14. Kyle Accusations and Betrayal
Kyle: Accusations and Betrayal
The water drums against my skin, a steady rhythm drowning out the noise in my head.
Steam rises around us, curling in the dim bathroom light, but all I can focus on is Leslie—her bare body pressed against mine, her fingers trailing down my back as the hot water drops over us.
I shouldn't be doing this.
I shouldn’t want her this much.
But here I am, gripping her hips, my chin resting against her forehead, my breathing uneven as she tilts her head up to kiss me again. It’s slower this time, softer, her lips lingering as if she’s trying to memorize the way I taste.
Her arms tighten around my neck, her body molding to mine.
I let out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to her temple, and for a moment—for just one fleeting moment—I let myself have this.
This warmth.
This illusion of peace.
Her fingers glide up my chest, over my shoulders. "You're thinking too much again," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the rush of water.
I let out a quiet laugh, but I don't deny it.
She pulls back slightly, her blue eyes searching mine. "You okay?"
No.
I don't know how to be okay with this. With her. With how much I want her, how much I already need her.
But I nod anyway. "Yeah."
She studies me for a second longer, then leans in, pressing her lips to my jaw before reaching past me to shut off the water.
The sudden silence is deafening.
Leslie grabs a towel, wrapping it around herself before stepping out onto the mat. I follow, grabbing my own towel, watching as she walks into the bedroom, her damp hair dripping down her back.
I should go to bed. I should pull her into me, let her curl up against my chest just the way she likes to.
But something is off.
Tonight feels different.
***
I slide into bed beside her, but sleep doesn’t come.
She shifts, tucking herself against me, her hand resting over my heart. I should relax. I should close my eyes and let the exhaustion pull me under.
Instead, I stare at the ceiling.
The minutes stretch.
Then an hour.
Sleep never comes.
And just as dawn begins to break, my phone vibrates on the nightstand.
I reach for it, careful not to disturb Leslie, but as soon as I see the sender’s name, my body goes rigid.
Anonymous.
My fingers tighten around the phone as I swipe to open the message.
A single email.
A subject line that makes my stomach drop.
“Thought you should know.”
My pulse pounds as I tap the attachment.
A picture fills the screen.
Leslie.
Anthony Reeves.
The two of them stepping out of a restaurant. Her sunglasses hide part of her face, but I recognize her instantly.
There is no mistaking the way Reeves’ hand lingers just a little too close to the small of her back.
I stare at it, my mind moving too fast and not fast enough.
The timestamp is recent.
Yesterday.
Just yesterday that I told her to stay inside. And I kissed her when she came back—like she was the only woman in my world.
Heat rushes up my spine, cold and sharp, twisting something deep in my chest.
Betrayal.
I swallow against the burn in my throat, my grip tightening around my phone until my knuckles go white.
This—this is why I never let anyone in.
Because the second you do, the second you let yourself believe in love, it gets ripped away.
I glance down at Leslie, still asleep, completely unaware that the moment she opens her eyes, everything will change.
I don’t move.
I don’t wake her.
I just stare at her for a long moment, memorizing the way she looks in my bed. The way she feels next to me.
And then, without a word, I slip out from under the covers and walk away.
***
By the time I step into my office, my jaw is locked so tight it aches.
Daniel is already inside, his expression carefully neutral as he places a folder on my desk.
“You saw the pictures?” His voice is unreadable, but there’s something else there. Caution.
I frown. “What pictures?”
Daniel hesitates. “The ones of Leslie and Reeves.”
A cold weight settles in my stomach.
I pull my phone from my pocket, swipe to my emails, and open the message again. My gaze locks on the attachment.
I look up at Daniel. “You got this too?”
He shakes his head. “No. But you’re not the only one who did. The board has it, Kyle. And there’s more.”
I exhale sharply. “More?”
Daniel taps the folder on my desk. "Emails. All addressed to Reeves. All from Leslie."
My pulse pounds as I flip the folder open. A dozen printed messages.
All signed by Leslie.
Promises. Information. Meetings.
A carefully constructed narrative of her betraying me.
My stomach twists, each word a knife to the gut.
Daniel watches me. “I warned you, Kyle.”
I inhale sharply, my grip tightening on the folder.
“The board is in there already.”
I meet his gaze.
Silence.
The worst part?
I don’t know what to think.
***
I don’t wait for the board to call me in.
Unlike the last time, no security guard is standing at the door to block my way.
I push the door open and step inside. The room falls silent, a dozen pairs of eyes turning to me, their expressions unreadable. The air is thick, heavy with unspoken accusations.
I pull out a chair at the head of the table and sit. "You’ve been meeting without me."
Edward Lancaster, the board chairman, folds his hands on the table. He’s in his sixties, sharp-eyed and calculating, a man who never speaks unless his words carry weight.
"Given the circumstances," he says smoothly, "we had no choice."
My fingers drum against the armrest. "What circumstances?”
A long silence stretches before Patrick Holmes clears his throat. “Kyle, your involvement with Miss Hart is a direct violation of company policy.”
I don’t flinch. “There is no involvement.”
The chairman slides a document across the table. “You expect us to believe that? After the TikTok video of both of you in your home? Or is it the picture of both of you kissing in the tabloids?”
I don’t touch the document.
Another board member leans forward. "This company has thrived under your leadership, but if you’ve compromised yourself for a woman—"
I let out a sharp breath. "Are you firing me from my own company?"
The chairman's lips press into a thin line. "Not yet. But with the new evidence against Miss Hart, we might have no choice but to reconsider your position if you can't handle it as you should."
I meet his gaze head-on. "You think I can’t be objective because of Leslie?"
"You tell us," the chairman replies coolly. "Can you?"
The room falls into silence.
Then the door opens.
"Bring Miss Hart in," the chairman instructs.
***
By the time Leslie is called into the conference room, the tension has only thickened.
She walks in, shoulders squared, but I see the slight tremor in her hands.
The board members watch her closely as she takes a seat.
I force myself to look at her. To really look at her.
She is pale, her eyes darting between me and the stack of papers in front of Edward Lancaster.
"What’s going on?" she asks, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her eyes.
Lancaster clears his throat. "Miss Hart, can you explain this?"
He slides a folder across the table.
She opens it, her brows pulling together as she scans the first image.
Her breath catches. "What—? This isn’t—"
She looks up, confusion flickering in her gaze.
Panic.
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed. "Tell me, Leslie," I say, my voice colder than I intend. "Why the hell were you with Anthony Reeves?"
Her mouth opens, then closes.
The silence stretches.
"I—" She swallows, sitting up straighter. "I can explain."
The chairman nods. "Then please do."
Her gaze darts to mine. "Kyle, the night you told me not to leave, Anthony called me. He said he could help, that he had information I needed."
I scoff. "And you believed him?"
"I didn’t know what to think," she admits. "But I went because I thought—" She hesitates. "I thought I could handle it."
I exhale sharply, pressing my fingers to my temple before lowering my hand. "What about the emails?"
Her forehead creases. "What emails?"
I nod toward the folder in front of her. "Keep looking."
She flips to the next page, her expression shifting from confusion to pure disbelief.
Her lips part as her gaze darts over the printed messages. "No." She shakes her head, more to herself than anyone else. "I didn’t write these."
The board murmurs amongst themselves, distrust thick in the air.
"Your name is on every single one," Edward Lancaster states, his tone cool and impassive. "Are you saying these were fabricated?"
"Yes!" she exclaims, gripping the papers tightly. "I met with Reeves, but I never sent these emails. Someone—someone must have—" She exhales shakily, looking around the table. "This is a setup."
A few members exchange skeptical looks.
"Do you have any proof these aren’t yours?" one of them presses.
Leslie lifts her chin. "Check my email. If I sent them, they’ll be in my sent folder."
A pause. Then another board member leans forward. "And what if you deleted them?"
Silence hangs heavy for a beat. Then someone speaks.
"Call in the tech specialist."
A moment later, the door opens, and Amanda steps in, a tablet in hand, her expression neutral but eyes sharp.
"Amanda," the chairman says, "we need you to check Miss Hart’s company email. Verify whether these messages were sent from her account."
Amanda nods, tapping away on her tablet.
A few moments pass in silence before her brows lift. Then she turns the screen toward us.
The emails are there.
Sitting in Leslie’s sent folder.
Leslie’s face drains of color. "No. That’s not possible."
"Then how do you explain this?" Lancaster asks.
She stares at the screen, her breathing uneven. "I don’t know. Someone—someone must have hacked my account or—"
Amanda lets out a quiet scoff, shaking her head. "Unlikely. The security logs show they were sent from your work device."
I press my lips together, my pulse hammering.
Leslie’s voice drops, softer now, pleading. "Kyle, you know me. You know I wouldn’t do this."
I want to believe her.
But the emails . . . the pictures . . . the timing.
It all makes too much sense.
"Enough," I say, pushing back from my chair.
She blinks, her breath hitching. "Kyle—"
I stand, shoving my hands into my pockets as I look down at her.
When I finally meet her gaze, my expression is unreadable—cold, impassive. The same way I looked at her the first time we met in the elevator.
The flicker of hope in her eyes dies right there.
"You'll regret this, Leslie," I say, my voice low, edged with something dark.
Her breath stutters. "Kyle, please—"
I cut her off, my voice hard. "You're suspended until further notice."
Silence crashes over the room.
I glance at the chairman, who nods stiffly, making it official.
Leslie’s lips part, shock flashing across her face. “Kyle, don’t do this. You know me.”
I shake my head, my voice colder than I intended. “No, Leslie. I thought I did.”
I take a step back, my tone dropping lower, filled with warning. “And stay the hell away from my children.”
Her breath catches, eyes wide with disbelief—like I just ripped something out of her.
I hold her gaze for a moment, my jaw locked, my fists clenched at my sides.
Then I turn away.