Trapped By The Wrong Man, Stolen by a Secret Billionaire: Part 2 – The Price of War

The morning light was grey and soft, filtering through the single tall window. Audrey lay still, listening to the steady beat of Kian’s heart against her ear. His arm was a heavy, warm bar across her back, holding her in place. For the first time in years, she hadn’t woken up with a knot of anxiety in her stomach.

The events of the previous night played back in her mind—the restaurant, the ring, Cole’s face contorted with rage, her running, Kian’s quiet fury. She had done it. She had actually walked out.

A tremor of fear went through her, but Kian’s arm tightened, as if he could feel it even in his sleep. She wasn’t alone.

She slipped out of bed, pulling on Kian’s discarded button-down from the floor. It smelled like him. She went to the small kitchen and found the coffee, moving with a quiet purpose. She needed to think. What was her next move? Find a lawyer? Pack a bag?

Her own phone, which she’d left in her purse in his truck, sat on the counter. She stared at it like it was a viper. She knew it would be full of venom. Missed calls and threatening texts from Cole.

Kian came up behind her, his bare chest warm against her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

“I just blew up my entire life,” she whispered. “I have to figure out what happens now.”

“What happens now,” he said, turning her around to face him, “is you have breakfast. Then we figure out the rest. Together.”

He said it so simply. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. As if taking on her chaos was nothing.

Her phone buzzed violently on the counter, making them both jump. It buzzed again and again.

Not a text. A call.

The screen read: CLARA. Her assistant.

Audrey’s blood went cold. She never called this early unless it was a catastrophe. She answered, putting it on speaker.

“Audrey? Oh, thank god!” Clara’s voice was high-pitched with panic. “Are you okay? Have you seen the news?”

“Clara, slow down. What news?”

“It’s everywhere. The morning arts blotter, the financial pages… The National Historical Foundation. They just announced an eight-million-dollar anonymous donation. Eight million! It came in late last night.”

Audrey frowned, confused. The NHF was their biggest rival, constantly competing for the same grants and patrons. “That’s… good for them, I guess. Why are you calling me?”

“Because of the timing!” Clara shrieked. “The board is going insane. First, a career-ending complaint against you is filed, and twelve hours later, our biggest rival gets a king’s ransom from a secret benefactor? They think someone is sending a message! They think our museum is unstable, that you’re a liability, and now the money is running away!”

The coffee mug slipped from Audrey’s hand, shattering on the floor.

Kian’s arms tightened around her as she swayed.

It wasn’t a coincidence. First, the surgical strike on her reputation. Now, the financial carpet-bombing of her institution. This was a coordinated attack. This was war.

But this wasn’t Cole’s style. His attacks were personal, psychological. This was different. This was big money. This was power.

“Audrey?” Clara’s voice was a tinny buzz from the phone. “Mr. Davies is calling an emergency meeting.”

“I’ll… I’ll be there,” Audrey said numbly, and hung up.

She stared at the shattered ceramic on the floor.