Chapter 2

Cristy' s desperate cries faded as my security escorted her out. I didn' t care what she thought. I didn' t care what Kane would think. All I cared about was the tiny, innocent life sleeping upstairs. I clutched the railing of the grand staircase, my knuckles white, the cold marble a stark contrast to the burning fury inside me.

My assistant, Liam, a quiet man who had been with my family for years, approached cautiously. "Mrs. Powell, the security team has ensured Ms. Taylor will not bother you again." His voice was calm, professional, but I saw the subtle tension in his jaw. He knew what I had just commanded, and he knew the repercussions.

"Good," I said, my voice hoarse. "Ensure all necessary measures are put in place. I want her blacklisted from every studio, every agency. Every contact she' s ever made in that industry. Gone."

Liam nodded once, a silent acknowledgment of my absolute command. He turned to leave, his footsteps barely audible on the polished floors. My men were efficient. I heard a distant wail, followed by a harsh thud, then silence. A cold satisfaction settled over me. I felt nothing for her, only a chilling relief that my will had been done.

The house, once filled with Cristy' s shrill demands, was now quiet. Too quiet. I walked to the nursery, my footsteps heavy, the silence amplifying my exhaustion. My son was sleeping peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. I picked him up, cradling his warmth against my own cold skin. He was so small, so perfect. He was everything.

I sank onto the glider, holding him tight, the soft fabric of his blanket a comfort. I needed rest. I needed peace. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the images of Cristy' s terrified face, of Kane' s indifferent eyes. My mind was a whirlwind of anger and grief.

A sudden, violent crash from downstairs jolted me awake, my son crying out in fright at the sudden noise. His small body tensed in my arms, his cries echoing in the quiet house.

"Shh, my love, shh," I murmured, rocking him gently, my heart pounding in my chest. I glared towards the door, already knowing who would be standing there.

Kane.

He strode into the nursery, his face a mask of barely suppressed rage, his eyes red-rimmed. He looked like he hadn' t slept in days, but it wasn' t from worry over me or our son. It was fury over Cristy. He saw me holding our crying baby, but his gaze fixed on me, a venomous intensity.

"What have you done, Anastasia?!" he roared, his voice low and guttural. "What in God' s name did you do to her?"

My son whimpered, burying his face in my shoulder. I squeezed him closer. "I simply ensured she received the consequences for her actions."

"Consequences?!" He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. "You call ruining her career, destroying her future, 'consequences' ? She' s in the hospital, Anastasia! Severely injured!"

My eyes narrowed. "She came into my home, Kane. She challenged me. She threatened my child. What else was I supposed to do? Roll over and give her everything she wanted?"

"You' re a monster!" he spat, taking a menacing step closer. "A cruel, heartless monster! You think you' re above everyone, don' t you? You think your power gives you the right to destroy lives?" He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my postpartum flesh, a sharp pain blooming. My son cried louder.

"What kind of retribution do you expect, Kane?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm despite the pain. "What would you have me suffer? Humiliation? Poverty? Death, perhaps? Like my family before me?"

He froze, his grip loosening slightly as he heard the raw edge in my voice. That name, Anastasia. The one he used in our early days, when he was just Kane, a hungry young entrepreneur trying to climb his way up.

I saw a flash of the past in his eyes, a memory of a time when he' d adored me, when he' d believed my every word. "You used to handle situations like this with such... finesse, Kane," I said, a bitter irony lacing my words. "Remember that conniving investor who tried to tank your first big deal? You dismantled his empire so quickly, so quietly, he didn' t even know what hit him until it was too late. He lost everything."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stared at me, his eyes wide.

"You vowed to cherish me, Kane," I continued, my voice now trembling with a grief far deeper than his anger. "To protect me. To be faithful. In sickness and in health. Remember those vows in the chapel? Or were those just another 'business arrangement' ?"

He' d sworn his devotion in a small, ancient chapel, its stained-glass windows casting colorful light on his earnest face. He' d told me he' d never seen a woman like me, strong but kind, capable but vulnerable. He' d seemed so sincere, so loyal, willing to sacrifice everything to be with me, a woman from an old, established family like mine.

He finally found his voice, a low growl. "It was a mistake, Anastasia. A moment of weakness. Men make mistakes." He tried to dismiss it, to minimize it, to brush away years of betrayal with a wave of his hand.

"And I am supposed to simply forgive that 'mistake' ?" I asked, my voice rising again. "Just because you' ve decided you' re bored with your little actress now?"

He scoffed, his anger flaring anew. "You' re jealous, Anastasia. Always have been. You' re cold, unfeeling. You always disappointed me."

Then he turned on his heel and slammed out of the room, the reverberation shaking the whole house. He left me again, just like he always did when things got difficult. Left me with our still-crying son in my arms, my body aching, my heart hollow.

His words rang in my ears: cold, unfeeling, disappointed me. Was I? Had I been? I remembered my doctor' s stern warning after the delivery. My body was fragile. This child... he would likely be my only one. My only legacy. My only light.