Chapter 4 : Kaelen

For thirty-two years, I had run my life on a single, uncompromising law: absolute control.

I had built Hawthorne Athletics from the ash and ruin of a family that bled me dry. I trusted no one. Not my board, not my  executives, and certainly not the blood-sucking vultures who shared my last name. Every asset, every contract, every heartbeat of my billion-dollar empire was locked down and heavily insured against betrayal.

And yet, sitting at the head of the long dining table this morning, my jaw was clenched so tightly my back teeth ached.

"Really, Kaelen, it's pathetic," My mother, Judith Hawthorne sighed, delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin before setting her fork down. She glared across the table with thinly veiled contempt. "Bringing this cold, silent hostility to breakfast? Genevieve is trying her best. You need to forgive her, settle this absurd dispute, and restore peace to this family. You're making a mockery of your father's memory by letting this bitter grudge drag on."

I didn't look up from my dark coffee. The bitter liquid mirrored the cold fury simmering in my chest.

Directly across from me sat my so-called wife, Genevieve, looking every bit the pristine wife in a cream suit. She offered me a soft, remorseful smile that didn't reach her eyes and I felt a fresh surge of acid hit my throat.

Four years ago, I had caught this woman in my own bed with my younger brother, Tristan. The betrayal had burned through my soul so deep, I literally felt like killing them. But my father, the late patriarch in his mercy, had dealt with it instead. He had stripped Tristan of his titles, confiscated his trust fund, and exiled him from the family without a single cent. Genevieve, however, was a master snake. She had stubbornly refused to sign divorce papers, clinging to her fifteen percent voting stake on my board, using legal loopholes to stay tied to my wealth like a parasite.

My father had died just two weeks ago and the dirt was barely settled over his casket before my mother used his absence to haul her golden boy Tristan back from his three-year exile, intent on sweeping his sickening betrayal under the rug.

"My marriage died the night she spread her legs for my brother, Mother," I said, my voice absolute. "And Genevieve is staying off my board permanently, even if I have to spend the next decade dismantling her life to ensure it."

"It was a mistake, Kaelen," Genevieve interrupted, resting her hands on the tablecloth, entirely unbothered by my rage. "We were young and foolish. But I'm still your wife. You need a unified front for the board, not a public war."

"Genevieve is right," Judith chimed in, her face pinching with familiar irritation. She had always coddled Tristan, always excused his reckless failures, and always blamed me for lacking 'familial warmth.' She looked down the table at Tristan, who was currently feeding a pastry to his latest flavour of the week; some slender brunette named Sloane. "Tristan has matured. He’s brought Sloane into our lives. It’s time you grow up too, Kaelen. A man without a wife by his side looks unstable to investors. You have no heir, no leverage."

My mother sneered, entirely confident that she had backed me into a corner. They all thought they had me trapped. Genevieve believed her fifteen percent stake gave her permanent immunity. Judith believed my lack of a direct line of succession would force me to reconcile with Genevieve just to satisfy the old-money traditionalists on the board.

They wished!

I knew why my mother had forced me to host this godforsaken "reconciliation breakfast" in the first place. She wanted to reintegrate Tristan back into the company, using Genevieve, but I'd for before I let that happen.

"Tristan is a parasite, and he is one misstep away from being cut off permanently."

"You've always resented his happiness," mom hissed under her breath.

I ignored her, my mind shifting back to the only reason I was enduring this circus. The board clause. The hidden trust mandate requires a biological heir to legally strip a spouse of their voting shares. My private investigators had spent three months vetting the Elite Origins Agency, securing an anonymous surrogacy contract with zero legal ties to the mother. The surrogate was clean, handpicked, and most importantly, completely detached from my world.

The double doors at the far end of the dining room suddenly groaned open and the butler's voice cut through the air.

"The surrogate has arrived."

"Surrogate?" My mother and Genevieve gasped in unison, both turning to the door.

***

*Callie*

The moment the butler announced my presence, the doors swung fully open, exposing me to the lavish, sunlit dining room.

I took a slow breath, bracing myself to face whichever cold, demanding billionaire had summoned me.

Instead, my eyes swept past the grand table and hit the young man sitting halfway down the right side. He was casually feeding a piece of a pastry to a dark-haired brunette, wearing a cashmere sweater that cost more than I made in a year.

My feet completely froze, the breath completely ripped from my lungs.

It was Tristan.

The world tilted on its axis, a cold, dizzying rush of blackness threatening to steal my vision.

He had just confessed yesterday that he was actually a Hawthorne. One of the wealthiest families in the whole of New York.

Though he was a liar and a coward, I didn't see any reason for him to say such without any form of credit. Did that mean this house belonged to the Hawthornes? Was my client actually a Hawthorne?

Before I could complete my thoughts a sharp, violent clatter shattered the silence of the room.

Tristan’s chair scraped viciously against the floor, topping backward and crashing onto the rug. He stood straight up, his face entirely drained of color, his dark eyes wide with a terrifying mix of panic and rage.

He pointed a shaking finger straight at my face.

"You!" he shrieked. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?!"

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I just stood there, my hands instinctively dropping to my sides. "The...agency said...The agency said my client was here and requested.."

"Kaelen, get her out!" Tristan screamed, cutting me off and turning toward the towering man sitting at the head of the table. "She's a stalker! A psychotic, manipulating gold-digger! She tracked me down and must have seduced her way into the agency. I don't care why you need a surrogate but it certainly can't be her. She's trying to extort our family!"

The room instantly erupted into deafening noise.

"A surrogate then a gold-digger?" An older woman with sharp, cruel features gasped, dropping her silver ware. She glared at my shabby clothes with pure venom. "In MY home? Kaelen, what kind of gutter trash have you brought under our roof?"

The dark-haired socialite from yesterday, stood up beside Tristan, tossing her head back with a sneer. "I told you she was obsessed with you, Tristan. Look at her. She probably hacked the agency files just to trap a Hawthorne. And she did this while still married to you, yet puts on the fake act of you cheating on her."

No. No I didn't. I simply didn't know.

The client's identity was kept anonymous. I didn't know he was a Hawthorne. I didn't know he was Tristian's brother.

Slowly, the man at the head of the table stood up.

He was towering, terrifyingly broad, and dressed in a bespoke dark suit that radiated absolute authority. His face looked as though it had been carved from granite; chiseled, ruthless, and completely devoid of human warmth. But it was his eyes that locked me in place. They were an icy, piercing green, burning with a dark, suffocating paranoia that rolled across the long table in terrifying waves.

He looked at me with so much disgust, I wondered if I'd somehow upset him in the past.

Even Tristian seemed afraid of him as he took a step back, swallowing hard.

Despite the color draining entirely from my cheeks, despite the trembling of my hands, I still straightened my spine. I looked at Tristan with a flash of contempt, then turned my eyes back towards the man in front of me.

A fierce, burning rage suddenly cut straight through my panic, igniting a spark of survival instincts deep in my chest.

"I didn't know," I finally said. "If I had known my ex husband here would be connected to your family, I'd have burned the contract before I ever let a doctor touch me."

Tristan choked on his breath, staring at me in shock.

I took a sharp breath, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides. "I am contacting the agency the second I step outside to terminate this agreement due to a massive conflict of interest. Keep your money. Consider your contract void."

I turned on my heel, marching straight toward the double doors, desperate for an escape.

"Stop her."

Kaelen’s voice cracked from behind me.

Before I could take three steps, a massive, heavily scarred man appeared before me, completely blocking my path.

I instantly slammed to a halt, nearly colliding with his chest.

I spun back around, my amber eyes blazing with sudden panic as I glared across the room.

"Let me out of here," I demanded.

"You can get the fuck out whenever you wish, Mrs. Surrogate but certainly not with my baby.”