Chapter 29
April
The first thing I hear when I step into the ballroom is talk of me—only it isn’t my name. It’s the ugly, sharpened version of me that other people have been passing around like a rumor.
Vulnerable employee. Coerced. Exploited.
Karen Bartley is at the podium, bathed in spotlight, wearing glory like jewelry. And Anthony stands in the middle of the room, tall in black, face carved into control, hands steady, voice carrying without a microphone because he was born with command in his throat.
He looks like he’s holding the company up on his spine. And for a horrible second, I realize that if he falls; I helped push.
My stomach drops, not with morning sickness, but with pure, clean dread.
I’m dressed to the nines. Nicky dragged me through two stores and a meltdown and one very aggressive pep talk until we found the dress that made me feel like I could walk into fire and not burn.
Dark, elegant, fitted through the waist and hips, the kind of fabric that moves like water and catches light when I breathe.
My hair is pinned back in a bun, curls hanging around my cheeks.
My makeup is sharp enough to pass as confidence.
I should feel powerful.
I feel like I’m about to be sick on a donor.
Cameras pop near the stage — press, because of course there’s press. They’re already feeding like vultures. Like sharks.
I scan the room, panic flaring, trying to understand how deep the damage is. People are whispering behind hands. Phones are out under tables. A few donors look delighted in that terrible, secret way people look when a scandal interrupts their dinner.
Karen’s voice cuts across the air again, righteous and calm. “—You can bury it. So you can silence —”
I start moving. Not running. Not pushing. Just moving with purpose through a sea of expensive bodies that part instinctively because something in my face warns them that I’m on a mission.
I pass faces that blur. I pass women who glance at me like they’re judging. Men who look at me like they’re curious whether I’m the villain or the victim. Someone murmurs, “Is that—” and someone else shushes them.
And then—briefly—the room hushes in the space between her sentence and his response.
In that sliver of quiet, Anthony’s gaze flicks toward the entrance. Toward where I was. And for the first time outside of an empty room with just the two of us, he looks… human.
Not the CEO. Not the man made of steel. Not the one who commands rooms with a glance.
A man looking for someone who might not show.
Vulnerable, just for a heartbeat.
He doesn’t see me because I’ve already moved across the room, already threaded myself between tables and bodies. He’s staring at an empty doorway while I’m three rows away, shaking, breath caught, heart punching against my ribs.
Something in me snaps. Not anger. Not strategy. Just the intolerable idea of him standing there alone while Karen lies.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just open my mouth and throw my truth into the air like a grenade.
“I wasn’t coerced.”
The sentence slices through the ballroom like a blade. Every head turns. Cameras swivel so fast I can hear the slapping of straps hitting faces. Flash after flash detonates, turning the room into white strobe light.
Karen’s face twists. “April—”
I don’t flinch. For once, I don’t shrink. I step forward as if the spotlight belongs to me.
Karen lifts a hand like she can stop me with a gesture. “This is not appropriate—”
“You want to talk about appropriate?” My voice is steady enough to shock me. “You’re accusing him of abuse at a charity gala in front of donors.”
A hushed ripple runs through the crowd.
I walk straight toward the podium. People part, whispering like grass in the wind. Karen’s mouth tightens in panic as I climb the steps, heels clicking loud in the dead quiet. She reaches for my arm. I pull away without even looking at her. “Don’t touch me.”
The microphone is right there, waiting. I take it.
My hands shake. My pulse roars. I can feel the weight of a thousand eyes and the heat of flashbulbs. I can feel Anthony’s gaze on me now, sharp and disbelieving.
I inhale. Then I speak.
“My name is April Swan,” I say, and my voice carries, clear and clean. “I work at Voss & Bartley. And I’m pregnant with Anthony Voss’s child.”
The ballroom makes a sound. It’s a collective inhale, shifting bodies, the soft metallic scrape of forks set down.
Karen’s lips part like she wants to interrupt. I keep going anyway.
“We weren’t going to share that because I’m early, but fuck it — sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” I say, panic already clawing up my throat.
I might write speeches, but I’m sure as shit not good at giving them, especially not on the fly.
“I’m having to announce that to all of you because I’m tired of being spoken about like I’m not in the room.
Like I’m a headline. Like I’m a pawn. Like I’m too young or too weak or too stupid to make my own decisions. ”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard. I force the next words out anyway.
“I wasn’t coerced,” I repeat. “I wasn’t threatened. I wasn’t trapped. I chose this.”
Saliva pools in my mouth.
“And I know what you’re thinking,” I continue, eyes scanning the crowd. “I know you want a clean story. A villain. A victim. A powerful man exploiting a vulnerable employee. It’s an easy narrative. It fits in a headline and it makes you feel righteous while you sip champagne.”
I glance at Anthony. He’s standing rigid, hands at his sides, eyes locked on me like he can’t decide if I’m saving him or destroying him. For the second time since I met him, he looks shaken. And it hurts, partly because I did that.
“I didn’t plan to fall into any of this,” I say, voice softer now, and it costs more than the sharper lines. “I didn’t plan to want him. But I think—” I swallow again, tears threatening, “—I think I wanted him long before any of this started. Long before anyone offered me anything.”
A hush falls so deep I can hear my own breathing.
“My family needed help,” I say, and the truth tastes like iron. “My sister’s daughter is seriously unwell. She was drowning in debt. And I was… doing what women do. Taking on too much and pretending it was fine.” I lift my chin. “Anthony helped. And yes, I helped him in return.”
I don’t say contract. I don’t say clause. I don’t say numbers or papers or signatures. I don’t give Karen ammunition.
“I told myself it would be simple,” I continue. “A trade. A solution. Something we could keep separate from feelings.” My laugh is small and shaky. “I was wrong. We were both wrong.”
I look at Karen, staring daggers into her.
“Because the part you don’t get to decide,” I say, voice tightening, “is what it became.”
My eyes sweep the crowd again. “I fell for him,” I say, and my voice breaks just enough to make it honest. “Love, maybe? Who knows? Not the pretty kind. Not the easy kind. The kind that terrifies you because it makes you do stupid things. The kind that turns your life inside out.”
My chest rises and falls too fast. I force myself to finish.
“He wanted to marry me,” I say, hiding the need with a want, and the shock in the room hits like a wave. “And I—” I glance at Anthony, and my eyes sting hard. “I will. If you still want that.”
Karen makes a sound, sharp. “This is—”
I cut her off without looking away from him. “I will,” I repeat, voice stronger now.
The room explodes into noise—gasps, murmurs, flashes, whispers, people standing to get a better view.
I hand the microphone back to the stand like it’s suddenly too heavy, then step off the podium without waiting for permission.
Karen says something into the microphone behind me, but I’m not listening.
I walk straight to Anthony Voss.
He doesn’t move until I’m in front of him. Up close, I can see the strain in his face, the tightness around his mouth, the barely contained storm in his eyes.
I don’t give myself time to panic. I grab the lapels of his tux and pull him down, hoping to God he doesn’t stop me. And he doesn’t.
His mouth meets mine.
It’s not delicate. It’s not careful. It’s a confession. A reckless, public answer to every rumor that ever tried to turn either of us into a villain. The room erupts again — applause from some, horrified whispers from others, cameras flashing like lightning.
Anthony’s hand slides to my waist, firm, anchoring, and for half a second, he freezes like he can’t believe this is real. Then he kisses me back like he’s been starving.
When we break, my forehead rests against his for a breath, and the ballroom is still too loud, too bright, too full of witnesses.
I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
His breath is hot against my cheek. “For what?” he says, voice rough.
“For going to Aidan,” I murmur, the shame hitting hard now that the adrenaline is fading. “I only went because I was scared. I thought—if I had to leave, if I quit, I wouldn’t have money for Angela and Ava, and he offered enough that it felt like—like a lifeline.”
Anthony’s eyes squeeze shut for a second. His hand tightens on my waist. When he opens them again, there’s nothing cold in them. Just relief so sharp it looks like pain.
“I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t care where you went. You’re here.”
“I betrayed you,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“You didn’t,” he says, fierce and certain. “You panicked. You tried to survive. That’s not betrayal.”
My throat tightens. “Karen set me up,” I whisper, realization slamming in late. “That photo—”
“I know,” he says, and the way he says it tells me he’s already planning war.
“Do you still need me to… marry you?” I ask, swallowing down my fear.
He breathes a chuckle. “You said want on the stage.”
“I was saving your ass.”
“It’s both,” he admits. “I need it. And I want it.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I want a proper proposal.”
Anthony’s brows lift a fraction.
“With a BIG fucking ring,” I whisper, daring him, grinning.
Something in his mouth twitches—almost a smile, almost a laugh, almost the man I’ve been missing. He leans in, lips brushing my ear so only I can hear. “You’ll get it,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. I pull back just enough to look at him, eyes burning, heart pounding, the room still buzzing like a hive around us. “And,” I add softly, because this is the only truth that matters under all the spectacle, “I meant what I said. I—I don’t know what this is, but maybe it’s—”
Anthony’s hand slides up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek like he’s making sure I’m real, cutting me off. His gaze holds mine, fierce and steady. “You love me.”
I nod once, my eyes burning.
“Good,” he grins, just softly, like no one else is here with us. “Because I love you too.”