My Empire, My Son, My New Love

I looked at my son, his tiny face still damp with tears, now nestled against my chest. My heart ached, a deep, hollow pain. Kane' s words, Cristy' s taunts-they swirled in my mind, a toxic fog. How dare that woman, that stranger, try to snatch away the one precious thing I had left in this world? My son.

I had been right to act. Right to protect him. My actions against Cristy were not just revenge; they were a declaration. A promise that no one would ever harm what was mine again. Not while I still drew breath.

I sat there through the night, cradling my baby, the first rays of dawn painting streaks of gray across the sky. By the time the sun fully rose, a cold, hard clarity had settled over me. I knew what I had to do.

I called Kane. The phone rang for a long moment, making me wonder if he' d even answer. He probably thought I was calling to apologize. Finally, he picked up, his voice guarded.

"What is it, Anastasia?"

"Come to the house," I stated, my voice calm and firm. "Now."

There was a beat of silence. "I' m busy."

"I' m sure you are," I replied, a sharp edge to my tone. "But this concerns both of us. And I assure you, you' ll want to hear what I have to say."

Another pause, longer this time. "Fine," he said, a sigh of exasperation in his voice. "I' ll be there in an hour."

Before I could hang up, a soft, high-pitched voice drifted through the phone. "Kane, darling, what' s wrong? Are you coming back to me?" It was Cristy, her voice weak, fragile, clearly meant for my ears. She was still with him. Still in his bed.

Kane' s voice dropped, suddenly tender. "Cristy, I thought you were asleep. Don' t worry, darling, I' ll be back soon. Don' t stir." He spoke as if I wasn' t listening, as if he hadn' t just told me he was "busy." I imagined him stroking her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You shouldn' t have provoked Anastasia, my love," he chided lightly, a note of warning in his voice, but no real anger. "But don' t worry, I' ll handle it."

Cristy whimpered. "But I' m so scared, Kane. My face… what if you don' t find me beautiful anymore? What if I' m disfigured?"

"Nonsense, my little bird," he soothed, his voice dripping with affection, the kind he hadn' t shown me in years. "You' re perfect. Always will be. Now, rest. I' ll be back to you."

A wave of nausea washed over me. I couldn' t listen anymore. I hung up, the phone clattering against the bedside table. My throat felt constricted, a burning pain clawing its way up. He never spoke to me like that. Not once. Not in eight years. The realization was a cold, hard stone in my stomach. He had never once shown me such tender, doting affection.

Less than an hour later, Kane arrived. He smelled of antiseptic, mixed with a faint, cloying sweetness of Cristy' s perfume. The scent made my stomach churn. I had to fight the urge to gag. He was dressed in a sharp suit, as if ready for a board meeting, not a confrontation with his wife.

I walked over to the coffee table, my movements deliberate, and placed a thick manila envelope on its polished surface.

"Kane," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I think you' ll want to see this."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of his usual arrogance. "What is it now, Anastasia? More fabricated evidence?"

I pushed the envelope towards him. "It' s a divorce agreement."

His eyes widened, his carefully constructed composure cracking. He stared at the document, then back at me, a flicker of disbelief in his gaze. "You' re joking."

I met his gaze, my own eyes cold. "Do I look like I' m joking, Kane?"

He snatched the papers, scanning them quickly, his face darkening with each line. Then, with a furious roar, he crumpled the document and tossed it into the nearest waste bin. "Never! I' ll never divorce you, Anastasia! Not unless I' m dead!"

"Why?" I asked, my voice edged with a new kind of pain. "Why won' t you let me go?"

He laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You think it' s that easy? We got married in the Cayman Islands, Anastasia. Under their laws. It' s… complicated." He savored the word, using it as a weapon against me. "You can' t just walk away."

Before I could respond, a frantic knocking echoed from the front door. Liam opened it, his face etched with worry. Standing there, frail and pale, was Cristy. She looked like a ghost, her face bandaged in places, her delicate frame shivering.

"Kane, my love?" she whimpered, her eyes wide and tearful as she saw him.

Kane rushed to her side, his earlier fury towards me forgotten. "Cristy! What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital!" His voice was laced with genuine concern, with a tenderness that twisted a knife in my gut. He truly cared for her. I was just a distant observer, watching their drama unfold, realizing I had never been the leading lady in his life.

"I… I had to come," Cristy stammered, her gaze darting to me, then back to Kane. "I have something important to tell you. Something the reporters told me."

Kane looked at her, his expression softening. "What is it, my love?"

Cristy hesitated, then took a deep, shaky breath, her eyes locking onto mine, a malicious glint in their depths. "They said… they said your son… Anastasia' s son… isn' t yours."

My mind went blank. The world spun. My son? Not Kane' s? What was she saying?

"That' s a lie!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate. "How dare you?"

Cristy cowered, clutching Kane' s arm, her body trembling. "She' s so scary, Kane! But the reporters said… they said it' s true! They said we should do a paternity test to prove it!"

Kane' s head whipped towards me, his eyes now cold and accusing. "A paternity test," he echoed, his voice dangerously low. "A paternity test it is." He snapped his fingers, and a security guard immediately moved to arrange it.

My heart shattered. He believed her. He truly believed her.