I turn onto my side, propping myself onto my elbow to study her with an intensity that makes her fidget. “Tell me about your aunt,” I say quietly. “All of it.”
Kamiyah swallows. Hard. Then she begins.
“After my parents died, she quickly gained conservatorship over us. I suspect it wasn’t difficult since she was the named guardian in my parents’ will. Plus, with my own guilt for causing the accident and Anna’s condition—Priscilla was awarded conservatorship,” she says.
I knew she blamed herself for distracting her father as he flew the plane but I’d hoped she’d forgiven herself.
“But lately she’s been… repositioning things. Quietly. Legally. She wants control of the trust before my twenty-fifth birthday.”
“You’re a threat.”
She nods. “On my next birthday a bigger portion of the trust gets released. But the conservatorship is completely void when I’m married.”
“That explains Damien’s involvement.” I blow out a breath. “And why she’s insisting on you giving her guardianship of your heirs.
“But your lawyer is right, Caden. Even with me taking control of my family’s fortune, Priscilla has control of Anna.“
Anger simmering hot and low in my chest.
Kamiyah’s eyes glisten. “I’ve complied with everything she’s asked, even leaving you four years ago… But now I see that I’ve only confirmed her sentiments that I’m too weak to handle my own affairs.”
I exhale slowly, because the idea of anyone calling Kamiyah weak is infuriating.
“She thinks I’m fragile,” she continues. “But I’m not. I’m just—” Her voice falters. “—alone. And she knows that makes me easy to manipulate.”
“You’re not alone anymore.” I cup her cheek. “I understand what it means to lose something you can’t get back.” I grit my teeth, memories slamming into me.
The hospital monitors.
The stillness.
The funeral.
The screaming silence after.
“I know.” Her voice softens. “I read everything I could find about you online. You stopped going to holiday events. You stopped talking to anyone. You disappeared into business and kept the world an arm’s length away.”
Her gaze holds mine—steady, gentle.
“I know what grief looks like,” she says. “I grew up with it.”
“Kamiyah—”
She lifts a hand, stopping me. “I’m not prying. I’m just explaining. You’re powerful, yes. And ruthless, sure. But you’re also… decent. You don’t destroy people for sport. You don’t take more than you give.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. “Most people would disagree.”
“I’m not most people,” she whispers.
Silence stretches—thick and charged.
Her eyes drop to my hands, then back up. “You would protect our child with everything in you. I know that. So if someone is going to father my baby—real or pretend—why not someone who would treat them like a miracle instead of leverage?”
The words hit like a blow.
Precise.
True.
