CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The autumn winds off the Rhode Island coast had grown sharp and unforgiving, stripping the ancient oaks of their leaves and painting the sprawling grounds of the Lockhart estate in muted shades of gray and gold.
It had been nearly eight weeks since the disastrous anniversary party—almost two months since the night that had fractured the foundation of their lives.
For Kennedy Lockhart, those weeks had been an exercise in meticulous avoidance.
She had successfully insulated herself within the stone walls of her family’s manor, refusing every invitation that crossed her desk.
On the rare occasions she did venture out, she kept her movements brief and calculated.
Spencer had mentioned, more than once, that Grayson had attended various society events, scanning the ballrooms and charity auctions with a hollow, desperate look in his eyes, searching for her.
Kennedy felt nothing upon hearing it. She had no interest in seeing him.
The polite, chillingly formal conversation they had shared in the garden weeks ago had been the final period at the end of a very long, very painful sentence.
She wanted to stay within the protective perimeter of her home, recover her strength, and maintain the vast, unbridgeable distance she had established.
Grayson, on the other hand, was unraveling.
He was drowning in the silence. The weeks since his apology in the garden had stretched into an eternity of suffocating regret.
He desperately wanted to rebuild something with her—anything at all—even if it meant spending the rest of his life apologizing and slowly, painstakingly trying to repair the damage he had caused.
But Kennedy’s chilling indifference was a fortress he had no idea how to breach.
He was coming apart at the seams under the weight of the distance, while she remained, agonizingly unaffected by his absence.
But the universe Kennedy would soon discover, possessed a very sick, unrelenting sense of humor.
It started as a subtle, lingering exhaustion, something she initially attributed to the emotional toll of the past two months.
But when the exhaustion was followed by a sudden, violent wave of nausea that sent her rushing to her en-suite bathroom three mornings in a row, the reality of her physical state became impossible to ignore.
Dr. Elias Aris was quietly summoned to the Lockhart estate on a Tuesday morning.
The atmosphere in the family’s private morning room was tense.
John and Margaret Lockhart sat together on the velvet settee, while Spencer stood rigidly by the marble fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest. Kennedy sat on the chaise lounge, her hands folded neatly in her lap, waiting as Dr. Aris packed his diagnostic equipment back into his leather bag.
The silver-haired physician turned to face the family, his expression gentle but profoundly serious.
"The blood tests confirm it, Kennedy," Dr. Aris said, his voice quiet in the sprawling room. "You are pregnant. You are roughly six weeks along."
The silence that followed those words was absolute. It was a thick, ringing vacuum that seemed to suck all the air from the room.
Kennedy stared at the doctor, her mind blank.
She didn't know how to feel. For the last few weeks, she had fought tooth and nail to box up the memory of that night, to file it away as a tragic, chemically induced nightmare that had severed her from the man she loved.
But this... this was a permanent consequence.
It was a living, breathing reality taking root inside her.
There was no walking away from this. There was no realistic way to keep it a secret, and the most terrifying truth of all immediately settled over her: Grayson would have to be told.
Margaret let out a shaky breath, reaching out to grip her husband’s hand. Nobody in the room seemed to know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.
Spencer was the first to break the silence. He pushed off the fireplace mantel, his blue eyes with a fierce, unwavering protective instinct. He looked at his sister, taking in her pale, shocked face.
"I will go over there," Spencer said, his voice a low, hard vow. "I will go to his office right now and tell him. You don't have to deal with him, Ken. I’ll handle Grayson."
"No," Kennedy said immediately.
The word was sharp, slicing through her initial shock. She shook her head, her posture straightening as the innate, unshakeable steel of the Lockhart bloodline fused back into her spine.
"Kennedy, you shouldn't have to face him if you don't want to," John added gently, his deep voice thick with paternal concern.
"He is the father," Kennedy replied, her tone remarkably steady. She looked at her family, her hazel eyes clear and resolute. "Grayson should hear it from me. I will tell him myself. But I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I do not expect a single thing from him."
She stood up, smoothing the fabric of her tailored trousers. "I do not need his money. I do not need his protection, and I certainly do not need his support. We are Lockharts. This child is a Lockhart. Neither I nor this baby will ever lack for anything."
"Of course you won't," Spencer reassured her, crossing the room to wrap his arms around her in a fierce, grounding embrace.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"This baby is going to be surrounded by family, Ken.
Mom and Dad are here. I am here. Ryder will undoubtedly be a part of this kid's life, and Arthur and Eleanor will be involved.
The Ashfords aren't going anywhere, but you are never going to be reliant on Grayson for a damn thing. "
Kennedy pulled back, looking at her brother, and then at her parents. The terror that had initially gripped her began to recede, leaving something unexpected in its wake.
Happiness.
It bloomed quietly in the center of her chest, a warm, undeniable spark.
Whatever the horrific circumstances surrounding that night in the study, whatever manipulation and betrayal had taken place, the fundamental truth remained: she had loved Grayson Ashford-Wale.
She had loved him for fifteen years. And as she rested a hand over her flat stomach, she knew, with certainty, that she would love this child with every fiber of her being.
The pregnancy was incredibly unexpected, and the logistics were a nightmare, but the baby itself was not something she regretted.
She allowed herself a small, genuine smile, the first one that had touched her lips in two months.
But before she could fully surrender to that happiness, there was one agonizingly practical thing she had to do.
***
Two days later, Kennedy stepped out of a sleek black town car onto the bustling pavement of the financial district.
She did not go to the Ashford estate. The thought of standing in his home, surrounded by the ghosts of their childhood and the lingering shadows of the anniversary party, was unappealing.
Instead, she had called his executive secretary and requested a formal appointment at the towering glass-and-steel headquarters of Ashford Enterprises.
She navigated the immaculate, marble-floored lobby with effortless grace, dressed in a sharply tailored emerald-green trench coat and carrying a structured leather handbag. She looked every inch the formidable heiress, projecting an aura of untouchable authority.
When the private executive elevator doors opened on the top floor, Grayson’s secretary immediately stood up. "Miss Lockhart. Mr. Ashford-Wale is expecting you. You can go right in."
"Thank you, Diane," Kennedy murmured, pushing open the glass doors to Grayson’s sprawling corner office.
Grayson was standing behind his desk, reviewing a stack of contracts. When he heard the door open, his head snapped up.
The sight of her hit him with the force of a physical blow.
He hadn't seen her in three weeks. She looked breathtaking, composed, and so incredibly distant.
But the shock of seeing her in his office—she had never once visited Ashford Enterprises—was immediately swallowed by a sharp, rising spike of concern.
"Kennedy," Grayson breathed, tossing his pen onto the desk and stepping quickly around it. He scanned her face, his eyes wide with worry. "What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"
"I am fine, Grayson," Kennedy replied smoothly. She did not step toward him, maintaining a wide, deliberate distance between them.
"Please, come in," Grayson urged, his voice thick with a desperate, lingering need to care for her. He gestured to the plush leather seating area in the corner of the office. "Sit down. Can I get you anything? Do you want some tea? Water?"
"No, thank you," Kennedy declined, remaining standing near the center of the room.
She looked at him, noting the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes.
She felt a brief, passing flicker of pity, but she extinguished it immediately.
"I won't take much of your time. I only came because I need to tell you something, and I felt obligated to do it in person. "
Grayson stopped in his tracks, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sterile, businesslike tone of her voice terrified him. "Okay. I'm listening."
Kennedy took a slow, steadying breath. She looked him directly in the eye, her expression perfectly calm, and delivered the news with flawless precision.
"I am pregnant, Grayson," she said softly. "Dr. Aris confirmed it two days ago. I am about six weeks along. Based on the timing, you are the father."
Grayson stopped breathing.
The entire office seemed to tilt violently on its axis. The ambient hum of the city traffic through the floor-to-ceiling windows faded away. He stared at her, his mind struggling to process the sheer magnitude of the words.
Pregnant.