Chapter 35 The Unraveling
THE UNRAVELING
KAIDEN
I hear them before I see them. Emma's laugh, bright and unguarded, followed by another voice I don't recognize. Female. Animated.
The elevator doors open. Emma steps out with a woman about her age, dark hair piled in a messy bun, eyes wide as she takes in the penthouse.
“Holy shit,” the woman says. “Emma. Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“This is where you've been staying? This is what you meant by his apartment?” She turns in a slow circle, mouth open. “I thought you meant like, a nice place. Maybe two bedrooms. A doorman. This is... Em, this is a palace.”
“Zee... it's his home.”
“There's art on the walls that probably costs more than my student loans!”
I step out from the hallway. The woman freezes mid-sentence.
“You must be Zoe,” I say, offering my hand. “Emma says you're her best friend.”
She recovers quickly, shakes my hand with a firm grip. “Ride or die since college.”
I like her immediately. Same spontaneous energy I noticed in Emma the first time we met. The kind of person who says what she thinks and doesn't apologize for taking up space.
Emma is watching us, biting her lower lip. Introducing two worlds that might not mix. I catch her eye, give her a small nod. She stops torturing her lip.
“I'll give you the tour,” Emma says, taking Zoe's arm. “Kai, we'll be on the terrace if you need us.”
“Take your time. I have some calls to make.”
I watch them disappear through the living room, Zoe's voice carrying back to me. “Oh my god, is that a real Rothko? Emmaaaa, is that a real Rothko?”
I retreat to the study but leave the door cracked. Not to eavesdrop, just to hear the sounds of life filling the apartment.
This is what's been missing.
Logan and Ethan have been here countless times. We've had dinners, watched games, stayed up too late talking about nothing important. But at the end of every night, they left. The elevator doors closed and I was alone again with the view and the quiet and the space that never quite felt like mine.
Growing up, I lived in houses that were more museum than home.
Rooms designed to impress, not to comfort.
My mother's voice echoing off marble floors, always performing even when no one was watching.
I learned early that beautiful spaces could still feel empty.
That you could be surrounded by expensive things and still be lonely.
Now there are art supplies scattered across the dining table. A sweater thrown over the back of the couch that isn't mine. The smell of coffee I didn't make. Evidence of another person living here, staying here.
Someone who doesn't leave when the evening ends.
I focus on work for a while, enjoying for once that I can work from home and spend more time with Emma.
A call comes through. My office line.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Rhodes.” Dylan's voice is tense. “I'm calling to inform you that I'm resigning. Effective immediately.”
I lean back in my chair. “Is that so.”
“I've accepted another position. I apologize for the short notice, but the opportunity was too good to—“
“Dylan.” I keep my voice pleasant, almost friendly. “Is your secret employer upset with the quality of your information lately? Is that when you realized I knew?”
Silence. I can hear him breathing, quick and shallow.
“I don't... I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Rhodes.”
“You were always a terrible liar. It's one of the reasons I hired you, actually. Trustworthy face.” I pause, let the silence stretch.
His breathing gets faster. “I can explain—“
“I'm sure you can. But I'm more interested in who you were reporting to. And don't say my father. We both know he has other ways to check on me.”
“I don't know what you're talking about. I was just—it was just—“ He's stammering now, the careful corporate composure cracking. “Please, Mr. Rhodes. I have a family. They showed me pictures. My sister's kids at their school. They knew the route my mother takes to church every Sunday.”
I go still. “Who showed you pictures?”
“I never got a name. A woman approached me six months ago. Blonde. Professional. Said she represented interests that wanted to keep an eye on you. She made it sound protective. Said people who cared about you wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“And you believed that.”
“I believed what happened when I tried to say no.” His voice cracks. “She had everything. My sister's address. My mother's medical records. She said nothing would happen as long as I cooperated. Just small updates. Your schedule, your meetings.”
“And Emma? When did they start asking about her?”
A long pause. “Two months ago. After the museum. They wanted to know everything. Where she lived, where she worked, who she talked to. I told them I didn't know, that she wasn't part of your professional life, but they kept pushing.”
My hand tightens on the phone. “The woman who approached you. Describe her.”
“Blonde, like I said. Maybe forty, forty-five. Expensive clothes. She spoke like someone used to giving orders. But she wasn't the one in charge. She was a go-between. I'm sure of it.”
“And you have no idea who she worked for.”
“No. I swear. I just sent reports to an encrypted address. I never knew who was reading them.”
I should feel rage. Betrayal. Instead I just feel tired. Dylan was a pawn. Threatened, manipulated, disposable. Whoever is behind this used him the same way they're trying to use everyone around me.
“Dylan, Maddox will be in touch. Tell him everything.”
“Mr. Rhodes, please… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't have a choice—“
“There's always a choice. You just didn't like your options.” I hang up before he can respond.
I sit in the silence of my study, letting the pieces fall into place.
Someone is watching. Gathering information. Moving pieces on a board I didn't even know existed. Someone with enough resources to threaten families, hire professional intermediaries, access encrypted communications.
Someone who started paying closer attention the moment Emma entered my life.
I send a message to security to collect Dylan. Drop him at Maddox's office. This ends today.
A knock at the door. Emma's face appears in the gap.
“Hey. Zoe just left.” She studies me, her expression shifts from relaxed to concerned. “What happened?”
“Dylan quit.”
She slips into the study. “Your assistant?”
“Former assistant. Former spy.” I set my phone down. “He was feeding information about me to someone. I knew about it for weeks, was using him to pass along false intel. Just found out whoever he was reporting to has been asking about you.”
Her face pales. “Me? Why would anyone—“
“I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out.”
She crosses the room slowly, stops in front of my chair.
“You're not okay,” she says softly.
“No. I'm not.”
“Kai...” She reaches out, fingers brushing my jaw. “What do you need?”
I look up at her. Lips pink and slightly parted. Eyes wide as she cautiously touches me.
“You,” I admit. “I just need you.”
Her neck and cheeks flush at my words. I hope I haven't scared her. I breathe deeply when she steps closer, between my knees, and leans down.
Her lips brush mine. Soft. Tentative.
She smells like citrus and something floral. The scent I've come to associate with home. Her mouth is warm, yielding. I answer by pulling her closer.
She comes willingly, hands finding my shoulders, my neck, threading into my hair. I've been holding back for weeks. Months. Telling myself to be patient, to do this right, to not rush something that matters this much.
But she came to me. She's choosing this.
The kiss deepens. She tastes like the wine she shared with Zoe. Something sweet underneath. I pull her down onto my lap and she comes easily, knees bracketing my hips, weight settling against me.
Mine, something primal whispers. Finally mine.
“Kai,” she breathes against my mouth.
“Tell me to stop.” My hands slide under her shirt, finding warm skin. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
“Don't stop.” She kisses me again, harder. “I'm done holding back.”
Heat floods through me. A shiver runs down my spine as she presses closer, body flush against mine. Every rational thought dissolves. All the restraint, all the careful distance, gone.
I stand, lift her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist. My ankle protests but I don't care. I carry her to the bedroom, kick the door shut behind us.
We fall onto the bed together. She laughs as I struggle with the boot, the cast making everything awkward.
“Very smooth,” she teases.
“I'm working with a handicap here.”
“Excuses, excuses.”
I shut her up with another kiss. My hands find the hem of her shirt. She helps me pull it over her head. For a moment I just look at her, spread across my sheets in the dim light, and I forget how to breathe.
“You're staring,” she says.
“You're beautiful.”
“You're wearing too many clothes.”
I remedy that as quickly as the boot allows. She laughs again when I nearly fall over, and then she pulls me down to her, her skin against mine. I stop thinking altogether.
There is nothing slow or poetic about the way I crave her.
I'm greedy for every inch of her skin, the heat radiating from her body.
The world outside this room slips out of focus.
No threats, no rivals, no curated persona to perform.
There's only Emma, her skin soft and hot under my palms as I slide my hands up her sides, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp.
I nip at her earlobe, feeling the sharp intake of her breath against my cheek, trail my tongue down the curve of her neck.
Suck lightly at the pulse point while my hands roam lower, cup her ass, pull her hips flush against mine.
The hard length of my cock presses into her through our clothes, throbbing with need.
I follow the delicate line of her collarbone with my lips, tasting the faint salt of her skin, until I reach the thin strap of her bra. “Can I take this off?” I ask, my voice raw and gravelly with desire.