The Cold Kitchen

The blogs found her overnight, but Piper didn't know this at first.

She woke to the muted hush of a home that never truly slept. It must be the housekeeper, she thought. The middle-age woman often arrived too early to clean up. Piper lay still, watching the pale morning light creep along the curtains, letting herself pretend—just for a moment—that this was an ordinary morning.

Then her phone buzzed.

Another vibration.

Then another. Relentless, like something alive trying to claw its way out. She blinked, disoriented.

She sat up at once—blanket sliding down her shoulders—and reached for the phone, fingers clumsy with sleep.

The screen lit up.

Missed calls, several from Nana. Unknown numbers. Messages stacked on messages, her lock screen crowded with notifications she didn’t recognize.

Her chest tightened.

She sat up slowly, heart beginning to race before her mind fully understood why. She unlocked the phone.

The first headline stared back at her, bold and merciless.

BREAKING: Billionaire CEO Anderson dumps girlfriend, Remarries in Secret?

Her heart dropped.

She stood up from the bed, kept scrolling.

WHO IS THE WOMAN SPOTTED WITH ANDERSON’S HEIRS?

FROM GRIEF TO GLAMOUR: ANDERSON MOVES ON WITH FORMER NANNY AFTER TRAGEDY.

The phone almost fell off her hand.

"What?" Her mouth fell open in shock.

One blog had blown up a blurred photo from the gate—the angle wrong, invasive, hurried shots. Her profile. Leo in her arms. Toby seemed to be in motion. Circles drawn around her face. Arrows. Speculation stacked on speculation.

Another speculated cruelly

“Anderson replaces late wife with caretaker—employees now wives?”

Her stomach turned.

She dropped the phone onto the bed like it burned.

Her name was everywhere—but wrong. Bent. Reshaped into something she didn’t recognize.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat stutter and pound. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too restricted.

This isn’t my life, her mind whispered. She blinked hard to hold back the tears, her heart breaking into a million pieces.

She picked up the phone again, thumb hovering before she hit call back. It rang twice.

“Piper?” Nana’s voice came through, low but steady. Familiar enough to crack something open inside her.

“I’m here,” Piper said quickly. “I’m sorry—I was asleep. I didn’t hear the phone.”

There was a pause. Not angry. Just weighted.

“I’ve been calling,” Nana said softly. “My phone hasn’t stopped ringing since last night.”

Piper closed her eyes.

“What are they saying about you?” Nana continued. “People keep asking if my daughter married a billionaire in secret.”

The words landed heavier than any headline.

Piper swallowed. “Nana…”

“Is it true?” Nana asked. Not accusing. Just searching. “Are you married, Piper?”

Piper pressed her fingers into the mattress.

“It’s… complicated. I promise I’ll explain everything when I come to see you.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“You haven’t come in almost two weeks,” Nana said. “I kept counting days. I thought maybe you were busy. Or tired.”

Guilt surged through her, hot and piercing.

“I’m sorry,” Piper whispered. “I didn’t mean for it to stretch this long. Things just… moved fast.”

Nana sighed, the sound fragile through the phone. “I don’t like hearing about your life from strangers. I like hearing it from you.”

Piper’s throat burned. “I know. I promise I’ll come soon. Very soon. I just need to settle a few things.”

“Are you safe?” Nana asked quietly.

Piper didn’t answer right away.

She looked around the unfamiliar room—the high ceilings, the quiet luxury, the silence that never quite felt peaceful.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I am.”

Nana hummed, unconvinced but choosing trust anyway. “Alright. Just don’t disappear from me again, hm?”

“I won’t,” Piper said. “I promise.”

When the call ended, Piper sat there for a long moment, phone still warm in her hand.

The world could call her Mrs. Anderson or the nanny or anything else it pleased.

But to Nana—

She was still just Piper.

And somehow, that hurt the most.

Down the hall, Leo cried.

The sound jolted her.

She rose on instinct, pulling on a sweater with trembling hands, and went to him. He quieted the moment she lifted him.

She buried her face briefly into his hair.

“I’m here,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure who she was reassuring—him or herself. She carried him into the kitchen, to make coffee.

Across the hall, Thomas Anderson stood barefoot in his study, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

His tablet lay abandoned on the desk, screen still lit.

He hadn’t slept.

He’d stopped scrolling after counting thirty headlines.

Some congratulated him. Others dissected him. A few outright mocked him.

BROKEN CEO PLAYS HOUSE AFTER TRAGEDY: IS THIS LOVE… OR A DESPERATE COVER?

He dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching at his stubble.

Every headline felt like a personal violation.

They were dissecting him as if he were in a surgical procedure.

ANDERSON DUMPS GIRLFRIEND HIDES NEW WIFE WHILE CHILDREN FACE INSTABILITY.

He slammed the other phone down on the desk.

“They don’t get to do this,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “They don’t get to rewrite my life.”

The blogs were already speculating about custody again.

That was the real threat.

The conversation about custody scared him to death.

The Stonebridges.

He could fight any legal battle without emotions and win.

But this wasn't just any battle, it was about his children. The Stonebridges were terrible mean folks, but he would sooner die than let them take his children.

The thought settled like a cold weight in his gut.

He dragged himself up and headed for the kitchen, shirt rumpled, movements sharp with fatigue. The coffee machine hummed to life—

—and then he stopped.

Piper was already there.

She stood by the counter, Leo balanced on her hip, one small hand buried in her hair. A mug sat in front of her, steam curling faintly into the air.

For a second, Thomas just stared.

Not at the mug.

At her.

Her eyes were tired. Not puffy—just dulled at the edges, like someone who hadn’t rested properly. She looked smaller in the early light, wrapped in an oversized sweaters. The sleeves swallowing her hands, the hem brushing her thighs.

The sight hit him unexpectedly.

Soft. Domestic. Calm.

For half a second, his mind betrayed him with a thought he didn’t ask for—

She looks…

He shut it down immediately.

This was a mistake. All of it.

Leo spotted him first, lifting his head sleepily. “Daddy.”

Piper turned.

Their eyes met.

"Good morning." Piper greeted quietly.

Thomas got to them, gently ruffled his son's hair, before he straightened, hardening his expression.

“You shouldn’t be in here this early,” he said flatly.

She blinked, clearly unprepared for the tone. “He woke up.”

Thomas’s gaze flicked to Leo, then back to her. “You could’ve asked the night staff.”

“They were asleep,” Piper said. “I didn’t want to—”

“That’s not your call,” he cut in.

Silence followed, brittle.

“You’ve seen the blogs,” she said quietly.

Thomas moved to the coffee machine, deliberately turning his back to her. “I don’t read gossip.”

“That’s a lie,” she said, not accusing—just tired.

The machine hissed. He waited until it finished before speaking again.

“You’re not supposed to be affected by this,” he said. “That was part of the agreement.”

Leo shifted against her shoulder, fingers curling into her sweater.

Piper glanced down at him, smoothed his hair, then looked back at Thomas. “What happens now?”

The question lingered.

Thomas opened his mouth—closed it again.

“I’ll handle it,” he said.

She studied his face. “That’s not an answer.”

Something flickered in his eyes—irritation, maybe. Or guilt.

“You’re protected,” he said more firmly. “That’s what matters.”

She let out a slow breath. “They’re calling me the nanny. Or your wife. Or something in between. My name is everywhere.”

“And?” His voice was short, questioning.

“And my phone hasn’t stopped vibrating,” she said. “I missed a call from Nana this morning.”

That made him turn.

“Your mother?” he asked coolly.

“She’s hearing things,” Piper said. Her voice softened despite herself. “She’s asking questions.”

“That’s your responsibility,” Thomas said immediately. “Handle it.”

The words landed harder than she expected.

She stared at him.

“I just thought you should know,” she said, more quietly now.

“I don’t need to.” he replied. “This arrangement doesn’t extend to managing your family.”

Her throat worked.

Leo shifted, sensing the tension, his fingers tightening in her hair. Piper pressed a kiss into his curls, more for herself than for him.

“I didn’t ask you to fix it,” she said. “I just—”

“You just what?” Thomas snapped, sharper now. “Want reassurance? Sympathy? That’s not what this is.”

Her shoulders stiffened.

For a moment, she looked like she might say something else—something sharper, braver.

Instead, she nodded.

“Right,” she said.

She turned toward the doorway, each step careful, measured, like she was holding herself together by sheer will. At the threshold, she paused—not to look back, but to speak.

“I’ll take the kids to school,” she said. “I’ll make sure there’s no attention.”

Then she left.

Thomas stood there long after she was gone.

The coffee sat untouched in his hand, already cooling.

He told himself the tightness in his chest was irritation.

That the image of her in a big sweater meant nothing.

That this distance was necessary.

And yet—

The kitchen felt colder than it had when he walked in.

He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. He needed air. Abandoning the coffee, he walked towards the door, but just as he was about to step out, the home alert system screamed.

Guest Alert! 

His monitors flashed, showing the main security gate.

An SUV was stopped at the gate, the driver's side window rolled down, and as if by some psychic summoning, revealed the brittle cold profile of Mildred Stonebridge, Claire's mother.

Thomas's heart stopped.

The custody hearing was nearly two weeks away. This wasn't a casual visit.

Mildred's voice, amplified by the exterior intercom, was perfectly controlled, yet chilling to the bones.

"Thomas. It has been long enough. I have seen the way you neglect your duties. It's all over the blog" she stated, a piercing edge to her tone.

"Anyways, I am here for a necessary inspection of my grandsons' living situation. I have every legal right, and you know it. Open the gate at once." She paused, allowing her words to sink in.

"I also want to see this new wife of yours, you keep changing women like clothings. I want to see precisely whom you've introduced to my grandsons' lives." Her voice held a note of righteous fury, barely contained.

"I want to see the woman you chose to replace my Claire. If she is fit to stand in the shadow of my daughter."

Thomas’s chest cracked like it's been hammered into several pieces. He swallowed hard, a hard lump forming in his throat.

Replace Claire.

The words were a poison arrow aimed directly at his heart.

He'd always known Mildred to be a bitter, hurtful and wounded human, but not to this extent.

His greatest enemy stood outside the gate, and she would never stop blaming him for Claire's death.

He reluctantly used the voice command. “Access granted.”