Kiana Craig POV:
The scent of stale champagne and desperation clung to the air in my father's study. The ink on the contracts was barely dry, but the weight of the paper in my hand felt solid, real. My mother's charity, Craig Foundation, finally free from Debrah's grasping fingers. My shares, no longer a pawn in my father's games. The price? My marriage to Gage Sawyer, the "Sleeping Prince." A grim trade, but a necessary one.
I walked out of the study, the legal documents tucked safely into my bag. A strange lightness lifted my shoulders, even as a hollow ache settled in my chest. The old Kiana, the one who loved Jonathan, was officially dead.
As I approached the drawing-room, I heard voices. More specifically, Kecia' s saccharine giggle and Jonathan' s deep, resonant laugh. My steps faltered. A cold knot tightened in my stomach. They were here. Already.
I pushed the door open, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. The scene was perfectly choreographed. Kecia, draped over Jonathan' s arm like a delicate vine, her head tilted up at him, her eyes sparkling. Jonathan, looking impeccably disheveled, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, gazing down at her with a tenderness I had never truly received. My father and Debrah sat opposite them, beaming with what I now recognized as pure, unadulterated greed.
"Kiana, darling!" Debrah cooed, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Look who's decided to grace us with his presence! Jonathan came to cheer up poor Kecia."
Kecia, catching my eye, managed a delicate sniffle, then buried her face deeper into Jonathan' s shoulder. He stroked her hair, his gaze flicking to me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he settled back on Kecia.
My heart should have shattered. It should have. But it didn't. It felt like a dried-up husk, brittle and unfeeling. The tears were gone, replaced by a cold, searing anger.
I let out a soft, mocking laugh, a sound that made everyone in the room turn their heads, their expressions ranging from annoyance to outright shock.
My father frowned, his attention immediately back on Jonathan. He rarely looked directly at me anymore, unless he wanted something. "Kiana, don't be rude. Jonathan was kind enough to join us."
I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Jonathan. He looked good. Too good. The kind of good that made you want to hate him, even when you knew hate was a wasted emotion.
I walked to the sideboard, poured myself a glass of champagne, and took a long sip. The bubbles tickled my throat, but the bitterness remained.
"So," Kecia piped up, her voice surprisingly clear for someone supposedly "upset," "Kiana, what are you doing here? I thought you were... making amends with yourself." She punctuated the last phrase with a pointed glance at Jonathan, as if to say, He's mine now.
Jonathan' s grip on Kecia' s arm tightened almost imperceptibly. He finally looked at me, a direct, unsettling stare. "Kiana. Are you feeling better? About the... incident?"
The incident. He hadn' t called, hadn' t visited. He didn' t care. He was just performing for Kecia.
"Oh, much better, Jonathan," I replied, my voice smooth, almost purring. "Turns out, some things are just better left behind. Like toxic relationships, and people who prioritize manipulative half-sisters over their supposed girlfriends."
Jonathan' s eyes narrowed. Kecia gasped dramatically, pulling away slightly. "Kiana! How can you say such a thing? I was so worried about you!"
"Worried enough to send me flowers?" I challenged, my eyebrows raised. "Worried enough to visit? Or worried enough to make sure Jonathan chose you over me, even when I was in a hospital bed?"
"Kiana!" Jonathan's voice was sharp, a warning edge I knew well. "That's enough. Kecia was very shaken by what happened. You shouldn't blame her."
I laughed again, a colder, more cutting sound this time. "Shaken? She was practically celebrating. Don't insult my intelligence, Jonathan. Or yours, for that matter."
He moved, releasing Kecia and taking a step towards me. "Kiana, I'm warning you. Don't push me."
"Or what?" I challenged, meeting his gaze head-on. "You' ll throw me out? You already did that, didn't you? You left me for her." I gestured vaguely at Kecia, whose eyes were now welling up with perfectly timed tears.
"Kiana!" My father finally intervened, his face pale. "Stop this at once! Jonathan, please, forgive my daughter. She's... distraught. She doesn't know what she's saying."
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm saying, Dad," I corrected, my eyes still locked with Jonathan' s. "I'm saying you're a coward, Jonathan. A spineless man who can't see past his own ego and a manipulative woman's tears."
His face darkened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He clearly wasn't used to being spoken to this way. The old Kiana would have crumbled, apologised, begged for forgiveness. This Kiana, however, felt nothing but a fierce satisfaction.
"Kiana, I think you should leave," Jonathan said, his voice low and menacing. "Before you say something you truly regret."
"Regret?" I scoffed. "The only thing I regret is wasting years on you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important business to attend to. Business that actually generates real profit, not just a facade of 'wellness' for Kecia' s latest scam."
I turned, a flicker of something in my father' s eyes that looked suspiciously like admiration, quickly replaced by fear.
"What is she talking about, Kearney?" Debrah demanded, clinging to my father's arm.
My father cleared his throat, avoiding their gazes. "It's nothing. Just... Kiana being Kiana."
"Oh, it's something," I chimed in, turning back to face them, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "It's the future, Dad. And it doesn't involve me being Jonathan's pet, or Kecia's scapegoat."
Kecia, ever the master of deflection, sniffled again. "Jonathan, Kiana is being so mean to me. I just wanted to feel better, and she's making it worse."
Jonathan immediately moved to her side, pulling her into a protective embrace. He glared at me. "Kiana, apologize to Kecia. Now."
My jaw tightened. "Apologize? For what? For telling the truth? For being tired of her games and your blindness?"
"Kiana!" he roared, his patience clearly snapping. "If you don't apologize, I will make sure you lose everything. Your social standing, your reputation, everything you think you have."
My laughter was genuine this time, sharp and unhinged. "You think you can take anything more from me, Jonathan? You already took my heart, my dignity, and my mother' s bracelet. What else could you possibly take?" I paused, my gaze sweeping over my father and Debrah. "Oh, wait. I know. My father's company. You can take that too. It's already crumbling, thanks to his brilliant business decisions and Kecia's insatiable appetite for vanity projects."
My father's face turned ashen. Debrah gasped. Jonathan's eyes, however, showed a flicker of confused surprise.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his grip on Kecia loosening.
"Oh, nothing much," I said, shrugging casually. "Just that I'm officially marrying Gage Sawyer. To save the Craig family, of course. My father insisted." I smiled, a cold, predatory smile. "So, you see, Jonathan, I'm hardly in a position to lose anything. In fact, I'm gaining a husband. And a powerful family name. While you're stuck with... well, with Kecia." I winked at Kecia, whose face had gone from tearful to horrified.
Jonathan stared at me, his mouth slightly agape. He opened it to speak, but no words came out.
Kecia, however, found her voice. "What? No! Kiana, you can't! You're with Jonathan! You love him!" She looked at Jonathan, her eyes wide and panicked. "Tell her, Jonathan! Tell her she can't!"
Jonathan's gaze was fixed on me, a storm brewing in his eyes. He didn't speak. He couldn't.
My father looked relieved, Debrah looked furious, and Kecia looked utterly betrayed. A perfect tableau.
"Well," I said, taking another sip of champagne. "It's been a lovely evening. But I have a wedding to plan. And a new life to build. One that doesn't involve pretending to be less than I am, just to make others comfortable."
I set the glass down with a delicate clink, then turned and walked out of the drawing-room, leaving behind the stunned silence and the wreckage of their perfect little illusion. The air outside felt crisp, clean. For the first time in a long time, I could breathe.
The battle wasn't over. Not by a long shot. But the first shot had been fired. And it wasn't aimed at me this time.
