24. Hashtag Kilted Heartbreak
HASHTAG KILTED HEARTbrEAK
CALLUM
Outside, Seattle's night sky has cleared to reveal a surprising number of stars, their cold light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows of the Abernathy Corp headquarters where I've retreated like a wounded animal.
Connor's engagement party imploded roughly four hours ago, yet I'm still in my tuxedo, bow tie hanging loose around my neck, sleeves rolled up as if preparing for a fight that's already over.
My mind replays the scene in excruciating detail.
Duncan's smug expression.
The crowd of whispering onlookers.
Karina's face as the truth collapsed around us like a house of cards.
The betrayal cuts deeper than I care to admit, awakening ghosts I've spent decades trying to bury.
My phone vibrates for perhaps the hundredth time tonight.
I ignore it, as I've ignored the dozens of texts from Connor, Grayson, and Luke.
Even Gran, who’s already headed back to Scotland on business, has left seven increasingly dramatic voicemails, the last threatening to "fly immediately to Seattle if you don't answer your bloody phone, Callum James Abernathy."
The office intercom buzzes. "Mr. Abernathy?" Alana's voice fills the room despite the ungodly hour. "Ms. Peters is here."
A surge of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—crashes through me.
Of course she'd come here.
Where else would I be at two in the morning after public humiliation?
"Send her in," I say before I can think better of it.
The door opens and Karina enters, still wearing her party dress, though her carefully styled hair has come partially undone.
There's a determined set to her jaw that I recognize—the same expression she wore when facing down the board during the initial viral crisis.
"You're not returning my calls," she says.
Not a question, just a fact.
"I've been busy dealing with the fallout from your deception," I reply, my accent thickening as it always does when emotions get the better of me.
"The board's called an emergency meeting for tomorrow morning.
MacTavish is threatening to walk away from the acquisition.
And apparently, I'm trending again, though this time it's #KiltedHeartbreak.
How thoughtful of the internet to keep track of my emotional state. "
She winces but doesn't back down. "I came to explain."
"Explain what, exactly?" I stand, needing the physical advantage of height. "How you fabricated your entire professional history? How you've been lying to my face all this time? How I trusted you?—“
The rest of the words don’t make it out. They can’t.
After a second, Karina takes a step forward. “Yes," she says simply. "To all of it. I owe you that much."
"You owe me a lot more than that," I snap. "You've potentially tanked a two-point-four billion dollar acquisition and made me look like a fool in front of the entire tech industry. Again."
My phone buzzes with yet another notification.
I glance down to see a text from Connor.
You need damage control NOW. #KiltedHeartbreak just passed a million tweets. Relationship experts likely getting ready to analyze your "body language" on morning shows in five hours. Call me.
I silence the phone, pressing the button hard.
"I never meant for any of this to happen," Karina says, taking yet another step closer. "I tried to tell you today, before the party?—"
"But you didn't, did you? You've had days, Karina. Weeks. Every second you came into this office was another opportunity to come clean."
"I was afraid," she admits, her voice small but steady. "I needed this job. My mother's medical bills?—"
"Don't." I hold up a hand. "Don't use your family as an excuse for lying to me. You had options."
"Did I?" Her eyes flash suddenly. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be a forty-one-year-old woman trying to break into a male-dominated industry without the right pedigree? Without the right connections? Without the right background?"
"I built this company from nothing after my family lost everything. Don't lecture me about privilege."
"You built it from nothing with a name that opened doors," she fires back. "With a British boarding school education. With friends in high places. When Abernathy Corp was struggling, you had Connor and Grayson's support. I had no one."
Her words hit uncomfortably close to home.
It's true that even at my lowest, certain doors remained open to me simply because of who I was. What my family name had been.
"That doesn't justify fraud," I say, but some of the heat has left my voice.
"No, it doesn't," she agrees unexpectedly. "What I did was wrong. But it wasn't malicious. I didn't set out to hurt anyone, least of all you."
The sincerity in her voice makes this harder, not easier.
If she were simply duplicitous—a corporate saboteur or gold-digger—I could dismiss her entirely.
But the complex truth of her motivations makes the betrayal messier, more painful.
"What happens between us affects the company," I say finally. "You understand that, right? This isn't just personal."
"Isn't it?" she challenges softly. "Because it feels pretty personal from where I'm standing."
My phone vibrates again—this time with a call from Luke.
I answer on speaker, needing the interruption.
"Not a good time," I growl.
"Too bad," Luke replies crisply. "You've officially hit crisis level. #KiltedHeartbreak has spawned sister hashtags including #CasanovaConfrontation and #KiltedKatastrophe. I heard CNN's gearing up to run a segment called 'When Viral Fame Turns to Shame.'"
I close my eyes briefly. "This can't be happening."
"Oh, it's happening…Also, your grandmother's on the warpath. She's called me three times demanding your location."
"Tell her I'm fine."
"I'm a cybersecurity expert, not a suicide hotline. Call your grandmother."
The line goes dead.
I look up to find Karina watching me, her pecan-colored irises lowering before lifting once again.
"This will blow over," she says. "I'll release a statement taking full responsibility. I'll resign if that's what you want."
The offer hangs between us, sincere but wholly inadequate against the tsunami of consequences we're facing.
"It's not that simple," I say, running a hand through my hair. "This isn't just about your job. It's about?—"
I'm interrupted by the office intercom again. "Mr. Abernathy, there's a delivery for you," Alana announces.
"At two in the morning?" I demand.
"The courier was quite insistent. He said, um…he said it's from the 'Official Kilted Casanova Fan Club of Greater Seattle.'"
Karina's eyes widen. "You have a fan club?"
"Apparently." I sigh. "Send it in."
The door opens to reveal a courier bearing what can only be described as a bereavement basket.
Black and purple ribbons adorn an arrangement of thistles, heather, and what appears to be miniature bottles of Scotch.
A tartan teddy bear wearing a tiny kilt sits proudly in the center.
"Delivery for Mr. Abernathy," the courier announces, setting the monstrosity on my desk. "Sign here, please."
I scrawl my signature, desperate to get this over with.
"Sorry about your heartbreak, man," the courier says, glancing between Karina and me with undisguised curiosity. "My girlfriend cried for like an hour when she saw the news. Said it was like watching her parents divorce."
"We're not—" I begin.
"The internet ships you guys hard," he continues, oblivious to my murderous expression. "There's already fanfiction about your reconciliation. Really steamy stuff."
"That will be all," I say through gritted teeth.
The courier finally takes the hint and leaves.
I stare at the basket for way too long.
"There's a card," Karina points out, her voice strangled.
I pluck it from amidst the thistles and read aloud: "'Scotland Stands With You In These Difficult Times. #KiltNation.'"
"This is insane," she murmurs.
"This," I say, tossing the card onto my desk, "is exactly why trust is so important in this industry. Everything is public. Everything has consequences. Your deception doesn't just affect you or me—it affects everyone associated with Abernathy Corp."
"I know," she says quietly. "And I'm truly sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this.” My jaw clenches. "Nothing does."
We stand in silence for a long moment, the absurd sympathy basket between us serving as a physical manifestation of how thoroughly our private pain has become public spectacle.
"What now?" she finally asks.
"Now?" I lean against my desk, the fight draining out of me. "Now you go home, Karina. When you come in tomorrow, HR will be waiting. We'll handle this as professionally as possible."
"I meant about us," she clarifies, her voice barely audible.
"There is no us," I say, the words carving something vital out of my chest even as I speak them. "There can't be. Not now."
She flinches as if struck. "Just like that?"
"What did you expect? That I'd overlook fraud because we—" I stop myself, unwilling to name what's been growing between us. "You lied to me, Karina. From the very beginning."
"Not about everything," she says fiercely. "Not about how I feel about you."
"How would I know? How would I ever know what's real with you?"
The question hangs between us, unanswerable.
Her silence confirms what I already knew—there's no going back from this breach of trust.
"I should go," she says finally.
"Yes. You should."
She turns to leave, her shoulders straight despite everything.
At the door, she pauses. "For what it's worth, I was going to tell you. Today. Before the party."
"But you didn't," I reply softly. "And that's the point, isn't it?"
After she's gone, I sink back into my chair, staring at the ridiculous sympathy basket.
My phone buzzes again—a text from Grayson.
Alex is handling press. Connor's distracting investors. I'm on Duncan damage control. Luke's monitoring socials. What do you need?
It's a reminder that I'm not alone, that there are people I can trust implicitly.
Just not the one person I wanted to.
I glance at the teddy bear in its tiny kilt, its sewn-on smile absurdly cheerful against the wreckage of my evening.
"Hashtag Kilted Heartbreak," I say to the empty office. "How bloody appropriate."