CHAPTER 8: AN OPTION

Andrew’s POV

I left the hospital in a foul mood, the kind that sat heavy in my chest and followed me out into the open air like a shadow I couldn’t shake. I clenched my jaw so hard that it hurt.

The automatic doors slid shut behind me with a quiet hiss, cutting off the sterile smell, the beeping machines, the careful voices of doctors who looked at me like I was both powerful and utterly helpless. Outside, the city didn’t care. Cars passed. People laughed. The earth kept spinning.

Life moved on. Mine didn’t.

I clenched my jaw as I crossed the parking lot, my grip tightening around my phone until my knuckles went white. I didn’t need to check it. I already knew what I’d see. Headlines, notifications, messages from my PR team asking for statements I didn’t have the patience to give. More and more people were learning about Nancy and my son. It was like a bomb just waiting to explode and I knew how brutal the press could be. I had no idea how Nancy would handle it.

She wouldn’t like being in the spotlight. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to move her and her family to a different house. It was only a matter of time before the press and some of my business rivals found out where she lived.

I was always in a bad mood when Nancy was around. Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was what she did to me. What she reminded me of. Four years and I still have this…. feeling when I am near her. I don’t know how to describe it.

Standing there in that hospital room, watching her sit beside our son’s bed, I barely recognized the woman she had become. And that terrified me. I didn’t remember her like this.

I remembered the girl from four years ago, the calm one. The soft one. The woman who used to look at me like I wasn’t Andrew King, billionaire tech CEO, but just… Andrew. The one I kissed lazily in the mornings. The one I whispered stupid, sweet names to in the dark. The one I slept beside, tangled in sheets, breathing slow and even like she trusted the world not to hurt her. It was the best two months of my life.

She had been gentle back then. Warm. Open.

She was beautiful. She still was. God, she had always been beautiful, but there had been something lighter about her four years ago. Something untouched.

She was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Even now. Especially now. No makeup, dark chestnut hair pulled back carelessly, freckles scattered across her nose like constellations I had once memorized. Sea-blue eyes that had haunted me for years. A perfect form that made my chest tighten with memories I didn’t want to relive.

She looked younger than twenty-seven, but life had hardened her. I could see it in the way she held herself, in the way her shoulders stayed tense, like she was always bracing for impact. Four years of being a single mother had carved something sharper into her.

I hated it. I hated that someone had forced her to become this strong. I hated that it hadn’t been me standing beside her, taking the weight off her shoulders. I wanted to help her. Wanted to give her and my son a better life. Wanted to take care of her the way I once promised myself I would.

But how could I do that when she wouldn’t let me anywhere near her?

Frustration coiled tight in my chest, twisting until it hurt. I almost shouted aloud, grinding my teeth when I realized what I was doing.

I was thinking too much about how beautiful she was. What the hell was wrong with me?

I shoved the thought away and got into my car, slamming the door harder than necessary. The engine roared to life beneath my foot, and I drove home like I was trying to outrun my own thoughts.

It didn’t work.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, my mood had only darkened. I was exhausted, wired, angry at everyone and no one all at once. I just wanted silence.

Instead, when I stepped into my living room, I froze and twitched my lips in annoyance.

My mother was sitting there and she wasn’t alone. I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to drive her out. I told her she was dead to me so what the hell was she doing in my house.

Across from her sat Catherine Earnshaw, elegant and composed, her posture perfect like she had been trained for rooms like mine. Beside her was William Earnshaw, her father, old money, sharp eyes, the kind of man who had never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed.

The Earnshaws. Wealthy British elites. One of the richest families alive. The kind of people who didn’t expand into America unless they were planning to own something.

My stomach sank.

The last time my mother had mentioned them, she had spoken far too casually about how nice Catherine was. About how suitable she’d be for me.

I was pissed. She had brought them into my home without my permission, turned my personal space into a negotiation table, and I knew exactly what this was.

But I was Andrew King. And Andrew King didn’t snap in front of investors. So, I forced a smile onto my face and stepped forward.

“Mother,” I said evenly. Then I turned to my guests. “Mr. Earnshaw. Catherine. I wasn’t expecting company.”

Catherine smiled at me, polite, practiced, beautiful in a way that felt distant. “We hope we’re not intruding.”

“You’re not,” I lied.

We sat. Drinks were poured. Small talk filled the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. Then, inevitably, business came up.

They didn’t dance around it. William Earnshaw set his glass down with deliberate care.

“An… unfortunate situation,” he said calmly. “The press can be so unkind when it senses weakness.”

My mother folded her hands in her lap, furrowing her brows in worry. “The photographs didn’t help,” she added. “They’re everywhere.”

“I’m aware,” I said evenly.

Catherine crossed her legs, elegant, unbothered. “It’s not the woman that concerns the market. Rich people have children out of wedlock all the time.” she said softly. “It’s the uncertainty.”

William nodded. “Investors dislike unpredictability. A hidden child, a former lover resurfacing, it invites questions about judgment. Stability. Leadership. And it doesn’t help that the girl comes from a…questionable background.”

My jaw ticked with irritation. He was using fancy words but it was clear what he meant. He was talking down on Nancy because she was poor. I was sure the Earnshaws had already researched everything there was to know about Nancy. Because of me she would be merged into this life of politics. Her privacy would be invaded.

William smiled faintly. “Stocks dipped this morning.”

“I noticed.” I said.

“Of course you did.” He leaned back. “Still, this is not a condemnation. Merely a… moment. Moments pass when managed correctly.”

“And how,” I asked, “would you suggest managing it?”

My mother inhaled quietly, as if bracing herself. I gave her a sour look.

William exchanged a glance with his daughter. “King Enterprises remains formidable,” he said. “You’ve done a good job with your business, Andrew. You’re a powerful man. But you understand more power attracts attention. And right now you need all the positive attention you can get.”

Catherine’s lips curved slightly. “Which is why we’re here.”

“Your reach in America is impressive,” William continued. “And with the right alliances, it could become…untouchable.”

“Alliances,” I repeated. I wasn’t even in the room anymore. My body was there but my mind was on Nancy and my son.

“Partnerships,” Catherine said. “Expansion. A shared future.”

The word lingered.

My mother smiled. “Catherine has recently returned to the city,” she said lightly. “I thought it might be nice if you two spent some time together.”

“Time,” Catherine echoed. “No expectations. Simply… getting to know one another.”

William’s eyes never left mine. “Courtship,” he said smoothly. “In the traditional sense.”

And there it was. They didn’t say marriage. They didn’t need to. It was obvious what they wanted, but I didn’t like that they were being cunning about it.

I tightened my grip on my glass. “And if I’m not interested?”

William’s smile didn’t falter. “Interest can be cultivated.” That meant he wasn’t giving me a choice. The Earnshaws could ruin me with a snap of their fingers if I didn’t give them what they want.

Catherine tilted her head. “This wouldn’t be about romance, Andrew. At least not immediately.”

“This would be about continuity,” William added. “Strength and more influence.”

I felt the walls closing in.

“I don’t appreciate being cornered,” I said coolly.

“No one is cornering you,” Catherine replied. “We’re offering you an option. A very good one. And this alliance will calm down the press for a while. It will give them something different to talk about.”

I leaned back into my seat. If I stepped into this, there would be no backing out. No half-measures. The Earnshaws didn’t invest in uncertainty. My instinct screamed NO. I didn’t want this arrangement. This life shaped by obligation and expectation.

Then Liam’s face flashed in my mind. Small. Pale. Lying in that hospital bed.

Security mattered. Power mattered. The kind of power that ensured no one could ever threaten him or harm him. The kind of power that would secure his future for years to come.

“Alright,” I said slowly. “I’ll consider it.”

The shift in the room was immediate.

William smiled, satisfied.

Catherine inclined her head. “That’s all we ask.”

My mother exhaled, relief softening her expression. I was going to have a serious talk with her later about making decisions without asking me first.

They began speaking about schedules, introductions, the future, as if the decision had already been made.

I barely heard them.

All I could think about was Nancy. About Liam. About the quiet war I had just agreed to fight.

And for the first time that day, I wondered if this choice would cost me far more than money.