53. Killian
Chapter fifty-three
Killian
“Okay, what the actual fuck!?” Blaine yelled into the silence of the grand living room, shattering the already fragile tension hanging in the air. I mentally cursed him as the moment was cut short.
It was a lot to process.
Too much to tell and too much left unsaid.
Thirty minutes ago, Genevieve had entered the estate, lightening the already cheerful mood as Brielle and the children swarmed her.
But the house had gone silent after the introduction of the man beside her.
Genevieve mustered up the courage to explain to her daughter who he was, a look of shame and guilt across her face as she could barely keep herself together.
Across from me, Brielle stood stiff beside the fireplace, shoulders tight, breath shallow. From the look in her eyes, I could tell she’d understood the explanation of her mother well enough. Her eyes held confusion, maybe even a bit of anger, and worst of all, betrayal.
My jaw clenched as I watched her.
Genevieve stood a few feet away, hands trembling, eyes shining with the kind of regret only a mother could wear. And beside her—
Reid Kaufman.
He was a ghost, a myth. A billionaire who’d supposedly died or vanished into thin air.
But men like him… like us didn’t just disappear without a trace for decades without a reason. He controlled Silicon Valley from his nonexistence, but I, Killian Russel, didn’t know he was alive? The most powerful man in the country? Nor did I know that he was the father of my wife…
Something wasn’t right.
He was staring at my wife like she was something delicate he wasn’t sure he deserved to have. At that moment, she wasn’t.
I stepped closer to her without thinking, my palm finding the small of her back as she trembled beneath my touch. His eyes followed the action, before they landed on mine.
The children had already been ushered to the East Wing with Delilah and Archer. Conversations like this had no place near them. Though God knows part of me wished I’d sent Blaine along with them, too.
“What is even going on?” he barked again, looking between all of us like we were auditioning for a soap opera.
Maia, his wife, whispered something to him, her hands desperately trying to pull him away from the middle of the tension.
He scoffed instead, throwing up his own hands instead. “Is someone going to say something or—”
“Blaine.” My voice snapped through the room.
Finally, he clamped his mouth shut.
I turned back to Brielle, her hands shaking, fingers wringing themselves raw in an attempt to stay calm, her breathing tight and shallow.
Her eyes fixed somewhere between her mother and the man she’d never met.
Signs of her going into a panic attack were getting stronger, and dammit, I was about ready to cancel this entire evening and kick everyone the fuck out of our home.
I tried to get through her stubborn little mind. “Brielle… breathe, sweetheart,” I whispered, but she ignored me, arms crossed now, shoulders hunched like she was hiding herself unintentionally.
She swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice barely made it past her lips.
“Brielle…” Genevieve’s voice cracked. “Honey, I’m sorry. I-I couldn’t… I—”
“You couldn’t what?” Brielle whispered. “You couldn’t trust me to know who my father was? You couldn’t muster up the courage to tell me who I really was? You couldn’t—”
“She couldn’t tell you because she wasn’t allowed to,” Reid’s voice cut her off, and Brielle’s eyes found his. “Don’t put the burden entirely on her… please.”
“So I should blame you then?” The words were harsh exiting her mouth, anger sitting heavily on her tongue.
Reid didn’t even flinch. “You can blame me,” he said quietly. “If it makes this easier for you, I’ll take it.” Genevieve looked up at her husband, tears spilling down her face as he stood against the brewing storm.
Brielle blinked fast, her chest still rising in short, tight breaths. I felt her sway and pressed my palm firmer against her lower back.
“Brielle,” I murmured, “sweetheart—”
“You knew about me,” she continued, eyes locked onto Reid’s, her voice suddenly sharp.
Reid’s jaw flexed once. “Not when it mattered.”
Brielle scoffed, moving forward, my hand catching her shirt to keep her from walking. “It will always matter.” Her voice rose.
Genevieve stepped forward. “Brielle, honey—”
“Let her speak,” Reid said without taking his eyes off his daughter.
Brielle swallowed hard, tears pooling but refusing to fall, her body desperately trying to get free from my grip despite me holding her steady.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like,” she whispered, “to grow up thinking you weren’t wanted by anybody? That my father hated me, that he left me or didn’t care about me? And the whole time—” her voice splintered ”—you were alive?”
“Brielle… I wanted you… I wanted both of you. But having you? Being your father? It wasn’t my choice to disappear. My existence was a threat to powerful men who wanted me hidden. Getting you involved… it would have put you in danger.”
“Danger? I grew up in danger and abandonment with people who treated my brother and me like nothing,” she snapped.
“I grew up with Gregory and Cheryl, who stole everything our grandparents left for us and left us to rot, but not before trying to ruin our lives in the midst of it. Do you understand that?” Her voice splintered again.
“Do either of you understand what that was like growing up?”
“Your mother couldn’t leave with the two of you either,” Reid explained. “Not when Gregory controlled her money, access, and her entire life…”
I looked down at my wife, watching her chest rise and fall, thoughts racing as she tried to make sense of it all.
“Brielle?” Genevieve attempted. “Honey—” She reached out to her daughter, who shook her head, making her mother falter.
“I can’t… I can’t do this right now,” Brielle whispered before she crossed the room quickly, ignoring everyone, pushing past the silence and the stares.
I was right behind her, ignoring every pair of eyes that landed on my retreating back. I didn’t care that I left them; my wife came first.
Brielle ripped open the patio doors and stepped into the cold. Flurries drifted down from the sky in soft spirals, landing in her hair, melting instantly on her skin.
She stood there, glaring out at the snow like it had personally offended her. Cheeks flushed bright red from the cold, arms folded tight over her chest, shoulders tensed, locked so high they nearly touched her ears.
I walked to her slowly. After so many years of dealing with one another, of loving one another, I knew when my wife was close to exploding.
“…Sweetheart,” I murmured.
She didn’t look at me, her jaw clenching hard. A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped it away angrily.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
She wasn’t, not even close. I stepped closer, close enough that she could lean into me if she wanted to.
I went to speak when her shoulders sagged gently, a small sob escaping her chest. My arms moved before I could think, wrapping around her from behind, my head dipping into her shoulder as she shuddered.
“I said I’m fine,” she gritted out gently, tears streaming down her face.
I nodded. “I know, my darling, I know.”
She stayed silent, letting me hold her. I was thankful she didn’t push me away.
“I-I just wish I had one parent who was there for me… for us.” She shook her head. “I just wish we had someone when we needed them.”
She swallowed hard. Snow drifted around us, the cold biting against her skin, the only warmth being between us.
“Eugene was right,” she whimpered gently. “If they were dead, if they stayed dead to us… it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
“Sweetheart,” I murmured against her temple, “don’t take his pain and call it truth.”
She shook her head again. “But he wasn’t wrong, Killian.
It’s easier when they’re dead. When Gregory and Cheryl died?
The part of me that wanted their love was hurt, but then it healed…
knowing it was for the best. Not knowing if my real mother was alive or not was easier before.
Then she reached out and opened a wound I tried to fill, and now…
now it feels like it’s happening all over again. ”
“You didn’t heal because Gregory or Cheryl were dead,” I continued softly. “You healed because they were finally out of your life and couldn’t keep disappointing you.”
She blinked hard, still staring into the snow. “And your mother?” I murmured, lips brushing the side of her head. “Her coming back didn’t reopen an old wound. It just showed you the wound was still there.”
Her throat bobbed. I turned her slowly in my arms, cupping her face, thumbs brushing the tears she’d already tried wiping away. “You want to know why this hurts?” I asked quietly.
A faltering breath escaped her lips. “Why?”
“Because you never stopped wanting a mother who would stay, or a father who wouldn’t abandon you,” I said. “You never stopped hoping, even when you convinced yourself you had.”
Her face crumbled, the truth hitting harder than her grief.
“Even if Eugene was right,” I added, brushing my thumb across her cheekbone, “you’re not him.
You never shut off the part of you that loves people.
You never built walls high enough to keep everyone out.
You feel everything, sweetheart. That’s why you let Genevieve back in…
and why you’re afraid of letting Reid in.
That wound is afraid of being hurt again. ”
Her lips parted, trembling. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re allowed to take your time with this,” I murmured. “With all of it.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, exhausted, before she collapsed into my chest, my arms wrapping around her, letting the weight of her mind fall onto me.
And I caught her without hesitation, my arms tight around her frame, shielding her from the cold and a world that seemed intent on tearing apart her fragile heart.
Eventually, she nodded against me, a small, fragile signal that she was feeling better. I pressed a kiss to her temple before guiding her back inside.
The warmth hit us first, the gentle cautious voices second.
I lingered close by as she slipped into the kitchen without a word, moving automatically to help Benjamin and Reginald with the dinner prep.
Her hands were still shaking, but she forced herself into the rhythm of chopping vegetables, stirring pans, pretending the world wasn’t falling apart at her feet.
Genevieve followed her after a moment. She hesitated, asking if she could help. Brielle didn’t speak. She just nodded.
It wasn’t forgiveness. But it wasn’t rejection either.
I stepped back, giving them space, my gaze drifting toward the far window.
And that’s when I saw him.
Reid Kaufman stood outside in the courtyard, phone pressed to his ear, pacing the stone path with enough control and power to test my own without him even being near.
His expression was carved from steel. His jaw tight, shoulders coiled, every step precise, walking the line between restraint and violence.
We had settled the emotional fallout for now… but I was still trying to piece together the bigger picture.
Because something didn’t add up. I had bought out governments. Toppled corporations. Turned billion-dollar empires into ash with a signature. There shouldn’t be anything I couldn’t access.
And yet—
When I dug into Brielle’s past, when I tore apart every Newman trace, every forged document and article Cheryl and Gregory created to hide Genevieve… there was nothing that linked her to Kaufman. I never even came across his name.
Which meant someone had hidden him from me. Someone with more power… or someone who thought they held more power…
And there was only one man who fit that description.
Only one man capable of burying the existence of someone like Reid Kaufman.
…My father.