Killian's Pov
The scotch in my hand is the color of old amber, but it's doing nothing to burn away the chill that has settled deep in my bones.
I am sitting alone in my office, the city lights below me a constellation of indifference. My friend, Sebastian, is across from me, a silent, disapproving observer.
He has been here for an hour, and he hasn't said a word. He just sits and waits. He knows me better than anyone. He knows when to speak and when to be silent.
"Spit it out, Killian," he says, his voice low and patient. "You've been a ghost since you got back from the hospital. What happened? Did Annabella do something else?"
My jaw clenches. Her name feels like a live wire in my mouth. I take a long swallow of the burning liquid, but the fire never reaches my core.
"She didn't do anything," I say, the lie a bitter taste on my tongue. She did everything. She existed. She fainted. She forced me to face a reality I've been avoiding for a month.
"Then what is it?" Sebastian pushes. "You're a storm cloud, man. I was starting to think she was the one thing in this city that could calm you down. What happened to the little star of the company?"
I scoff, a humorless sound. "She's not the company's problem anymore."
Sebastian leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "That's not what I heard. I heard you had her transferred to your own private hospital, had her guarded like she was a state secret. And now you're sitting here looking like you just lost a war. I don't know what happened between you two, but whatever it is, it's not over. I can see it in your eyes, man."
My grip on the glass tightens. I don't respond. I can't. The truth is a gaping wound in my chest. I think about her, standing in that hospital room, her face pale but her eyes blazing with a defiant fire I have never seen before.
She refused to be cowed. She refused to obey my command, my offer, my will. You can't command me, she had said, and the words were a physical blow. She defiled me with her words, with her absolute lack of respect for my authority.
She had no right to talk to me like that. I am Killian Astor. Men cower in my presence. But she just stared at me, and with every word, she chipped away at the foundation of my control. I let her walk away. I let her go. Just for now. I had to.
The doctor's words were a warning, a threat to her health, and I am not a fool. But I will get her back. I will make her understand that she is mine. She and the child.
Sebastian sighs, a long, drawn-out sound of frustration. He stands up, his movement slow and deliberate. "You're a stubborn fool, Killian. But I'll tell you this: if she's as important to you as I think she is, you need to go after her. And this time, don't use your money. Don't use your power. Just... be a man. Talk to her. Tell her the truth. Whatever that truth may be."
He turns to leave. "I'll be at the club. Call me when you decide to stop sulking and start fighting."
He walks to the door and leaves without another word. The silence in the room is deafening. I'm alone now, just me and my demons. The air feels heavy, suffocating.
I stare out the window, at the city below, at the ant-like people going about their meaningless lives. I feel a terrifying, possessive rage building in my chest. A deep, primal need to possess her. To own her. To make her my own.
A ringing sound rips through the suffocating silence. It's my phone. The caller ID is a name I haven't seen in weeks, a name that makes my blood run cold: Luciano. I stare at the screen, a new type of fear snaking its way up my spine. This is it. This is the moment I knew was coming. I answer the call, my voice tight.
"Killian," Luciano's voice is a shout, a furious roar. "My men tell me you were at the hospital with Annabella. They tell me she's pregnant. Why am I hearing this from them? Were you planning on keeping this from me?"
My grip on the phone tightens, the plastic creaking under the pressure. The ice in my veins is suddenly a raging inferno. "Back off, Luciano," I snarl into the phone. "That's my child."
A chilling laugh echoes on the other end. "Your child? Are you sure about that, Killian? We can't vividly remember that night, but I am for sure that I slept with her. You think you're the only one she was with that night?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. A red haze descends over my vision. My mind snaps back to that morning, a month ago. I am waking up, the sunlight seeping through the curtains of the suite, warm on my skin. I feel a presence next to me. A soft, small body tangled in the sheets.
I turn, a cold knot forming in my stomach, and I see him. Luciano. He is lying there, sprawled out on his stomach, a lazy smile on his face, his golden hair a mess on my pillow. My first thought is rage.
I'm a man who doesn't do intimacy, and I would sooner die than share my bed with another man, let alone a man I hate. I am on my feet in an instant, my hand reaching for the bedside table, where a gun is always kept.
I am about to put a bullet in his head when a movement at the door catches my eye. A flash of brown hair, small figure. But the figure runs away, and a new curiosity takes over. I stop, my hand trembling.
What did I just see? I drop the gun and walk over to my security monitors. I rewind the footage from the camera in the hallway. I stare at the screen, my heart pounding in my chest. I see the elevator doors open. I see her.
Annabella.
She is a whirlwind of panic, her clothes disheveled, her hair a mess. She glances back at my door, her eyes wide with terror, and she runs. I am rooted to the spot, I see the footage again, and again, trying to make sense of what I am seeing. The cold rage returns, but this time, it is not directed at Luciano. It is directed at her. For running away. For making a fool out of me.
I remember my first encounter with her. It was in the interview room, months before that night. She was sitting across from me, her hands clasped nervously in her lap, her eyes wide and full of hope. She looked too angelic for this city, too innocent for my world.
I had to have her. I wanted her in my life, in my company, where I could see her every day. I hired her on the spot. I watched her from afar for weeks. I watched as she brightened the office, her laughter a melody I would find myself searching for.
She was the star of the company, everyone liked her. She was a breath of fresh air in the toxic, ruthless world I inhabited. And I wanted to protect her. I wanted to keep her close, to keep her in my sight.
But then that night happened. I was supposed to have her to myself. But when I woke up, she was gone. The only thing left was Luciano, a man I despised. The rage, the humiliation, the sheer audacity of it all was too much. I fired her because I couldn't bear to look at her. I couldn't bear to have her in my orbit, knowing what she had done. But even as I fired her, I knew I had no means of truly scaring her away. She was in my blood.
The voice on the other end of the line brings me back to the present. "I am going to see her," Luciano says, his voice cold and menacing.
"I am going to make sure you have not done damage to her. You need to control your anger with her, Killian. She is not some toy. She is pregnant. And she belongs to me."
"Belongs to you?" I roar into the phone, my rage a tidal wave. "Are you sick? She belongs to me! She is my responsibility! My child! My...my...!" I can't finish the thought. I cut the call, and the line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, my knuckles white, my entire body trembling with a rage so potent it feels like it could tear me apart. She is mine. She has to be mine. And I will get her back.
I will make sure she and the child are safe. I will protect her from the media and from Luciano. I have to.