Chapter 7

I stared at Cristy' s text, then at the photo of her clinging to Kane. A strange calm washed over me. It wasn' t the numbness of shock, but the tranquility of absolute certainty. There was no more fight left in me for him. When you' re truly disappointed, when you' ve scraped the bottom of the barrel of heartbreak, their petty provocations lose their sting. It merely confirmed what I already knew.

My thumb moved across the screen. "Keep him then," I typed, my fingers steady. "If he' s so easily swayed, he' s not worth fighting for. And if he comes to me in the middle of the night again, I' ll consider him diseased."

I clicked send, then watched the message deliver. Then, with a decisive flick, I turned off my phone, the screen going black. I walked back to my master bedroom, the one I used to share with Kane, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. For the first time in weeks, I didn' t dream of betrayal or loss.

The next few days passed in a blur of quiet routine. My son' s gentle coos filled the house, a balm to my raw nerves. I focused on him, on myself, on building a new life. Five days later, I marked a swift, decisive line through the date on my calendar. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day. The final day before the divorce was official.

I woke up with a sense of impending freedom, a lightness I hadn' t felt in years. I stretched, then rose to check on my son. But as I approached the nursery, the nanny, a young woman named Clara, stepped in front of me, blocking the way.

"Mrs. Powell... I... I don' t think you should go in there right now." Her voice was a nervous squeak, her eyes darting away from mine.

My blood ran cold. "Clara, what is it?" My voice was sharp, immediate. I saw the fear in her eyes, the way she wrung her hands. Something was wrong.

"Open the door, Clara," I commanded, my voice laced with steel. "Now."

She hesitated, trembling. "I... I can' t, Mrs. Powell. Mr. Powell... he said..."

"Open it!" I roared, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway.

Liam, who had appeared silently behind me, moved swiftly. With a quiet click, the locked door swung open. The nursery was empty. The crib, the changing table, the soft blankets – all pristine, untouched. My son was gone.

A cold, gripping terror seized me. I spun on Clara, grabbing her collar, my grip tight. "Where is he?! Where is my son, Clara?!"

Her eyes welled with tears. "Mrs. Powell, I swear, I had no choice! Mr. Powell, he came... he took the baby. He promised he wouldn' t hurt him. He said if I didn' t let him, he' d ruin my life!" Her voice was a frightened sob.

I released her, my hands dropping to my sides. "You' re fired, Clara. Don' t bother coming back tomorrow." My voice was flat, emotionless.

Then, I turned to Liam. "No one, and I mean no one, gets through these gates again. Not Kane. Not anyone associated with him." My eyes burned with a new, fierce resolve. "And now, we' re going to get my son back."

I gathered my personal security team and drove immediately to the lavish villa Kane had bought for Cristy. I didn' t bother announcing my arrival. My men smashed through the gates, and we stormed the house.

The scene that greeted me was a sickening tableau of domestic bliss. Cristy sat on the sofa, a smug smile on her face, holding my son. Kane was next to her, laughing, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. They looked like a family. A perfect, twisted family.

My blood boiled. "Give me my son," I demanded, my voice cutting through their saccharine laughter.

Kane looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Anastasia? What are you doing here?" He saw my security detail, their faces grim, and his jaw tightened.

Cristy, still clinging to my baby, smirked. "Oh, Kane, darling, she' s so dramatic. Always making a scene. Don' t worry, I' ll take good care of our child." She emphasized "our," her eyes mocking me.

"Your child?" I scoffed, taking a step closer. "That' s my son. Give him to me now."

Kane, however, held up a hand. "Anastasia, calm down. Cristy and I have decided. Since he isn' t genetically mine, and you' re so... volatile, we' ll adopt him. He' ll take Cristy' s last name. We' ll be his godparents."

My mind reeled. His words struck me like a physical blow, each syllable a hammer against my skull. They would adopt my son? And I, his biological mother, would be reduced to a godparent? Because I had, supposedly, chosen to hurt Cristy, who was now 'unable to have children' after what I had done? My blood ran cold at the audacity, the sheer, unbridled cruelty of it.

"And we can always have a child of our own, Kane," Cristy added, her voice sugary sweet, her eyes still locked on mine in a malicious challenge. "A real family. A family you truly want."

I stumbled backward, the air knocked out of my lungs. His words, "a real family," echoed in my ears, making me feel like a ghost, an unwanted memory.

Cristy, sensing my shock, walked towards me, holding my son like a trophy. "He' s so sweet," she purred, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "And soon, he' ll call me Mama."

Disgust, hot and acrid, rose in my throat. "Give me my son, Cristy," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but laced with a threat that made even my security team stiffen.

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to my men, then back to my face. The sheer force of my rage, the unspoken promise of what I would do, finally broke her resolve. She reluctantly released my son into the waiting arms of my personal guard.

The moment my son was safe, my hand shot out. I grabbed a handful of Cristy' s hair, yanking her head back. Another searing slap echoed through the room. "Touch my son again, you vile creature, and I swear I will end your life."

She shrieked, trying to claw at me, but my grip was firm. I raised my hand again, ready to strike, when Kane lunged. He shoved me hard, sending me sprawling backward. I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell.

He stood in front of Cristy, shielding her, his body a barrier between us. "That' s enough, Anastasia! You' ve done enough damage! You' re out of control!"

"Out of control?" I snarled, my voice shaking with fury. "You pushed me, Kane! You pushed me for her!"

"If you don' t like it, Anastasia, fine," he said, his voice cold and final. "I' ll just visit him alone. You don' t have to be present."

"No," I cut him off, straightening my clothes, my gaze fixed on him. "You won' t visit him alone. You won' t visit him at all. Ever again."

I turned, leaving him standing there with Cristy, a silent fury propelling me forward. My security team followed, my son safe in one of their arms. I got into my car, the roar of the engine a defiant scream. I looked at my son, sleeping peacefully in the backseat, his tiny face etched with innocence. A fierce protectiveness surged through me, mixed with a chilling determination.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Liam' s number. "Liam, is the divorce finalized tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mrs. Powell. First thing in the morning."

"Good," I said, my voice firm. "Prepare a press conference. I' m announcing it. And everything else."