Chapter 36
Chapter 36:
“Back off!” Ethan shouted, shoving a camera lens away.
Skye didn’t speak. She engaged the protocols she’d learned in her previous life as a socialite. Chin up. Eyes dead. Show no emotion. If you cry, you sell papers. If you beg, you sell sympathy. If you give them nothing, they have to invent the story.
She pushed through the crowd, body rigid.
“Felix!” she hissed into the darkness.
A black sedan screeched to the curb. Felix, Alistair’s man, jumped out. He wasn’t gentle. He plowed through the paparazzi like a linebacker, clearing a path.
“Get in,” Felix growled, wrenching open the rear door.
Skye dove into the backseat. Ethan hesitated on the curb, then turned back into the club, flipping the bird to the cameras. The doors slammed shut. The lock clicked. The silence of the car was sudden and jarring.
“Go,” Skye ordered.
As the car sped away into the rainy night, Skye pulled out her phone. The headline was already trending on Twitter.
SCANDAL: MRS. KENSINGTON’S LATE-NIGHT TRYST WITH PLAYBOY HEIR.
The photo was grainy but damning. It looked intimate. It looked guilty.
Skye stared at the screen. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore. A cold calm settled over her. This wasn’t a disaster. This was an opportunity.
She texted Alistair: Phase one complete. The stock will dip tomorrow. Be ready to buy.
Across the city, in the master bedroom of Kensington Manor, Liam Kensington sat in the dark. The only light came from his tablet screen.
He stared at the photo. He stared at Ethan Vance’s hand on his wife’s elbow.
The stylus in his hand snapped with a sharp crack.
“Sir?” Secretary Lee whispered from the doorway, terrified.
Liam didn’t look up. His voice was a low rumble, like thunder before a storm that destroys everything in its path. “Get the car p>
𝗥𝗲a𝘥 𝗐𝗂𝘁𝗵o𝗎𝗍 𝘭i𝗺𝘪𝘵𝗌 о𝗻 𝖻е.cо𝘮
The living room of Kensington Manor was a cavern of shadows. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn, shutting out the city lights and leaving only the cold, pale glow of the moon filtering through the cracks.
Skye walked in. She didn’t turn on the lights. She knew he was there. She could feel his anger; it had a density to it, displacing the air in the room and making it hard to breathe.
Liam was sitting in the high-backed leather wing chair facing the door. He was still wearing his suit from the office, but his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck like a broken noose. A glass of amber liquid sat untouched on the side table.
“You’re home,” he said. His voice was devoid of inflection, flat and dead.
“I’m here for the mandatory dinner, Liam,” Skye replied, dropping her keys into the silver bowl on the console table. The metallic clatter was deafening in the silence. “As per our agreement. Don’t get used to it p>
“The agreement has changed p>
Liam stood. He moved slowly, like a predator uncoiling. He picked up his tablet from the table and threw it.
It was not a toss. It was a violent hurl. The device spun through the air and smashed onto the marble floor at Skye’s feet, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. The image on the screen, the photo of her and Ethan, fractured into a thousand jagged pieces.