Chapter Thirty-Eight
ARIA
I've never been in the boardroom before.
That becomes obvious the second Christian opens the door and I step inside, because my brain immediately goes a little blank in the face of the board trustees.
The room is enormous.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seattle like the city owes this room something. A walnut table long enough to seat a small government. Leather chairs. Abstract art that's probably equivalent to the GDP of a small country.
It smells faintly like coffee, paper, and killing people's hopes and dreams.
I stop for half a beat just inside the doorway, and then realize… we're not alone.
Every Kauffman sibling is here.
All of them.
Christian at the head of the table with a stack of folders and legal pads, tie perfect, expression calm in that deeply unsettling way that means somebody is about to lose an argument and maybe their dignity. Thank God he's on our side.
Everly to his left, dressed for war, complete with dark sunglasses and a skyhigh slicked back ponytail that means business.
Levi's leaning back in his chair like he's trying to look casual and failing because satisfaction is already tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Colston, bored and still beside him, Archer silent and sharp-eyed, Wes unreadable, Zayne somehow managing to look entertained and dangerous at the same time.
There's not a shrinking wallflower among them. It must be those Conrad Kauffman genes, and something about that makes me press my hand to my stomach without thinking. My baby will have that.
And then there's Everett.
Standing beside me with one hand low at my back like he's not even thinking about it. Like it's just where his hand goes now.
Maybe it is.
His fingers press once through the fabric of my dress.
"You okay?"
I glance up at him.
No, not remotely. But with every Kauffman in this room standing behind us… yes.
So I nod, and he gives me a small but confident smile.
Then he guides me fully into the room, and I realize I'm not walking into this fight alone. Not even close.
Across the table, the trustees are already seated.
Preston sits in the middle, spine straight, mouth set in the kind of expression that says she is not used to being surprised and dislikes it on principle.
Two other trustees flank her, both stiff and watchful.
Genevieve sits a little apart from all of them, elegant and composed, one hand resting on a leather portfolio and the other around a glass of water she hasn't touched.
Christian waits until Everett and I take our seats.
"Well," Preston says crisply, folding her hands in front of her. "We're here. You called this hearing. What is this regarding?"
"We're here today," he says, voice calm and exact, "to move for the immediate reinstatement of Everett Kauffman's inheritance, governance rights, and succession protections under the Kauffman Trust pursuant to the addendum executed by Conrad Kauffman under subsection seven, the legacy clause."
Christian opens the folder in front of him, removes a second set of documents, and slides them across the polished walnut toward Preston.
The boardroom goes very still while Preston reaches for the addendum, and then looks up at Christian with her eyebrows pulling together.
"On what grounds?"
Christian doesn't glance at me, but I already know what he's going to say and my chest tightens before the words come.
"On the grounds that Everett and Aria Kauffman have conceived the first Kauffman grandchild during their legally binding marriage."
The trustees begin to whisper amongst themselves in a heated frenzy.
Beside me, Everett's hand tightens once around mine.
"An addendum?" Preston says sharply, flipping pages. "Is this legitimate?"
There's the faintest ghost of a smile on Genevieve's lips.
She sets down her untouched glass of water and speaks before Christian can answer.
"I was present with Conrad when he and his attorney drafted it," she says, cool and composed. "It was reviewed by counsel, properly executed, and witnessed with every formality required to ensure exactly this outcome."
No one in the room breathes.
Genevieve's gaze moves across the board.
"The clause was designed to protect future generations from the possible stupidity of their parents," she says.
"As you are all well aware, legacy was everything to my brother.
He did not build an empire, father eight children, and establish a dynasty simply to leave his future descendants vulnerable to trustees with short memories and too much discretion. "
Zayne makes a suspicious choking sound beside Wes that is almost certainly laughter.
Christian taps the relevant paragraph in the addendum.
"The language is explicit. If a child is conceived during a legally binding marriage, the inheritance rights of that child's parent remain intact for preservation and succession. Which means the prior action against Everett is void as applied."
Beside me, Everett goes very still.
Not his usual kind.
Not the boardroom version, the one he controls.
Something tighter. I can feel it in his arm where it presses against mine under the table. Everything in him is going rigid. His body trying to tip into something his face won't show.
I hate that I recognize it now. A panic attack building.
Here. In front of all of them. With every sibling in this room behind him, and some part of him is still bracing for impact.
Without looking at him, I slide my hand lower and curl my fingers around his forearm beneath the table, rubbing my thumb in slow circles over the top of his hand.
His breath catches. Then, a second later, he exhales—slow, controlled. The tension in his arm eases under my hand by a fraction.
Not completely gone but fading. Enough that when Preston opens her mouth, Everett is steady again.
"This addendum was not previously disclosed," she says.
Genevieve's mouth curves by half an inch. "It was not previously necessary."
One of the trustees shifts in his seat. "You're asking the board to reverse a remedy already accepted in good faith."
Christian actually tsks.
"In good faith?" he repeats. "You acted on purchased internal information from a compromised source with direct financial motive and personal grievance. If you'd like to keep using the phrase good faith, I would be delighted to hear you defend it under oath in a courtroom."
Christian's threat lands. Even Zayne sits up a little straighter.
Everett rises before anyone can answer, and something in the room shifts. Of course it does. I've never seen him stand in a room without people paying attention.
"My father built this trust to protect his family," he says, looking directly at the board.
"Not to arm trustees against it. You accepted a betrayal from a paid employee as sufficient basis to dismantle a legally binding marriage and strip succession rights from my line before it had even begun.
" His gaze shifts once, briefly, toward me, then back to Preston.
"That ends today. My wife and my child will be protected from trust scrutiny going forward. "
"Until of course, your child turns thirty-five," Preston says.
Everett glances over at me and then down at my belly where I haven't started showing yet.
"We'll see about that." His voice drops low enough to qualify as a threat.
One of the trustees clears his throat. "We'll need time to review this addendum."
Genevieve speaks before Christian can.
"No," she says. "You won't." Her gaze sweeps the room, cool and exacting.
"The legacy clause is perfectly clear in both purpose and execution.
Conrad had it drafted to protect the future of his line from the possible stupidity of those who came before.
" Her eyes flick briefly to Everett, then to me.
"My brother made many mistakes in his lifetime.
We agreed on very little, least of all the distance he kept between himself and his children.
But this?" She rests one hand lightly on the folder in front of Preston.
"This was the wisest thing he ever put in writing. "
Every eye in the room shifts to her.
"The legacy clause is binding," she says. "It is valid, enforceable, and controlling. My brother was many things, but imprecise in matters of inheritance was never one of them." Her expression cools another degree. "The clause sticks."
Christian slides one final document across the table.
"I've already drafted the reinstatement resolution," he says.
"Everett's inheritance is restored effective immediately.
His governance rights revert in full. The prior remedy is null.
You may sign it now." He lets the words sit for one beat.
"Or I can enjoy dismantling the board in court while the press learns that Conrad Kauffman's own trustees attempted to sever his unborn direct heir from the family line. "
Everly smirks. "That wouldn't be a great PR look for the board of trustees, now would it."
Preston's jaw works once, then she reaches for a pen. She knows when she's been beat, but I have a feeling that we've only won this round.
One by one, the signatures go down.
And under the table, Everett turns his hand and threads his fingers through mine.
Do not cry in this boardroom. Do NOT.
Christian gathers the signed pages into a neat stack. He glances over at Everett with a satisfied grin.
"It's done."
For one second, nobody says anything.
The inheritance is back. The trust cannot touch our child. And whatever Everett gave up to protect the rest of us, he just got it back.
Levi pushes back from the table so abruptly, his chair scratching against the floor as if to make a point.
"Well," he says, grinning now with absolutely no restraint, "that was deeply satisfying."
Colston mutters, "About damn time."
The hallway outside the boardroom turns into chaos almost immediately as we all shuffle out of the conference room as quickly as we can, before the board can think of some way out of this.
Hugs, handshakes, Colston clapping Everett on the back hard enough to make him stumble half a step.
Levi kisses my temple and says quietly, "Welcome to the family business."
Zayne crouches in front of my stomach, points at it, and says, "You are already my favorite Kauffman."
"Zayne," Everly snaps.
"What?" He straightens. "I support new talent. And don't get jealous just because you're not going to be the baby Kauffman anymore."
Christian steps past all of us with the signed documents tucked under one arm. "If any of you breathe near my filing order, I will personally rewrite the will."
Levi grins. "Good luck with that. Turns out dad seems to be able to do that from the grave."
I stand there in the middle of all of them, Everett's hand still at my back, and I don't feel like the outsider who wandered into a dynasty and accidentally got in over her head.
I feel like I belong here.
Not because of the clause or the baby, but because these people love each other in messy, badly communicated, terrifyingly loyal ways, and somewhere along the line they decided I was one of theirs.
Everly loops her arm through mine and leans close.
"Told you that you weren't going anywhere," she says, squeezing my arm. "...and I'm glad I was right."
"Me too."
Across the hall, Everett is talking quietly to Christian, head bent, face more relaxed than I've seen in months. Something about the way he holds himself now—less rigid. Less like a man who thinks the ceiling is his responsibility.
He glances over and finds me watching him.
And the look that passes between us feels so private I almost blush standing in the middle of his entire family.
That night, the estate is quiet—just us two.
Just Everett's bedroom, dark except for the soft pool of light from the reading lamp, and the two of us tangled beneath the covers after one of the longest days of my life.
I'm curled against his side in one of his T-shirts, my cheek on his chest, one leg thrown over his.
His fingers move lazily through my hair.
"What now?" I ask softly.
"Well," he says, voice rough with tiredness, "tomorrow Christian will call six times, Levi will show up without warning, Everly will pretend she isn't already redesigning at least three rooms for the baby, and Zayne will say something inappropriate in a family group text."
I smile against his chest.
"That sounds like heaven."
He hums.
"Then," he says, "we figure out what comes next. Together this time."
I try not to read too much into those last two words. But my chest does something stupid anyway.
I tilt my head up to look at him.
"Like what?"
"Like working to help your father get well enough to come live with us," he says. "Not because he has to but because there's room."
My throat tightens.
"And your painting doesn't become the thing you almost did before life got in the way." His fingers brush the back of my neck. "It stays central. Not squeezed in around everyone else's emergencies."
"You want me to keep painting?"
"I didn't fall in love with a woman who puts her talent in a drawer."
A laugh escapes me. "Since when are you this smooth?"
"Don't get used to it. I'll be impossible again by Thursday."
I prop myself up on one elbow. "And what about you?"
He takes a deep inhale and then lets it out.
"I don't want to do this at the pace I was doing it anymore," he says finally.
"I love what I do… Don't get me wrong. I just don't want our child knowing the back of my phone better than my face.
" His mouth tightens for half a second. "I don't want to miss everything real because I'm too busy carrying things I don't need to anymore. "
"What does slowing down look like for you?" I ask.
He lets out a breath.
"It probably looks ugly at first."
I smile.
"Promising."
"It looks like fewer meetings. Less pretending every problem in the company can only be solved by me. More delegation. More being here." His hand slides to my waist. "More sleep. Definitely more sex. And more time in Cannes, watching you paint."
I laugh softly.
"I'd pay to see that."
"You're already getting it for free."
I settle back against him. His hand settles low on my stomach, warm and steady.
"Hi," he says softly, to the baby.
If I'm being honest, this serious, controlled man talking to a belly that isn't even showing yet might be the most disarming thing he's ever done. And he's done a lot.
"Too soon?"
"No," I whisper. "It's perfect."
He kisses my forehead and I finally let all of the pressure from the last month go. My husband beside me. Our child between us. I'm right where I want to be.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time, I don't have to convince myself it's real.
It just is.