Chapter 38 Past and Present Collide
A few days later, my family drama had turned into a full-blown internet obsession. And it wasn’t slowing down.
My mother’s murder was dragged back into the light, picked apart piece by piece by strangers who spoke about her like she was a character, not a person.
True crime channels jumped on it, posting timelines, theories, dramatic voiceovers.
I had no idea how they were pulling everything together so quickly.
Police records. Old articles. Court filings. Photos.
Nothing stayed buried anymore.
Then the focus shifted to my father.
Brandon’s past was laid out just as brutally. The affair. The remarriage. The woman accused of killing his wife. The life he had built on top of that mess. And now, another scandal layered on top of it all. Another child. Another woman. Another story that didn’t quite make sense.
Comment sections tore him apart.
His company had already been struggling, but once the attention hit, the damage multiplied. Stocks dropped. The last investors started pulling out.
And right in the middle of it, like she had been waiting for her moment, Apple stepped into the spotlight.
By coincidence or not, she ended up in front of a paparazzo’s camera.
I had my suspicions.
She stood outside some boutique, perfectly put together, one hand resting lightly on the curve of her stomach. Like she had practiced the pose.
One of the photographers asked the question everyone had been circling.
“Is Knox Sinclair the father of your baby?”
She hesitated.
Just long enough to make it feel real.
Then she nodded.
“Yes.”
The video spread faster than anything else had. Within hours, it was everywhere.
Daughter of suspected killer linked to CEO Knox Sinclair.
Was Chicago’s most eligible bachelor about to become a father?
Knox released a statement to shut it down.
Official Statement from Sinclair Enterprises
Sinclair Enterprises and its CEO, Mr. Knox Sinclair, have become aware of recent public claims made by Ms. Apple Richards regarding the paternity of her unborn child. We wish to clarify unequivocally that these claims are false.
Mr. Sinclair is not, and has never been, in a committed romantic relationship with Ms. Richards. Any implication to the contrary is inaccurate and misleading.
Mr. Sinclair categorically denies any possibility of paternity. In the interest of complete transparency, he is fully willing to undergo a paternity test to conclusively resolve this matter.
Mr. Sinclair is currently in a private, committed relationship. These allegations appear to be an attempt to exploit his public position and reputation for personal attention and gain.
We ask that the public and media respect the privacy of all parties involved and refrain from amplifying unverified claims. Sinclair Enterprises remains focused on its ongoing operations and its commitment to clients, partners, and stakeholders.
Sinclair Enterprises will not be providing further comment at this time.
I was at my desk when I read the statement and the line about Knox being in a “private and committed relationship.” I actually had to blink at it.
We had never talked about what we were, not once.
No labels, no definitions, no late-night conversations about feelings.
We just… did whatever we were doing. And now, apparently, we were committed.
Just like that.
Decision made.
No consultation needed.
A tiny part of me knew I should probably be annoyed. But I wasn’t. If anything, it felt weirdly on brand for him.
Across the office, Priya let out a low whistle. “Committed relationship.”
Claire spun in her chair so fast her headset nearly flew off. “Called it,” she said, like she’d been waiting for this moment.
“Girl,” Nora added, not even looking up from her screen. “The entire office knew already. It was so obvious.”
Heat crept up my neck.
“It was a PR statement,” I said.
Priya gave me a look. The kind that said: sure, keep telling yourself that.
It was a bit past five when we headed home. Since I’d come in with Knox that morning, he’d actually wrapped up on time for once. Normally he didn’t leave before six. Sometimes not until eight.
The moment we stepped out of Sinclair Enterprises, the noise hit me like a wall.
I stopped short.
The sidewalk was packed, denser than I had ever seen it. Paparazzi. Onlookers. People pretending not to stare while very obviously staring. Phones were already raised, recording.
Two more security guards moved in behind us, stepping ahead to carve a narrow path through the crowd.
Nathan was already in motion.
He stepped out of the car the second he saw us, posture sharpening, his gaze sweeping everything. The crowd. The street. The rooftops. Every possible angle.
He didn’t say a word. Just flicked a series of quick hand signals to Lena.
She caught them immediately, nodded once, and shifted into position behind me.
Nathan took point. The guards flanked us, arms out, holding people back as best they could.
Sensing my hesitation, Knox’s arm came around my shoulders, pulling me into his side as we started forward.
Titan stayed tight against Knox’s left leg, muscles coiled, ears twitching at every shout.
The noise swelled as we moved.
That short walk to the car felt endless.
“Knox! Is the baby yours?”
“Mr. Sinclair, are you the father?”
“Ashley, did you steal your sister’s boyfriend?”
“How does it feel to be part of a murder scandal?”
Knox’s grip tightened, drawing me closer, shielding me as much as he could.
Someone loudly shouted my name.
Instinct pulled my attention toward the voice—
—and that’s when I saw it.
A plastic cup, already airborne, flying straight at me.
I froze.
Knox didn’t.
He moved so fast I barely registered it. His arm locked tighter around me, yanking me into his side, turning his body between me and the crowd. At the same time, his other hand snapped out and struck the cup midair.
The lid popped off on impact.
Liquid splashed across him. His sleeve. His hand. The side of his neck.
The crowd gasped. One sharp, collective inhale.
Then everything surged.
People craned their necks, trying to see who had thrown it. Others lifted their phones higher, chasing the moment.
Titan barked, sharp and explosive, but stayed pressed to Knox’s leg.
Knox didn’t move away from me. His body stayed wrapped around mine, solid and unyielding, while security surged forward to locate the source.
I couldn’t breathe. My lungs locked, my vision tunneling until everything blurred at the edges. Then the memory crashed over me. Acid. Burning. Screaming. The smell of it. My body went cold, panic swallowing me whole.
The next thing I knew, I was in the car.
Titan pressed against my leg. Knox leaning toward me, his voice low, urgent, asking if I was okay.
I didn’t remember getting inside.
I nodded anyway, but the movement felt delayed, disconnected. My hands had started shaking without me noticing, small tremors I couldn’t control.
Then I saw it.
The damp collar of his shirt. The sheen of liquid on his hand.
Panic slammed back into me.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, my voice breaking. “Are you okay? Does it burn?”
My hands moved frantically over him, touching his neck, his chest, searching for damage I was sure I would find.
“It’s juice,” he said, trying to calm me.
I froze.
“Just juice,” he repeated. “I’m fine.”
Knox pulled me back into his side, his arm firm around me.
“You need to breathe,” he murmured, his hand moving slowly up and down my arm. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
“I know. It’s adrenaline. You’re safe.”
He turned his head slightly.
“Nathan,” he said, calm as ever. “Hospital.”
My stomach dropped.
He was hurt.
He had to be.
He was just saying he was fine so I wouldn’t fall apart.