My Empire, My Son, My New Love

The world outside the estate gates felt different, crisp and clean, like a slate wiped bare. In the car, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the news. My eyes widened. A headline screamed: "Cristy Taylor' s Career in Shambles: Actress Faces Public Humiliation After Compromising Information Leaked." The article detailed her past misdeeds, her manipulations, the sordid details of her life that I had ensured would be public knowledge. It even mentioned a disfiguring accident from an "unknown assailant." My lips curved into a thin, grim smile. I might not have killed her, but I' d done something far worse in her world. I' d destroyed her future. My revenge was never about taking a life; it was about destroying what was most precious to them. For Kane, it would be his reputation. For Cristy, her looks and her career.

The comment section was a chaotic mix.

"Well, that' s what happens when you mess with a Harvey. Anastasia doesn' t play nice."

"The rich are ruthless. But honestly, good for her. Don' t mess with a woman' s family."

"She should just divorce him and go find some hot young thing to keep her company. She' s too powerful for Kane anyway."

I let out a soft, bitter laugh. No, I wasn' t looking for a "hot young thing." And I certainly wasn' t looking for love. I had enough money. Love had only brought me pain.

My phone rang. It was Liam.

"Mrs. Powell, the divorce proceedings are officially underway. It will be finalized in one month."

"Good," I said, my voice calm.

There was a slight hesitation from Liam. "Mrs. Powell, I… I haven' t been able to confirm the biological father of your son yet. The lead went cold." He sounded genuinely apologetic.

"It' s fine, Liam," I said, my voice soft. "No need to pursue it further. In some ways, it' s better not to know. No messy entanglements. No one else to complicate my son' s life."

The call ended. I put my phone down, watching the world outside my window. But the news about Cristy quickly disappeared. The articles were pulled, the comments deleted, the hashtags scrubbed. Kane. He was protecting her again, even after all this. He' d gone completely silent for the past two weeks, no calls, no messages. He' d delegated all his company work, disappearing from the public eye alongside Cristy.

That night, after coaxing my son to sleep, I returned to my room. Just as I was about to turn out the light, a tall, dark silhouette stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. Kane.

"Why are you here, Kane?" I asked, my voice devoid of surprise. "Shouldn' t you be with your injured lover?"

He turned, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. He moved towards me, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You went too far, Anastasia. What you did to Cristy… that was cruel."

My lips curled into a sneer. "Cruel? You come here to accuse me? After what you did? After what she did to my son?"

He flinched at the mention of our child, but his anger flared again. "You call that an act of mercy? Destroying a woman' s life just because she made a mistake?"

"Mistake?" I scoffed. "She manipulated a paternity test, Kane! She physically harmed our child! My son! My only child! And you stand there, defending her?"

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist again, pulling me close. "You betrayed me, Anastasia! You carried another man' s child!" His voice was a low growl, filled with accusation.

A hot rage surged through me, eclipsing all pain. My free hand flew up, connecting with his cheek with a resounding slap. The sound echoed in the room.

My eyes burned, tears stinging, but I refused to let them fall. "I am innocent, Kane! I never betrayed you! You are the one who broke our vows, who shattered our family!"

He seemed taken aback by my force, by the raw emotion in my voice. His harsh grip softened, and he leaned in, his lips seeking mine. A twisted attempt at reconciliation, I knew. A way to smooth things over, to regain control. But his touch, his breath, filled me with utter disgust. His infidelity, the way he' d abandoned me, the coldness in his eyes-there was no coming back from that.

I bit down, hard, on his shoulder. He cried out, a sharp gasp of pain, but I held on, tasting blood. He struggled, trying to pull away, but I was beyond reason. This was not just anger; it was a desperate claw for dignity.

Just then, a small, tentative voice broke through my haze. "Kane?"

Cristy.

She stood at the doorway, her face still bandaged in places, her eyes wide and tearful as she looked at us, locked in our brutal embrace. She looked frail, vulnerable, the perfect damsel in distress.

Kane immediately pushed me away, his face a mask of panic. He rushed to Cristy, his arm around her, whispering apologies. "Cristy, darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting." He looked at me, then back at her, his eyes full of a sickening tenderness. "She' s leaving. We' ll talk later, Anastasia." He led Cristy away, his back to me, the two of them a picture of an intimate couple, leaving me standing there, feeling like the intruder.

I felt like an outsider in my own home, a third wheel in my own marriage. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Cristy. A photo of her clinging to Kane, his hand on her waist, and a text below: "He chose me, Anastasia. He' ll always choose me. You can' t win against this."