Chapter 3

Kieran's POV

I gripped the divorce papers so hard the thick stock creased under my thumbs. It was a bluff—an escalation I hadn’t prepared for—but I stared at her, waiting for her to drop the act so we could fix this.

"Fine," I said, keeping my voice even and generous. "I'll admit I didn't handle this well."

I laid it out for her, offering concessions that should have ended the argument right there. "Starting tomorrow, you have full control of the family office. Whatever you spend stays strictly between us. You want your own account? I’ll have it opened today. If Liora is the issue, I'll strip her access from all household accounts." I softened my tone, trying to reason with her. "And Caspian can stay with your mother as long as he likes. I won't make an issue of it. When you've cooled off, I'll come get you both myself."

It was more than fair. I was giving her money, space, and a clear boundary with my staff.

But she didn't blink. "Kieran, I don't want your access. I don't want your accounts. And I don't want promises that show up after all the damage is done." She looked right through me. "There's no one left in this house for me to stay for. I want a divorce."

My patience finally snapped. I had just handed her exactly what she wanted, and she was throwing it back in my face. The warmth dropped entirely from my expression.

"That's enough. You've been through a lot, and you're not thinking clearly." I took a step toward her, stopping short of reaching out. "Don't turn a bad week into something you can't take back. You have no idea how hard it is out there without my name shielding you. I don't want to force your hand, Isolde. But don't make me lock down this house until you come to your senses."

I meant it to protect her. She was spiraling, acting on sheer panic, and she reeded the safety of the boundaries I’d set.

Instead, she just bent down and grabbed her backpack. "Then let me regret it."

Disbelief hit me like a physical blow. I had braced for tears, a screaming match, or at least a negotiation over the terms. But she just walked right past me. My pride nailed my feet to the floor. I wasn't going to chase after a tantrum. Once the harsh reality of the real world set in, she would come back on her own.

As her hand grabbed the doorknob, I drew a breath. I almost said something—something to break the ice.

But I didn't.

The door slammed shut behind her, the sound cracking through the empty foyer like a gunshot.

Then, it was just me.

I plunged a hand into my coat pocket, my fingers closing around the brass lighter she had custom-made for me when she found out how much I missed my father's. K.H. was etched into the metal. I squeezed it until the edges dug painfully into my palm.

A few feet away on the console table, the cake with Caspian's name on it sat completely untouched.

My phone lit up. A text from Liora.

Don't go after her. She's trying to force your hand. I'll have someone keep an eye on Caspian near Ms. Voss's place, so don't worry. Let her cool off. Once she finds out what life looks like without your protection, she'll come back, and she'll bring him with her.

My thumb brushed over the engraved initials on the lighter, over and over. Liora was right. It was a tactic. Give it a day or two, and reality would wear down that stubborn streak. She would come back humbled, with our son in tow, ready to be reasonable.

And when that day came, I would make damn sure she never said the word divorce again.