Chapter 4

Blair POV:

The air crackled with unspoken threats. Keaton' s hand, still resting on Kaylene' s back, twitched. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Kaylene, emboldened by his presence, snuggled closer, her sobs subsiding into muffled sniffles. The tableau was sickeningly intimate.

"You don' t know what you' re talking about, Blair," Keaton finally managed, his voice thick with suppressed rage.

"Don' t I?" I countered, a bitter smile playing on my lips. I lifted my hand, pushing back the cuff of my silk blouse. There, on my wrist, was a faint, silvery scar. It was barely visible, a thin whisper against my skin, but to me, it screamed.

Keaton' s gaze fell upon it, and for a split second, a flicker of something-recognition? regret?-crossed his face. Kaylene, curious, peered at it too, her brow furrowed.

"This," I said, my voice low and steady, "is what you don' t know about, Keaton. This is the price I paid for 'us.' " My gaze moved from the scar to his face. "Do you remember that accident? The one where I almost lost my arm, saving a shipment from going overboard? The one where you were supposed to be supervising?"

His face paled slightly. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. That accident had almost cost me my life, and definitely cost me months of painful physical therapy. It had also, coincidentally, been the turning point where my family had truly embraced Keaton, seeing him as the supportive partner who nursed me back to health, the man who stepped up to manage the company in my absence. He had leveraged my pain to his advantage.

"I was there for you, Blair," he said, his voice softer now, an attempt to manipulate. "I never left your side."

"You never left my side because it served your purpose," I spat, no longer able to hold back the venom. "Because it made you look like a hero. While I was in agony, fighting to regain the use of my hand, you were consolidating power, charming my family, and planning your next move."

He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"This scar, Keaton, is a constant reminder of my sacrifice. Of my loyalty. And of your calculated ambition." I gestured vaguely towards Kaylene. "And now, you want to replace me with her? With her, who offers nothing but a convenient womb?"

Keaton' s expression hardened again. He knew I had hit a nerve. He knew the truth of his motives.

"This is beneath you, Blair," he said, his voice regaining its familiar coldness. "To dredge up old wounds."

"Oh, the wounds are fresh," I retorted. "They just healed on the surface. But they bleed internally, every single day." I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "So, here' s my final offer, Keaton. You pack her up, you send her far away, and you ensure this... 'situation' is dealt with discreetly. Then, we can discuss a divorce settlement that protects my interests. Otherwise..." I let the word hang in the air, a silent threat.

He stared at me, his eyes unblinking. Kaylene whimpered slightly, pulling back from him. He glanced down at her, then back at me. A long, agonizing moment stretched between us.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. "Fine. I' ll handle it."

My eyes narrowed. "You' ll handle it? Or you' ll pretend to handle it?"

"Blair, I said I would handle it," he repeated, his tone firm. It was a promise, but a promise from Keaton was as fragile as spun sugar.

I held his gaze for another beat, then turned and walked out of the guesthouse, leaving them there in their tangled web of deceit. I didn' t trust him, not for a second. His compliance felt too easy, too swift. It was a tactical retreat, not a surrender.

The next few days were unsettlingly quiet. Kaylene and Keaton disappeared from the Hamptons estate, just as I had demanded. My private investigator confirmed they had left, but their destination remained a mystery. Keaton had been careful, covering his tracks.

My phone rang. It was my lawyer, eager to discuss the divorce proceedings. "Mrs. Murphy, this is an excellent development. His willingness to cooperate will expedite things."

"He' s not cooperating, Richard," I said, my voice dry. "He' s regrouping."

I knew Keaton. He didn' t give up easily, especially not on something he perceived as his. He wanted an heir, and he wanted control. He wouldn' t relinquish either without a fight. The calm before the storm. It was always the most dangerous part.

I found myself back in my private office, staring at the empty space where the diamond necklace had once been. A deep sadness settled over me. It wasn' t for Keaton, or even for Kaylene, but for the naive young woman I once was, the one who believed in happily ever after, who had loved him so blindly. That woman was gone, replaced by a colder, more pragmatic version of myself.

One evening, I decided to visit my favorite art gallery, a quiet space where I often found solace. As I walked through the modern exhibits, my mind replaying scenarios, strategizing Keaton's next move, I saw them.

Keaton and Kaylene.

They were in a secluded corner, looking at a sculpture. Kaylene was laughing, a carefree sound that grated on my nerves. Her hand was resting on his arm, and he was leaning into her, whispering something that made her blush. The sight was a punch to the gut, a confirmation of my deepest fears. He hadn' t really sent her away. He had just hidden her more cleverly.

My blood ran cold. The audacity. The sheer, unadulterated contempt he had for me. He promised he would handle it, and this was his version of handling it.

I ducked behind a large installation, my heart pounding. I watched them, my fury a slow burn. Their interaction was sickeningly domestic, intimate. He even adjusted a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle, loving. The same tender gesture he used to do for me.

Suddenly, Kaylene looked up, her eyes scanning the room. My breath hitched. Had she seen me? I quickly turned away, pretending to be engrossed in a nearby painting. When I risked another glance, they were still there, but Keaton was looking directly at me. His eyes, usually so sharp, held a momentary flicker of surprise, then a knowing smirk. He had seen me. And he didn't care.

He straightened up, took Kaylene' s hand, and walked towards me. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"Blair," he said, his voice smooth, devoid of any genuine surprise. "What a coincidence."

Kaylene, her eyes wide, feigned innocence. "Blair! Oh, I... I didn' t expect to see you here."

"Clearly," I retorted, my voice as cold as ice. "Enjoying your little rendezvous?"

Keaton squeezed Kaylene' s hand. "We were just discussing... some business matters. Kaylene has a keen eye for art."

Art? He was trying to pass this off as a business meeting? With his pregnant mistress?

"Right," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I suppose the expanding waistline is also 'business' related?"

Kaylene gasped, her face flushing. Keaton' s eyes narrowed.

"Blair, this isn' t the place," he said, his voice warning.

"No, the Hamptons estate wasn' t the place either, was it?" I shot back. "Or my marriage bed, for that matter."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Don' t make a scene, Blair. I' m trying to be reasonable."

"Reasonable?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "You lie to me, you betray me, you hide your pregnant whore sister from me, and you expect me to be reasonable?"

Suddenly, Keaton' s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, his expression abruptly shifting from anger to genuine concern. "Excuse me," he mumbled, turning away to answer. His whispered conversation was urgent, tense. I heard fragments: "The board... emergency meeting... market dip..."

A crisis. Typical. He was always so good at escaping uncomfortable situations.

He ended the call, his face grim. "I have to go. Corporate emergency." He looked at Kaylene. "Stay here. I' ll send a car." Then, he turned to me, his eyes holding a strange mixture of frustration and something else I couldn' t quite decipher. "We' ll finish this later, Blair."

With that, he strode away, leaving Kaylene and me standing in the deserted art gallery. Kaylene glared at me, her mask of innocence slipping.

"He loves me, Blair," she hissed, her voice venomous. "He chose me. He chose our baby."

I looked at her, a profound sense of pity mixed with utter contempt. "He didn' t choose you, Kaylene. He chose convenience. And a conveniently pliable womb. You' re just a temporary distraction. And in the grand scheme of things, you' re just a cheap copy. He always had terrible taste."