Chapter 8
The next morning, Kade gave me a choice.
"I can report the fraud to the board and let the legal process play out. Or I can report it to the authorities directly."
"The first option gives Marcus a chance to resign quietly. The second ends his career."
I looked at him. "Why are you letting me decide?"
"Because he hurt you. And because the outcome affects your divorce settlement. If he's charged, his assets get frozen. It slows everything down."
Practical. Strategic. But his eyes said something else — that if it were up to him alone, Marcus would already be in handcuffs.
"Board first," I said. "Let him resign. I want this divorce done clean."
Kade nodded. "Done."
That afternoon, Naomi showed up again.
This time she didn't come to the penthouse. She found me at the art supply store three blocks away.
She looked less polished than last time. Her roots were showing. Her smile was strained.
"Elena. Can I buy you coffee?"
"No."
"Please. Five minutes. I have something you need to hear."
Against my better judgment, I followed her to the café next door.
She sat across from me, fidgeting with a sugar packet.
"Marcus is going to lose the company."
"I know."
She looked surprised. Then recovered.
"If he loses the company, he loses everything. The house. The cars. My — our security."
"And that's my problem because...?"
Naomi leaned forward, dropping the sweet-sister act entirely.
"Because you're sitting in a billionaire's penthouse, Elena. You have access to resources. Call off Ashford. Make him back off."
I laughed. Actually laughed.
"Naomi. You stole my husband. You're carrying his child. You moved into my bedroom. And now you want me to save you financially?"
"It's not just about me! Marcus is the father of my baby—"
"A baby conceived while he was married to me."
Her mask slipped completely. Her eyes went cold.
"Fine. You want to play it this way? I'll tell everyone that you've been sleeping with Ashford since before the divorce. I'll tell Mom. I'll tell the court. I'll say you were the cheater—"
"And I'll countersue for defamation, produce hotel security footage showing I entered this building the night of the party — alone and bleeding — and let my attorney shred you in deposition."
Naomi's mouth opened. Closed.
"You're different," she said slowly. "You never used to fight back."
"You never pushed me this far before."
I stood up.
"Leave me alone, Naomi. The next time you approach me, you'll be hearing from my lawyer."
I walked out. My hands were shaking, but it was rage, not fear.
That night, I painted until 2 a.m. — violent reds and blacks, a canvas full of fury.
Kade found me in the studio when he got home from a late meeting.
He stood in the doorway, tie loosened, and looked at the painting for a long time.
"That's powerful."
"That's my sister."
He almost smiled.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm furious. But yes. I'm okay."
He came into the room, took the brush gently from my hand, and wiped a smear of red paint from my cheekbone with his thumb.
"You have paint everywhere."
"Occupational hazard."
His thumb lingered on my cheek. His eyes held mine.
"Elena. I know you said you needed time. And I've respected that."
"You have."
"But I need you to know — what I feel for you isn't strategy. It's not leverage. It's not a game."
His hand dropped to my jaw, tilting my face up.
"I am in love with you. I have been since we were twenty-two years old. And watching you become yourself again these past two weeks has been the best thing I've ever seen."
My heart was hammering.
"Kade—"
"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to hear it."
He stepped back. Turned toward the door.
"Kade."
He stopped.
"Stay."
He turned. I crossed the distance and kissed him — paint-stained hands on his white shirt, fury and want and something softer all mixed together.
He kissed me back like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning.
We didn't make it out of the studio.
"I can report the fraud to the board and let the legal process play out. Or I can report it to the authorities directly."
"The first option gives Marcus a chance to resign quietly. The second ends his career."
I looked at him. "Why are you letting me decide?"
"Because he hurt you. And because the outcome affects your divorce settlement. If he's charged, his assets get frozen. It slows everything down."
Practical. Strategic. But his eyes said something else — that if it were up to him alone, Marcus would already be in handcuffs.
"Board first," I said. "Let him resign. I want this divorce done clean."
Kade nodded. "Done."
That afternoon, Naomi showed up again.
This time she didn't come to the penthouse. She found me at the art supply store three blocks away.
She looked less polished than last time. Her roots were showing. Her smile was strained.
"Elena. Can I buy you coffee?"
"No."
"Please. Five minutes. I have something you need to hear."
Against my better judgment, I followed her to the café next door.
She sat across from me, fidgeting with a sugar packet.
"Marcus is going to lose the company."
"I know."
She looked surprised. Then recovered.
"If he loses the company, he loses everything. The house. The cars. My — our security."
"And that's my problem because...?"
Naomi leaned forward, dropping the sweet-sister act entirely.
"Because you're sitting in a billionaire's penthouse, Elena. You have access to resources. Call off Ashford. Make him back off."
I laughed. Actually laughed.
"Naomi. You stole my husband. You're carrying his child. You moved into my bedroom. And now you want me to save you financially?"
"It's not just about me! Marcus is the father of my baby—"
"A baby conceived while he was married to me."
Her mask slipped completely. Her eyes went cold.
"Fine. You want to play it this way? I'll tell everyone that you've been sleeping with Ashford since before the divorce. I'll tell Mom. I'll tell the court. I'll say you were the cheater—"
"And I'll countersue for defamation, produce hotel security footage showing I entered this building the night of the party — alone and bleeding — and let my attorney shred you in deposition."
Naomi's mouth opened. Closed.
"You're different," she said slowly. "You never used to fight back."
"You never pushed me this far before."
I stood up.
"Leave me alone, Naomi. The next time you approach me, you'll be hearing from my lawyer."
I walked out. My hands were shaking, but it was rage, not fear.
That night, I painted until 2 a.m. — violent reds and blacks, a canvas full of fury.
Kade found me in the studio when he got home from a late meeting.
He stood in the doorway, tie loosened, and looked at the painting for a long time.
"That's powerful."
"That's my sister."
He almost smiled.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm furious. But yes. I'm okay."
He came into the room, took the brush gently from my hand, and wiped a smear of red paint from my cheekbone with his thumb.
"You have paint everywhere."
"Occupational hazard."
His thumb lingered on my cheek. His eyes held mine.
"Elena. I know you said you needed time. And I've respected that."
"You have."
"But I need you to know — what I feel for you isn't strategy. It's not leverage. It's not a game."
His hand dropped to my jaw, tilting my face up.
"I am in love with you. I have been since we were twenty-two years old. And watching you become yourself again these past two weeks has been the best thing I've ever seen."
My heart was hammering.
"Kade—"
"You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to hear it."
He stepped back. Turned toward the door.
"Kade."
He stopped.
"Stay."
He turned. I crossed the distance and kissed him — paint-stained hands on his white shirt, fury and want and something softer all mixed together.
He kissed me back like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning.
We didn't make it out of the studio.