Chapter 28 Kai
KAI
I find Samantha in the library, curled up in the armchair by the window with her knees pulled to her chest.
Her phone sits face down on the side table. She’s staring out at the darkening sky, watching snow fall in the last rays of sunlight. The Christmas lights strung around the room cast warm shadows across her face, but she looks cold. Distant.
“Hey.” I walk in quietly, not wanting to startle her. “You okay?”
She turns her head slowly, like she’s coming back from somewhere far away. “Hi. Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” I settle onto the arm of the sofa across from her. “You look like someone just told you the world’s ending.”
“Maybe it is.” She tries to smile but it crumbles immediately. “Sorry. That’s dramatic.”
“What happened?” I lean forward. “You were laughing with us an hour ago during dinner. Now you look like you want to disappear.”
She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “I’m just tired. The pregnancy makes everything feel overwhelming.”
“Is it just the pregnancy?”
Her eyes flick to mine, then away. “What else would it be?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” I move to sit on the ottoman in front of her chair, close enough that she can’t avoid looking at me.
“Talk to me, Sam. What’s going on in that head of yours?
” I tug her forward until she slides off the chair and onto the ottoman with me.
“You don’t have to carry everything by yourself. ”
She leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her.
“I don’t deserve this,” she says against my chest.
“Deserve what?”
“You. All of you. This life. Any of it.”
I pull back enough to look at her face. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m not—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “I’m just not the person you think I am.”
“Then tell me who you really are.”
She looks at me with those dark eyes full of pain and fear. Her mouth opens. She’s going to tell me. Whatever secret she’s been carrying, she’s about to let it out.
Then her expression closes off. “I’m just a mess. That’s who I am. A pregnant, emotional mess who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
She’s lying. I can see it in the way she won’t hold my gaze. In the tension that runs through her body. In the way her breathing has gone shallow and quick.
But I don’t push. If she’s not ready, I can wait.
“You’re not a mess.” I cup her face in my hands, making her look at me. “You’re overwhelmed and scared and going through something huge. That’s normal. That’s human.”
“I don’t feel human right now. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“Then let me pull you back to the surface.” I lean forward and kiss her.
It’s gentle. Soft. Different from the urgent, desperate kisses we usually share. This one is a promise. A reminder that she’s not alone. That we’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.
She kisses me back.
When we pull apart, she’s crying again.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “I promise you that.”
She nods, but I see terror in her eyes.
“Sam, is there something else? Something you need to tell me?”
She freezes. Opens her mouth. Closes it.
I can see the war happening behind her eyes. The urge to confess battling with the fear of what will happen if she does.
“No.” The word comes out broken. “It’s just the pregnancy. I’m being dramatic about everything.”
Liar.
But I let it go. “Okay. But when you’re ready to talk about it—whatever it is—I’m here. We all are.”
“I know.” She pulls away, standing up and wrapping her arms around herself again. “Thank you. For checking on me. For being patient with my breakdown.”
“It’s not a breakdown. It’s just you being honest about how you feel.” I stand too. “That’s a good thing.”
She laughs weakly. “Feels like falling apart.”
“Sometimes you have to fall apart before you can put yourself back together stronger.” I move toward the door, giving her the space she clearly needs. “I have to go handle something, but I’ll see you later. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I pause at the doorway. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you’re scared of, it’s going to be okay. We’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck with us now.”
She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Lucky me.”
I leave before I can change my mind about pushing her harder for the truth.
Something is very wrong. But she has to tell me herself. I can’t force it out of her.
I head back to my room, my mind still on her face. On the fear I saw there. On the way she almost confessed before stopping herself. What the hell is she hiding?
I push open my door and stop dead.
Veronica is in my bed.
Naked.
She’s arranged herself across the black silk sheets, dark hair fanned out on my pillow, looking like every fantasy a man could have.
A month ago, I would have been thrilled. Would have stripped down and joined her without a second thought.
Now, all I feel is annoyance.
“What are you doing here?” I close the door behind me.
“I thought you might want some company.” She sits up, letting the sheet fall away completely. “It’s been a while since we played together.”
“Veronica—”
“I know you’ve been busy with Logan’s girlfriend.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “But she’s pregnant now. That changes things, doesn’t it? You’ll want some variety. Some fun without all the complications.”
I cross my arms and lean against the door. “How did you even get in here?”
“Staff access. I still have the key.” She pats the bed beside her. “Come on, Kai. We always have fun together. Don’t you miss it?”
“The arrangement is over.”
Her smile falters. “What?”
“The arrangement. It’s done.” I move to my dresser and pull out a shirt, tossing it to her. “You need to leave.”
She doesn’t take the shirt. She stares at me like I’ve spoken a language she doesn’t understand. “Because of her? Because of Samantha?”
“Because things have changed.”
“They don’t have to change. We had a good thing going. You, your father, Donovan, and me. It worked.” She stands, walking toward me. “She doesn’t have to know. We can keep it between us like we always have.”
“No.”
“Kai—”
“Veronica, you knew what this was from the beginning. You understood the arrangement could end anytime.” I keep my voice firm but not cruel. “It’s ending now.”
She picks up the shirt I threw and pulls it on. Starts gathering her clothes from where they’re scattered around the room. “I should have seen this coming.”
“I’m sorry. This isn’t personal.”
“Of course it’s personal.” She yanks on her jeans. “But I get it. I knew the rules when I agreed to this. No strings. No expectations. It ends when it ends.” She finds her shoes under the bed. “I hope she knows how lucky she is.”
She leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.
I sink onto the edge of my bed and run my hands through my hair.
Everything is changing. Has already changed.
We went from sharing women with no emotional attachment to being completely devoted to one woman who’s carrying our child and falling apart from whatever secret she’s keeping.