The Rising Of Kira Ashford

The SUV barely made it through the gates before Kira saw the paparazzi.

At least a dozen, cameras raised like weapons.

“Miss Ashford! Is it true you’ve been in hiding for nine years?”

“Kira! Who’s the father of your daughter?”

“Are the Ashfords taking you back?”

The flashes hit the tinted windows like machine-gun fire. Kira’s hands moved on instinct, pulling Lily against her chest, shielding her daughter’s face. Her hands were damp and shaking. When had they started shaking?

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Security’s handling it. Don’t look at them.”

But Kira couldn’t stop looking. By tomorrow, her face would be everywhere. And Adrian would know exactly where she’d gone.

The thought should have terrified her.

It didn’t.

The SUV curved up the long driveway, and Kira’s breath caught. The Ashford Estate sprawled across manicured grounds, all warm stone and tall windows glowing with soft light. So different from the Westbrook mansion with its sharp angles and cold glass.

This wasn’t a house. It was home.

She’d just forgotten.

Marcus opened her door himself, offering his hand. “Welcome back.”

Kira took it and stepped out. Her legs felt unsteady. Lily pressed against her side, eyes wide.

“Mommy, is this a castle?”

“Something like that, baby.”

The front doors opened. Staff appeared, but not the silent, efficient kind Adrian employed. These people *smiled*. Mrs. Chen, the housekeeper who’d been with the family for thirty years, had tears in her eyes.

“Miss Kira.” Mrs. Chen’s voice broke. “We’ve missed you.”

Kira smiled. “I’ve missed you too.”

Inside, the foyer scent hit her first. Not expensive candles trying to mask emptiness. Real things. Mrs. Chen’s jasmine tea. The lemon oil on the wood floors. The garden roses her mother had always kept by the door— wait. Were those still her mother’s roses?

Her knees went weak.

Marcus caught her elbow. “I’ve got you.”

She hadn’t realized she was falling.

“Let’s get Lily settled,” Marcus said, gesturing to a young staff member. “Sarah will show you to your room, sweetheart. It’s right next to your mom’s.”

Lily looked up at Kira, uncertain.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ll be right there. Uncle Marcus and I need to talk for a minute.”

Sarah, kind-faced and warm, held out her hand. “Do you like stuffed animals? Because we might have found your room and filled it with a few.”

Lily’s face lit up despite her exhaustion. She took Sarah’s hand and let herself be led up the grand staircase.

Kira kept looking towards the stairs where Lily went when Marcus' voice cut through.

“The paparazzi are a problem.”

“I know.”

“By tomorrow, your face will be everywhere. They’ll dig into everything.” He paused. “Including your marriage.”

Kira’s chest tightened. “Adrian will know by then.”

“Yes.” Marcus studied her. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “He thinks I have nowhere to go.”

“And instead, he’s going to find out you’re worth more than he’ll ever be.” Marcus’s voice went sharp. “Good. Let him choke on it.”

Kira almost smiled.

Almost.

Marcus led her down the familiar hallway to his study. Dark wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the massive desk their father used to sit behind. Even the leather chair was the same.

She avoided looking at it.

Marcus poured two glasses of whiskey and handed her one. “I have questions. And you’re going to answer them.”

Kira sank into the chair across from his desk. The whiskey burned going down her throat. “Okay.”

“Nine years, Kira.” His voice was flat. Controlled. “You could have called me after nine *days*.”

“I wanted to make it work.” She stood up and walked towards the window.

“Make *what* work?” The control cracked. “A marriage to a man who…” He stopped himself. Poured another drink. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

“No. Say it.” She walked back to the chair and sat down.

Marcus met her eyes. “To a man who didn’t even know your real name.”

The words hit like a slap. Because they were true.

“Three months.” Her voice cracked. “I knew him for three months before I…” She couldn’t finish. Marcus’s expression told her he already knew. “You tracked me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I tracked you.”

“Then you know about the contract.”

His jaw tightened. “I know he treated you like an acquisition.”

Kira stood and walked to the window again. The estate grounds stretched out in the darkness, security lights dotting the perimeter. So different from the cold glass walls of the Westbrook mansion.

“I loved him. At first.” She took a sip. “Or I thought I did. Maybe I just loved the idea of choosing my own life instead of the one you, Mom and Dad had planned for me.”

“We wanted you to marry the Hastings heir.”

“I know. Safe. Appropriate. Good for the family business.” Kira’s voice was bitter. “I wanted something real. Something mine.”

“And Adrian was that?”

“I thought so.” She closed her eyes. “I met him at a restaurant opening. I was there as Chef Kira Hayes, not Kira Ashford. I’d been using Mom’s maiden name professionally because I didn’t want the family name attached to my career. I wanted to succeed on my own.”

Marcus nodded. He’d always known.

“Adrian didn’t know who I was. Didn’t know about the money or the family or any of it. He just knew I was a chef.” She laughed bitterly. “I thought that meant he loved me for me.”

Marcus’s expression darkened. “Kira.”

“I know. I know how it sounds.” She set down her glass. “I showed him a magazine cover once. Food & Wine, 2015. My face on it, holding a culinary award. I told him, ‘That was me. Before.’

“What did he say?”

“‘Huh. Nice photo.’” She laughed, but it came out broken. “Then he went back to his emails. I tried a few more times after that. He’d nod, say something dismissive, change the subject. By year two, I stopped trying. By year five, I’d buried that part of myself so deep I almost forgot she existed.”

Marcus stood and walked around the desk. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in a hug. Kira hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt the tears on her cheeks.

“You’re home now,” he said quietly.

She pulled back, wiping her face. “The press is going to destroy me. ‘Billionaire Heiress Abandons Husband.’”

“Let them try.” Marcus’s smile was razor-sharp. “I’ve got the best PR team in the country. You were a celebrity chef who gave up everything for a man who treated you like nothing. *That’s* the story they’ll tell.”

Kira set down her glass. Her hands steadied. “I need you to do something for me.”

Marcus leaned forward. “Name it.”

“Cut him off. Any business with Ashford International. Any partnerships in progress.” Her voice didn’t shake. “I don’t want his company anywhere near ours.”

“Done.” Marcus didn’t hesitate. “What else?”

She almost smiled. “That’s it. For now.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Marcus frowned. “I said no interruptions.”

The door opened anyway.

A man in a chef’s coat dusted with flour stood in the doorway, tablet in hand. Dark hair disheveled. He looked like he’d run straight from a kitchen, he was mid-sentence about some menu issue.

Then he saw her.

The tablet clattered to the floor.

The air left the room.

“Kira?”

She knew that voice. Hadn’t heard it in nine years, but she knew it.

“Elijah.”