48. Gideon
48
Gideon
T he morning news alert hits my phone at 4:12 AM. I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling, my bed feeling too fucking empty without her.
“King Marriage Arrangement Exposed: Sources Claim Business Deal, Not Love.”
My jaw clenches as I scan the article. Some “anonymous source close to both parties” details our arrangement with disturbing accuracy. The contract terms. The trust setup. The exact fucking timeline.
I call Jonas immediately.
“You’ve seen it,” he says instead of hello.
“How the hell did this happen? I fired Burt Lee months ago.”
“Obviously we have another mole.”
“I want to know who leaked this. Now.”
“I’m already on it. But Gideon, there’s more. Blackwell’s legal team filed papers challenging the trust’s validity late last night.”
The last-ditch effort of a desperate man. “He thinks if he can prove our marriage was purely transactional he can invalidate the trust.”
“Essentially. His lawyers are arguing that since the marriage was a business arrangement it invalidates the spousal trust protection.”
I run a hand through my hair, mind racing through implications. “Get the team together. Nine AM.”
“Already scheduled.”
I hang up and stare at the empty side of my bed. The side where Ava slept until yesterday when she moved back to her separate room. Practical, she called it. Preparing for our separation.
She has no idea I haven’t slept more than three hours a night since.
I shower and dress mechanically, the routine so ingrained I barely need to think. Dark suit. White shirt. Gray tie. Armor for the battle ahead.
When I enter the kitchen, Ava is already there in paint-splattered jeans and one of her oversized sweaters, nursing a coffee. I pause at the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. Her wild curls are piled messily on top of her head, and she’s got that little furrow between her brows as she reads something on her corporate laptop.
“Morning,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
She startles slightly, her coffee sloshing. “Morning.”
“We have a problem.” I pour myself coffee, needing something to do with my hands so I don’t reach for her. “Blackwell leaked our arrangement to the press. It’s everywhere.”
Her face pales. “Everything? ”
“Enough. But that’s not all. He’s filed a legal challenge to the trust’s validity.”
“Shit.” She sets down her mug with a thud. “Can he do that?”
“He can try. But we need to present a united front.” I hesitate. “In public.”
The “in public” hangs between us, a reminder that in private we’re already separating. Already untangling our lives.
“Of course,” she says, her voice soft. “What do you need me to do?”
What do I need? I need you to come back to our bed. I need you to want this to be real as much as I do.
“We need to make a statement. Go on the offensive. Elliott Hayes is coming over at ten to prep us.”
She nods, all business. “And the legal challenge?”
“That’ll take longer to play out but we need to shut it down fast. The legal team is meeting at nine.”
She glances at the clock. “You should go then. I’ll be ready when Elliott arrives.”
I take a step toward her before catching myself. “Ava...”
Her eyes meet mine, wary but questioning.
The words stick in my throat. What am I supposed to say? That these past weeks have been torture, pretending I still see this as just a contract? That watching her prepare to leave is killing me?
“Wear something conservative for the statement,” I say instead. “Navy or black.”
A flash of disappointment crosses her face so quickly I almost miss it. “Of course. Good for the cameras, right?”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call from my head of legal. Another fire to put out.
“I have to take this,” I say, already backing away toward my home office. Always fucking backing away.
The legal team is grim but determined. We spend two hours in teleconference reviewing options before Elliott Hayes arrives to outline our PR strategy.
“Deny everything,” Elliott says, pacing my home office. “Admit nothing. When you repeat a lie long enough, it becomes the truth. Lean into the love story angle.”
I glance at Ava, sitting perfectly straight in her navy dress, hair immaculately styled for the cameras. The consummate professional.
“You’re saying our marriage is a lie?” she says quietly.
Elliott glances at me. I admitted the truth to him earlier. He knows everything. Finally he shakes his head and looks back at Ava. “That’s not what I’m saying. All I’m telling you is, focus on the emotional truth. Whatever that is.”
The emotional truth. What a fucking joke. The emotional truth is I’m in love with my wife and I’m still letting her walk away because I’m too much of a coward to admit it.
“We can do that,” I say firmly.
Elliott goes through the talking points with ruthless efficiency. “We’ll do a brief statement today, followed by a select interview tomorrow with a friendly reporter. The key is to appear completely united. Any hint of trouble and Blackwell wins the narrative. ”
Ava nods, her expression neutral. Professional. Detached.
When Elliott leaves to set up the press, I find myself alone with her for the first time since morning.
“You okay with all this?” I ask.
She smooths an invisible wrinkle from her dress. “It’s just another performance, right? One last act to sell.”
Her words cut deeper than she knows. “It doesn’t have to be.”
She looks up sharply. “What does that mean?”
Say it say it say it.
“It means I respect your professionalism.” Coward. “One last push and then you’ll be free of all this.”
Free of me.
I remind myself that it’s better this way.
For her.
She deserves freedom. Not the complicated life that comes with Gideon King.
She nods once, eyes looking past me. “Freedom. Right.”
Spoken as if she read my mind.
The statement goes flawlessly. Ava is perfect, her hand in mine, her smile convincing. She speaks about our unexpected connection, about our love. We swear that the documents Blackwell produced are elaborate forgeries. We lie again, and again, and again.
When we’re finally alone after the cameras leave, she pulls her hand from mine almost immediately.
“Do you think they bought it?” she asks.
“You were very convincing.”
“I’ve had lots of practice.” She doesn’t meet my eyes. She stands. “I’m going to change.”
I watch her walk away, the precise click of her heels on the marble floor like a countdown timer to our end.
Later that night, I find myself outside her bedroom door, hand raised to knock. On the other side, I hear her moving around, the soft melody of some sad song playing. I lower my hand.
Let her go.
This was always the plan. I give her the financial freedom to pursue her art without interference. She gives me temporary stability to secure my company.
Clean break after six months.
No messy emotions.
Except somewhere along the way I fucked up the last part spectacularly.
I make it three steps away before Jonas calls.
“We found the leak,” he says without preamble. “Margaret Chen has been feeding information to Blackwell for months.”
“Margaret Chen?” I can’t believe my ears. “She voted to dismiss Blackwell’s deadlock provision motion as without merit.”
“I know,” Jonas says. “Part of their plan, I suppose. To throw us off her trail.”
I shake my head. “So she was the second mole all this time.” Betrayed by someone I trusted once again. “How the hell did she find out about the arrangement?”
“Apparently she blackmailed one of the partners at Hoffman, Weiss & Partners,” Jonas replies. “With security footage showing desk sex with a new secretary. ”
I shake my head. The depths some people will stoop to control others. “Get in touch with the DA immediately. Extortion is a criminal offense in New York. And file our own lawsuits against his company. We’ll see how much Blackwell likes getting assaulted on two fronts. Any news on his trust challenge?”
“Our lawyers think it’s weak given your united front with Ava, and the extortion revelation will actually work in our favor,” Jonas explains. “It gives us grounds to challenge the credibility of any documents the partner may have provided under duress. A person being blackmailed can’t be considered a reliable source of legitimate information.” He pauses thoughtfully. “The publicity is still concerning, but we can manage investor relations. I’ll handle it.” His voice drops slightly. “You know, in two weeks when the divorce is finalized, we’ll be scott free. Two weeks. The Spousal Asset Protection Trust will have served its purpose by then. The deadlock provision will be permanently neutralized, and your voting control secure.”
“And Blackwell?”
“He might try to challenge things retroactively, but our lawyers say the trust arrangement remains valid even after divorce. That’s the beauty of how we structured it. Once the assets are protected through a trust during a valid marriage, they stay protected.”
“Excellent news.” I end the call coldly and lean against the hallway wall, suddenly exhausted. I pivot toward her door.
What does any of this matter anyway? Two weeks... and then our arrangement ends. Ava gets her gallery and her freedom. I get... what exactly? A company secured at the expense of the only real thing in my life?
The brutal truth hits me like a physical blow. I don’t want this to end.
But I want her happiness more.
And that’s why I turn away from her door. Because even if by some miracle she felt something real for me, too, what could I offer her beyond a life of corporate battles and public scrutiny? A man whose emotional damage runs bone-deep?
She deserves better than my complicated life and emotional limitations. Better than me.
So I walk back to my empty bed, to the sheets that still smell faintly of her, and prepare for another sleepless night of staring at the ceiling.
Protecting her reputation. Planning our separation. Pretending I’m not falling apart at the thought of a future without her.