it wasn’t going to take me down.

Not without a fight.

And I would figure out who was pulling the strings.

Eventually.