“She’s getting desperate,” Kane says, holding me close. “The mayor said she donated to his campaign with the agreement that he’d force your family out of Harbor Point, not realizing that he didn’t have the means to do so. So, now she’s pissed and lashing out. I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks.”
He leans in and kisses my collarbone, and I tilt my head to the side to give him easier access, craving his touch, but rather than taking the hint, he pulls back and takes another piece of my heart right along with him.
“Kane,” I choke out, unable to handle another moment of his distance, “when we get home?—”
His phone rings, cutting me off, and I sigh in annoyance, wanting to talk to him about what’s going on with him. Not too long ago, he said he didn’t want any walls between us. What’s changed since then?
“Yeah,” Kane says to whoever is on the other end. “Okay, let me drop Brielle off and make sure she’s safe, and then I’ll meet you there.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask once he hangs up, the hurt in my tone evident.
“Eddy found footage of the guy who had dug up my father’s grave and linked him back to Carlos Santiago. Matteo’s men found him, and they’re holding him at the warehouse.”
Since I know this is life or death, I simply nod in understanding.
“What were you saying before?” he asks.
“Nothing. It can wait until you get home.”
After Kane ensures I’m inside and the guards are in place, he takes off, leaving me to shower alone. I’ve just taken off my dress when my phone rings with a number I don’t recognize.
“I’m looking for Brielle Antonov-Morgan,” the person says on the other line.
“This is she.”
“This is Timothy Reynolds. I own the plaza where your studio is located.”
“Oh, yes! How can I help you?”
“A vandalism has been reported at your place of business, and we need you to come down to speak to the officer.”
“What?” I gasp. “Someone vandalized my studio? Why didn’t the alarm go off?”
“Yes, ma’am. Unfortunately, the alarm was down, and we’re trying to pull up the footage, but the software is a bit outdated, so we’re not sure who is responsible yet, but the police are investigating it. I suggest bringing any insurance paperwork you have so it can be attached to the statement, and then you can start the process of filing a claim in the morning. The damage looks to be pretty bad.”
“Okay, thanks,” I choke out, feeling like the hits keep coming.
First Kane pushing me away.
Then the gala being ruined.
Now my studio, which was in the process of being renovated, has been destroyed. Not only will it set the timeline back, but I hate that I’m being sucked into my brothers’ bullshit. I have nothing to do with their business, yet I’m being dragged into it anyway.
Not bothering to remove my makeup, I throw on a pair of shorts and shirt and then go in search of the insurance documents. SinceKane was the one who helped me acquire it, he has a folder with all the paperwork. He told me he’d make me copies for my own records, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.
I look through the folders on his desk, but none of them are it. I consider calling him, but he’s probably at the warehouse by now, and I don’t want to disturb him. The studio is my baby, and I need to handle it.
I open his side drawer since I’ve seen him put folders in there and flip through them. I’m about to close it when the label on one of the folders catches my attention—Divorce Papers.
My heart drops.
Has Kane been married before? He told me he had no desire to get married until he met me, so that doesn’t make any sense.
I pull the file out and set it on the desk when something else catches my eye—a pharmacy bag. I open it, and my heart stops when I see what’s inside. Birth control pills.
The same ones I use.
The same ones I took and still ended up pregnant.
