“The song was perfect. Timing, delivery, public impact. You destroyed him.”
“He deserved it. I’m just sad it hurt April”
“Buck up man, you’re here aren’t you? She forgave you. You know what's strange? I've made people believe in romances that didn't exist." He glanced toward April. "But watching her today? That wasn't acting."
Jiro nodded slowly. “She’s different.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said, quiet now. “She is.”
Mateo's voice drifted from the kitchen asking who wanted food, and Liam coaxed a genuine laugh out of Jax with some quip April didn't catch. Arthur and Don Dante maintained their silent vigil by the windows.
Killian moved through the room refilling drinks, playing host like if he kept moving, he wouldn't have to actually face her. He passed by her once. Then again. The third time, he lingered near the couch, rearranging a coaster that didn’t need rearranging.
By the fourth pass, April was still laughing at something Jax said—and then she looked up and caught him hovering.
She glared.
Killian stilled, caught like a schoolboy trying to sneak past the principal's office.
“Can I talk to you?”
Something in his expression—vulnerability thinly veiled behind that CEO mask—tipped her from no to maybe. She nodded. He offered his hand. Her thoughts flared a warning.Her hand moved anyway. His palm was warm when she took it, his fingers curling around hers with gentleness that undercut every possessive word he'd spoken tonight.
Behind them, the room went deliberately busy—conversations resuming at carefully normal volume.
Nobody watching. Everyone aware.
TWENTY THREE
Private Moment, Public Man
April
Killian's bedroom was quieter than the rest of the house. Darker. The door clicked shut behind them. The noise from the living room—the laughter, the conversations, the humming—became distant.
April stood in the middle of the room, still in the emerald silk, and watched Killian lean against the door like he needed it for support.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He laughed, the sound was strained. "I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"This." He gestured between them, frustrated. " I can run a company. I can close deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars. I can fire people without blinking. But I can't—" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I've been lying to myself for three years. And I don't know how to tell you that without sounding like I'm issuing another fucking press release."
"Then don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't tell me. Stop announcing things and expecting me to just—what? Update my calendar? Put it in a file labelled 'things Killian Blackwood has decided'?"
"I'm trying to be honest—"
“You're trying to manage me.” April advanced a step, heat rising under her skin. "You announce things: STI results, lube requirements, your feelings, and expect me to adjust like it’s a quarterly update.”
"I apologize—"
"I don't want a relationship built on announcements and apologies, Killian." Her voice rose, frustration cutting through every word.
