My Empire, My Son, My New Love

Kane canceled his high-profile meeting, his car speeding through the city streets, each turn a frustrated snarl. He burst through the doors of my private estate, his face a thundercloud. He found me in the living room, calmly sipping tea, without a single hair out of place.

"Where is she, Anastasia?!" he demanded, his voice trembling with a fury that made his eyes almost black. "What have you done with Cristy?!"

My gaze met his, steady and unyielding. "She' s dead, Kane."

His breath hitched. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in, his face inches from mine, red with rage. "You' re insane! You' re utterly insane, Anastasia! You actually… you killed her?!"

I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You' re looking at me as if you don' t even know me, Kane. As if the woman you married is a stranger." I shook my head slowly. "Are you truly heartbroken? Pining for your lover?"

His voice was a raw whisper, laced with desperation. "Where is she, Anastasia? Tell me where she is right now."

I remembered a time, eight years ago, when he' d looked at me with that same desperation, that same intensity. I' d been in a car accident, a reckless moment of grief after my brother' s death. He' d found me, pulled me from the wreckage, held me until the paramedics arrived. He' d been my savior then, my rock. Now, that same concern, that same frantic worry, was for her. How far we had fallen.

"I threw her in the ocean, Kane," I lied, letting the words hang in the air, cold and cruel. "For the fish."

He recoiled, disgusted, pushing me away with such force that I stumbled. "If she' s truly dead, Anastasia, I swear to God, you will regret this." His voice was low, menacing, filled with a promise of retribution.

I watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over me. He disappeared out the door, his furious footsteps echoing. A single tear traced a path down my cheek. He never understood me. Not truly. He never understood the darkness I carried, the lengths I would go to protect what little I had left.

My arm felt heavy, but I raised it, my fingers flying across the screen of my phone. Liam, proceed with the divorce. Now.

His reply was instantaneous: Done, Mrs. Powell.

I knew the complexity of our Cayman Islands marriage. But I also knew the power of money, of influence. Laws could be changed, loopholes found, or simply overridden. My family' s wealth wasn' t just old money; it was a force. A force I was finally ready to unleash.

The next morning, I arrived at Kane' s family estate. My armored Mercedes glided up the long driveway, a symbol of my unwavering power. I pushed open the heavy oak doors, stepping into the opulent foyer. His parents were in the living room, their voices hushed, undoubtedly discussing the latest scandal.

"It' s all Anastasia' s fault," his mother' s voice, sharp and critical, floated through the air. "She' s too independent, too strong-willed. No man wants a woman like that. It' s no wonder Kane sought comfort elsewhere."

"Indeed," his father agreed, his tone dismissive. "She' s never been good enough for our Kane. Always too much the heiress, not enough the wife."

I stepped fully into the room, my presence like a cold wind. "Your wishes have been granted then," I said, my voice cutting through their conversation like a knife. "Your precious Kane is free."

They both gasped, startled, their faces blanching as they saw me. They had no words to counter.

I walked past them, my head held high, and entered what used to be our bedroom. My security team was already inside, systematically packing away everything that belonged to me. Every dress, every piece of jewelry, every book, every memory. They were efficient, leaving no trace of my eight years here.

Kane' s parents, recovering from their shock, followed me. "Anastasia, what are you doing?" his mother demanded, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"I' m leaving," I stated plainly, my gaze sweeping over the empty shelves. "I' m taking what' s mine and I' m going."

"But… the baby," his father stammered, trying to appeal to my maternal instincts. "Think of the child, Anastasia. He needs his family."

I stopped, turning to face them, a chilling smile on my lips. "My child," I corrected, my voice sharp. "And he won' t be needing Kane. Since, as it turns out, he isn' t Kane' s son." I paused, letting that sink in. "And I will ensure he has a father who actually cherishes him."

The shock on their faces was priceless.