Chapter 135: The Power Suit
The navy suit fits like armor. It should, I paid a small fortune for the tailoring, but standing here in front of the full-length mirror, I feel like a fraud wearing it. The jacket cinches at my waist, crisp lines draping over my hips, the skirt hitting just above my knee. Professional. Polished. A woman who has her shit together.
My hands won't stop shaking.
"Good morning, members of the board. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today." I pause, tilt my head, try again. "I'm Amber King, and I'm here to talk to you about the integrity of your network."
Fuck, that sounds like a hostage negotiation.
Behind me, the bed creaks. Kash's voice comes low and warm, that morning rasp that usually makes my thighs clench. "Breathe, baby."
"I am breathing." I'm not breathing. My lungs feel like they're wrapped in cellophane.
"You're breathing like you're about to run a marathon." He's still sprawled on the bed, one arm behind his head, wearing nothing but those black boxer briefs that cling to his thighs like they're terrified to let go. His chest is bare, that smooth brown skin gleaming in the golden light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Charlotte spreads out behind him like a postcard, the skyline sharp against the morning sky.
"You try staring down a board of directors who've been fed lies about you and see how calm you are."
He sits up slowly, and even from across the room I can feel the weight of his gaze. Those dark eyes, the ones that see straight through every wall I've ever built. "They haven't met you yet. That's their problem."
I turn back to the mirror, smooth a non-existent wrinkle from my jacket. "Evelyn Marsh has met me. She's the one feeding Haas information."
"She's met the idea of you. The story Haas spun her. The version of you he needed her to believe." He's moving now, crossing the room in that unhurried way of his, and I watch him in the mirror, the way his shoulders roll, the way his presence fills the space behind me. He stops just behind my shoulder, not touching me, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. "What you're about to do, walking into that boardroom with the truth, that's the one thing Haas never counted on."
I meet his eyes in the mirror. "What if she doesn't listen?"
"Then she doesn't listen." He reaches past me, his fingers brushing my hip as he straightens my jacket collar. "But you'll have said it anyway. You'll have stood in that room, looked her in the eye, and told her exactly who you are. That's not nothing, Amber. That's everything."
My throat tightens. "And if they still side with Haas?"
"Then we burn it to the ground and build something better." He says it so simply, like it's just a fact of the universe. The same way he promised me in that warehouse, standing over Raymond Bell with blood in his eyes. The same way he vowed to end this war before it could touch our family again. "But that's not going to happen. You're going to walk in there, and you're going to remind that room why my wife is the most dangerous person they've ever underestimated."
I turn to face him, and his hands come up to cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. He's so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his focus narrows to just me.
"I'm scared, Kash." The admission comes out smaller than I want it to.
"I know." He leans in, presses his forehead to mine. "And you're still going to do it anyway. That's the difference between you and everyone else in that building. You're scared, and you're doing it anyway."
"I rehearsed that opening like twelve times."
"And you'll rehearse it twelve more before we leave. But right now," his voice drops, that low rumble that sends heat pooling low in my belly, "I need you to remember who you are before you go be who they need you to be."
"What do you mean?"
He steps back, and I watch him in the mirror again as he circles around behind me. His hands find my waist, fingers splaying across the fabric of my suit. "I mean you've been in your head for the last hour. Talking to yourself in that mirror like you're trying to convince a jury. You're not on trial, Amber. You're walking into a room to tell the truth."
"Feels like a trial."
"Then let me give you something to hold onto." His fingers find the zipper of my skirt, and I feel it give. The fabric loosens, slides down my hips, pools at my feet. I should stop him. We have a meeting in two hours, and I need to be sharp, focused, ready. But his hands are already sliding up my thighs, pushing the hem of my blouse up, and my body remembers exactly what it wants.
"Kash, we don't have time for..."
"We have all the time in the world." He nips at my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "You think I'm going to send my wife into that boardroom wound too tight to think straight? You're going to be up there, trying to remember your opening line, and I'm going to be down here, making sure you remember something else."
I gasp as his fingers find the waistband of my panties, silk sliding aside to press against my bare flesh. I'm already wet. God, I'm already so fucking wet for him, and I hate how easily he does this to me. How one touch can turn me from a woman in a navy power suit into someone who would crawl across broken glass just to feel his mouth on me.
"You're so ready for me, aren't you, baby?" He drags his fingers through my slick, and I buck against his hand. "Soaked through your panties just from me whispering in your ear."
"Fuck you." It comes out breathless, broken.
"Not yet." He turns me around, walks me backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed. I fall back onto the Egyptian cotton, the navy jacket still on, my blouse bunched around my ribs, my skirt somewhere on the floor. He looks down at me like I'm a meal he's been waiting all day to eat.
He pulls his boxer briefs off, and his cock springs free, already hard, already leaking. My mouth waters. I want to taste him, want to swallow him down until I can't think about board meetings or Viktor Haas or Evelyn Marsh or any of it. But he's not giving me that tonight. He climbs onto the bed, settles between my thighs, and drags the head of his cock through my wetness.
"Look at you." His voice is rough, almost reverent. "Lying here in this power suit you spent all morning worrying about, and you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"I'm going to be late."
"You're going to be exactly on time." He pushes in, slow, so fucking slow, and I feel every inch of him stretching me open. My head falls back, and I grip the sheets, knuckles white. "But you're going to walk into that room with my cock inside you in your memory. And you're going to remember exactly who you belong to, and exactly who you are."
He bottoms out, and for a moment neither of us moves. I can feel his pulse, or maybe that's my own, beating in tandem with his inside me. He's deep, so fucking deep, and the weight of him on top of me is grounding in a way nothing else in this life has ever been.
"I belong to you." The words come out on a shaky exhale. "And I'm still scared."
"I know, baby." He pulls out almost all the way, then pushes back in, a slow roll of his hips that has me biting my lip to keep from moaning. "And I love you for being brave enough to tell me."
He doesn't speed up. He doesn't chase either of our releases. He just fucks me slow and deep, each thrust a steady anchor, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. Every time I feel myself start to slip back into my head, into the what-ifs and the worst-case scenarios, he shifts his angle, hits that spot inside me that makes my thoughts go blank, and pulls me back into my body.
"You're going to walk into that room," he says, punctuating each word with a thrust, "and you're going to stand tall. You're going to tell them who you are. You're going to tell them what Haas has done. And then you're going to walk out with your head held high, because you're Amber-fucking-King, and nobody, not Viktor Haas, not a room full of suits, not the entire goddamn world, gets to tell you that you're not enough."
I'm crying. I don't know when I started, but tears are sliding down my cheeks, and Kash leans down to kiss them away, his hips never stopping their slow, relentless rhythm.
"I've got you," he murmurs against my skin. "Always got you."
I wrap my legs around his waist, pull him deeper, and for a few perfect minutes, there's no board meeting, no war with Viktor Haas, no fake stories or flipped board members or any of it. There's just Kash, and me, and the way he fucks me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
He moves faster now, his breath coming in harsh pants, and I can feel my own climax building, coiling low in my belly. "Kash, I'm close."
"Let go, baby." His hand finds my clit, rubbing in tight circles. "Let go for me."
I come with a sob, my body clenching around him, and he follows me a heartbeat later, his groan buried in my neck as he empties himself inside me. For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled in each other, the golden light washing over us.
When I finally catch my breath, I press a kiss to his shoulder. "You're ridiculous."
"You love it." He rolls off me, and I immediately miss the weight of him. He tugs me against his side, and I let myself have one minute, just one, of peace before I have to become the woman in the navy suit again.
"I do." I trace a pattern across his chest. "I love you."
"I know." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Now go rehearse your lines again. You've got forty-five minutes."
I groan, but I'm smiling as I push myself up, as I gather my skirt off the floor and tug my blouse back down. I stand in front of the mirror again, smoothing the fabric, adjusting the jacket.
"Good morning, members of the board." My voice is steadier now. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today. I'm Amber King, and I'm here to talk to you about the integrity of your network."
Behind me, Kash watches me in the mirror, that slow smile spreading across his face. "That's my wife."
I hold the pose for a beat longer, letting his words settle into my bones. The woman in the mirror looks different now. Same navy suit, same sharp lines, same carefully styled hair. But her eyes are steadier. Her shoulders are squared. She knows something she didn't know an hour ago.
I turn away from the mirror and find Kash still watching me, that lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hasn't moved from the bed, one arm folded behind his head, his body a landscape of brown skin and quiet confidence.
"How do I look?" I ask, and I'm not asking about the suit.
"Like you're about to own that room." He sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "But you already knew that."
"I needed to hear it anyway."
He stands, crosses to me, and adjusts the lapels of my jacket with careful hands. His fingers linger, smoothing the fabric over my shoulders before he presses a kiss to my forehead. "You ready?"
I take a breath. Let it out slow. "Yeah. I think I am."
Downstairs, the house is humming with the quiet efficiency of a family getting ready to face a war. Cynthia is in the kitchen, her voice carrying through the halls as she talks to the twins, her words a warm stream of nonsense and encouragement. I find her at the island, Sidnee perched on her hip while Sincere sits on the counter, banging a wooden spoon against a pot with tremendous enthusiasm.
"Momma!" Sidnee spots me first, her little arms reaching out, and my heart does that thing it always does, that desperate clench of love so fierce it almost hurts.
I take her from Cynthia, press a kiss to her chubby cheek. "Hey, baby girl. You being good for Grandma?"
"She's been an angel." Cynthia's voice carries a hint of skepticism that makes me laugh. "Sincere, on the other hand, has discovered that pots make excellent drums."
Sincere looks up at me with his father's eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, and bangs the spoon against the pot again with renewed vigor.
"Okay, little man, that's enough." I scoop him up too, one twin on each hip, and for a moment I just stand there, holding them, memorizing the weight of them. Sidnee's tiny fingers curl into my collar. Sincere's head drops to my shoulder, his spoon forgotten.
"Momma go work?" Sidnee asks.
"Yeah, baby. Momma's got to go take care of something. But I'll be back before you know it."
"Bring candy."
I laugh, the sound surprising me. "I'll see what I can do."
Cynthia takes the twins from me, her hands gentle but certain. "You go handle your business, girl. We've got everything under control here."
I kiss each baby one more time, and Kash appears at my side, his hand finding the small of my back. "You ready to go?"
"Yeah." I look at my mother-in-law, at the twins, at this home we've built in the middle of a war. "Let's go end this."
The drive to Apex Broadcasting headquarters takes twenty minutes. Kash drives, his hand resting on my thigh the whole way, a warm weight that anchors me. I watch Charlotte slide past the window, the city I built my life in, the city Haas is trying to tear away from me.
"Talk to me," Kash says. "What's going on in that head?"
"I'm thinking about my opening line."
"Bullshit."
I huff out a laugh. "Fine. I'm thinking about what I'm going to say to Evelyn Marsh. About how I'm going to look her in the eye and convince her to turn on the man she's been working with."
"What's your angle?"
"I don't know." I turn to look at him. "That's the problem. I've been so focused on the board as a whole, I haven't thought about how to handle her specifically."
Kash's thumb traces a circle on my thigh. "Then don't handle her. Just talk to her. Woman to woman. You're not trying to outmaneuver her, you're trying to show her the truth."
"So what, I just walk in and say 'hey, the guy you've been helping is a piece of shit'?"
"Something like that." He glances at me, a slight smile playing at his lips. "You've convinced harder sells than this. You convinced me to marry you."
"I didn't convince you. You proposed."
"Same thing."
We pull into the parking garage of the Apex tower, a gleaming monolith of glass and steel that reaches toward the sky like it's trying to touch God. Kash finds a spot near the elevator, kills the engine, and turns to face me.
"You've got this." His voice is low, serious. "Whatever happens in there, you've got this. And when you come out, I'll be right here waiting for you."
"How many times are you going to tell me I've got this?"
"Until you believe it."
I lean over and kiss him, soft and slow, letting myself have this one moment before I become the woman in the navy suit. "I believe it."
We walk into the lobby together, Kash's hand warm in mine, and I feel the eyes of the security guards, the receptionist, the people waiting in the seating area. They don't know who I am. They don't know that I'm walking into a boardroom to face the woman who's been helping a man destroy my business. But I'm about to show them.
The elevators take us to the twenty-eighth floor, where the boardroom dominates the corner of the building, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Charlotte. Through the glass, I can see the room filling with people, men and women in sharp suits, their faces a blur of confidence and privilege.
And there, at the head of the table, is Evelyn Marsh.
She's younger than I expected, maybe mid-forties, with the sleek, polished look of a woman who's spent her life in boardrooms. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a severe bun, and she's wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my first car. She's speaking to the man beside her, her expression cool and composed.
"You ready?" Kash asks, his voice low.
I take a breath. Let it out. "Yeah."
"Your opening line?"
"I'm not using an opening line. I'm just going to talk."
Kash's smile is slow and warm. "That's my wife."
The boardroom door opens, and I walk in.
The room falls quiet as I enter. Twenty pairs of eyes turn to me, assessing, judging, weighing my worth in the span of a heartbeat. I feel the weight of their scrutiny like a physical thing, but I keep my shoulders back, my chin lifted, my pace unhurried as I cross the room.
Evelyn rises from her seat, a practiced smile on her lips. "Mrs. King. Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for having me." I take her hand, give it a firm shake. "I appreciate the opportunity to speak with you all today."
"Of course." She gestures to a seat at the table, but I don't take it. I stand at the head of the table, across from her, and I look at the faces around me.
Some of them I recognize from the research Kash had assembled. Fosters, the CFO. Delacroix, the head of legal. Cartwright, the operations executive. They're all watching me with varying degrees of curiosity, skepticism, and outright hostility.
I take a breath. Let it out. And then I talk.
"My name is Amber King. I own two nail salons in Charlotte. I built them from nothing, with my own two hands, and I've never once had a complaint filed against me by an employee, a client, or a regulatory body." I pause, letting that land. "So when you receive a report, filed by an anonymous source, claiming that my businesses are staffed by undocumented workers in violation of federal law, I want you to ask yourselves one question."
I let the silence stretch, watching their faces.
"Who benefits from that lie?"
Evelyn's expression flickers. Just for a moment, a crack in the mask. But it's there, and I see it.
"Your network has been a pillar of Charlotte's community for forty years. Your reputation is built on trust. And in the last few weeks, you've been given information that was designed to weaponize that trust against an innocent woman's livelihood." I look directly at Evelyn. "I'm not asking you to believe me because I'm Kash King's wife. I'm asking you to do your own investigation. Look at the source. Look at the evidence. And ask yourselves who benefits."
A man near the end of the table, Delacroix I think, clears his throat. "With respect, Mrs. King, we've been told you have a conflict of interest. Your husband's company has been in litigation with our network for months."
"My husband's company has been in litigation with Viktor Haas, who happens to own a controlling stake in this network." I don't break eye contact. "I'm not here to talk about that litigation. I'm here to talk about the false report filed against my businesses, and the source of that report."
Evelyn's jaw tightens. "And who do you believe to be the source?"
I hold her gaze. "I think you know exactly who I mean."
The room goes still. I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in my ears, but I don't look away. I hold that line, watching Evelyn's mask crack further.
Then she blinks, and looks down. "I'd like to speak with Mrs. King privately, if the rest of you don't mind."
The board members exchange glances, but they file out one by one, leaving me alone with Evelyn in the sun-drenched boardroom. When the door clicks shut, she turns to face me, and the mask is gone. Her eyes are tired, older than her face suggests.
"How much do you know?" she asks.
"Enough." I take a seat, crossing my legs. "I know you've been feeding Viktor Haas information about Kash's security protocols. I know he paid you handsomely for it. And I know that whoever he's paying you, it's not worth the cost of your reputation when this all comes out."
Evelyn's laugh is hollow. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lie awake at night wondering how I got here?"
"Then why?"
She looks at me, and for a moment, I see something raw beneath the polish. "Because he has something on me. Something that would destroy my career, my family, everything I've built. He's been holding it over my head for years."
"What is it?"
She shakes her head. "I can't tell you that."
"Evelyn." I lean forward. "I'm not here to destroy you. I'm here to stop Viktor Haas. And I need your help to do it."
Her eyes search mine. "Why would you trust me?"
"Because I've been where you are." The words come out softer than I intended. "I know what it's like to have someone hold your future over your head. I know what it's like to feel like you have no way out. But you do have a way out. You can walk away from this, come clean, and help me take him down. Or you can stay in his pocket and go down with him when he falls."
Evelyn is silent for a long moment. Then she says, "What do you need from me?"
I smile. It's not a warm smile. It's the smile of a woman who's about to win. "Everything you have on Viktor Haas. Every conversation, every payment, every meeting he's had you attend. I need it all."
"And in exchange?"
"You get to walk away. You get to keep your career, your reputation, your family. And when Haas goes down, you'll be on the side that brought him down, not the side that helped him."
Evelyn stares at me. Then she reaches into her briefcase, pulls out a folder, and slides it across the table.
"It's all in there. Every transaction, every conversation, every piece of information I've given him." Her voice is flat. "I've been keeping copies for years."
I don't touch the folder. Not yet. "And the leverage he has on you?"
Her face closes. "That stays between me and him."
I nod, slow. "Fair enough. But if you want out, fully out, I can help with that too. Kash has resources. People who can make problems disappear."
Her eyes flicker with something like hope, but she hides it quickly. "Why? Why would you help me after everything I've done?"
"Because I know what it's like to be used by someone who thinks they own you." I stand, pick up the folder. "And because I'm not Viktor Haas. I don't destroy people when they choose to be better."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I see something in her eyes shift. Something that tells me this was the right call.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
"Don't thank me yet." I tuck the folder into my bag. "We're not done until Haas is done."
I turn and walk out of the boardroom, the folder a weight against my side. Kash is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He straightens when he sees me.
"Well?"
I hand him the folder. "She flipped."
His eyebrows rise. "That easy?"
"Nothing about this was easy." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "But yeah. She had leverage on her, and I convinced her we could do better than Haas. She gave me everything."
Kash opens the folder, scans a few pages, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "This is everything. Transactions, meetings, every piece of intel she gave him. We can build a case that'll bury him."
"We will."
He looks up at me, and I see it, that look he gets when he's about to win. "You did it, Amber. You actually did it."
"We did it." I step into him, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heart beating, steady and strong, and for a moment I just let myself exist in this, the warmth of him, the safety of it.
"I'm proud of you," he murmurs into my hair.
"I'm proud of me too." I pull back, meet his eyes. "Now let's go finish this."
We walk out of the building together, hand in hand, and the sun is bright over Charlotte, washing the city in gold. I don't know what comes next. I don't know if this will be enough to stop Haas, to end the war he's been waging against us, against our family.
But for the first time in weeks, I feel like we might actually win.
Kash's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression darkens.
"What is it?" I ask.
He looks at me, and I see something flicker behind his eyes. Something cold. "Haas is making his move. He just scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning. He's going public with the fake story about your salons."
My stomach drops. "Tomorrow? That's..."
"That's not enough time to build a proper case." He pockets the phone. "But it's enough time to change the story."
"What do you mean?"
He smiles, and it's not a warm smile. It's the smile of a man about to spring a trap. "If Haas is holding a press conference, that means he wants the world to hear his lie. But he doesn't control the world. He controls one network." He glances back at the Apex tower. "And I just flipped his mole on the board of that network."
I follow his gaze. And slowly, I smile too.
"What's the plan?" I ask.
"Operation Anvil isn't finished. It's just about to get a whole lot louder." He takes my hand. "Come on, Mrs. King. We've got work to do."
We head back to the car, the folder tucked under Kash's arm, the city shining around us. The war isn't over yet.
But for the first time, I can see the end of it.
We drive back to the estate in near silence, the folder sitting on the console between us like a loaded weapon. Kash's jaw is set, his focus on the road, but I can see the gears turning behind his eyes. He's already three moves ahead, building the trap, planning the kill. I've seen that look before. It usually ends with someone getting destroyed and me getting fucked within an inch of my life.
Right now, I'd settle for the destruction part.
"So what's the play?" I ask as he pulls through the gated entrance.
"We need to control the narrative before he does." He parks in the circular drive and kills the engine. "Haas is announcing his lie to the world tomorrow morning. That means we have tonight to make sure the world is already asking questions before he even opens his mouth."
"We can't beat him to a story he hasn't told yet."
"No," Kash says, and there's something in his voice that makes me look at him. Something sharp, almost hungry. "But we can beat him to a story he's afraid of."
He gets out of the car, and I follow him up the front steps. The house is quiet when we step inside, save for the distant sound of Cynthia's voice somewhere upstairs, singing something soft and meandering to the twins. The smell of something warm and savory drifts from the kitchen, but I barely register it. My focus is on Kash, on the way he unbuttons his jacket as he walks, his movements quick and deliberate.
"Okay, talk to me," I say, dropping my bag on the entry table. "What's your play?"
He turns to face me in the middle of the living room. The golden afternoon light is slanting through the windows, catching the angles of his face. "Haas is going to stand in front of the cameras tomorrow and tell the world you're a criminal. He's going to paint you as some kind of welfare fraud, a woman who built her business on the backs of undocumented workers, then hid behind her billionaire husband when the law came knocking."
"I know what he's going to say. I've been living inside that nightmare for weeks."
"Right. So tomorrow morning, before he opens his mouth, the world is going to already have a story. Not his story. Ours." He pulls out his phone, starts typing. "I've got a contact at the Observer. A reporter who owes me a favor from the last merger. And I've got contacts at every major outlet in the Southeast."
"You're going to leak the evidence."
"Piece by piece." He looks up at me. "Not all of it. Just enough to make people ask questions. Enough to make Haas's press conference look like a desperate man trying to control a narrative that's already slipping away."
I move closer, my heels clicking on the hardwood. "And what do I do?"
"You're the face." He tucks his phone away and takes both my hands in his. "You're the one who walks into that press conference and stands in the front row. You look Haas in the eye while he tells his lies, and you don't flinch. You let the cameras catch you doing it. The image of you, calm, composed, beautiful, sitting there while he screams about you to anyone who'll listen. That's going to be worth more than any statement I could draft."
A chill runs through me. "You want me to be there. In the room."
"I want you to be the thing he can't ignore. The proof that his lies aren't landing." He squeezes my hands. "You don't have to say anything. You just have to show up."
"Just show up and stare at him while he tries to destroy me."
"Think you can do that?"
I think about it. About Viktor Haas, the man I've never actually met in person but whose shadow has been over my life for weeks now. The man who attacked my salons, targeted my mother, tried to tear my family apart. The man who's been slowly, methodically trying to burn my life to the ground.
"Fuck yes, I can do that."
Kash's smile is slow and dangerous. "That's my wife."
He pulls me into his arms, and for a moment I just breathe him in. Cedar and sandalwood and the faint trace of expensive cologne. The solid warmth of him, the way he holds me like I'm the most precious thing in the world.
"We should eat something," he murmurs against my hair. "You're going to need your strength for tomorrow."
"I'm not hungry."
"You will be." He pulls back, takes my hand. "Come on. Let's see what my mother has brewing in that kitchen, and then we'll figure out the rest of this play."
Cynthia is in the kitchen, as promised, standing over a pot of something that smells like heaven. She looks up as we enter, her eyes sharp with awareness. "Well? How did it go?"
"She flipped," I say. "Evelyn Marsh gave us everything."
Cynthia's face breaks into a slow, satisfied smile. "Good girl. That's exactly what I would have done."
"Haas is holding a press conference tomorrow morning," Kash adds. "He's going public with the fake story."
Cynthia's smile doesn't waver. "Then we'd better make sure he looks like the fool he is when he does." She ladles something into a bowl and pushes it toward me across the counter. "Eat. You look like you've been through a war."
"Because I have." I take the bowl, inhale the steam. "What is this?"
"Gumbo. My grandmother's recipe. She used to make it for my father before he went into court battles." She winks. "It's good luck."
I take a bite. It's rich and spicy and warming, and something in my chest loosens just a fraction. "God, that's good."
"Course it is. Sit down, both of you. We've got work to do."
So we sit at the kitchen island, the three of us, and we eat and we talk. Kash lays out the shape of his leak strategy, the contacts he's going to text, the pieces of evidence he's going to feed them. Cynthia adds her own suggestions, sharp and pragmatic, the tactical mind of a retired school principal who once ran a campaign against the Dayton school board's budget cuts and won.
And I listen. And I eat. And I feel the fear I've been carrying start to shift into something else. Something harder. Something sharper.
This is the war. And tomorrow, I walk into the heart of it.
By the time the sun starts to set, the plan is solid. Kash has sent out a dozen messages, each one carefully crafted to plant a seed, to raise a question, to make tomorrow morning's press conference feel less like a revelation and more like a tantrum. Cynthia has checked on the twins twice and reported both times that they're sleeping peacefully, Sidnee curled around her stuffed rabbit, Sincere clutching his dump truck like a talisman.
And I'm standing in front of the mirror again, the navy suit hung up in the closet, wearing nothing but a silk robe and the lingering heat of the day's battles.
The woman in the mirror looks different now. Her eyes are tired, but they're steady. Her shoulders are back. She looks like someone who's been through a war and come out the other side.
"You should get some sleep," Kash says from the doorway.
"I'm not tired."
"Amber."
"I'm not." I turn to face him. "I'm wired. My brain won't shut up. Every scenario, every possible outcome, I keep running through them over and over."
He crosses the room, slow and deliberate, and stops in front of me. His hands find my hips, tugging me gently toward him. "You need to rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"I know. I just..." I huff out a breath. "I can't turn it off."
He studies me for a moment. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the bed. Not with urgency, but with gentle, patient intent.
"Lie down," he says.
I raise an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted me to sleep."
"I do. But you need to come down first." He eases me onto the mattress, and I go willingly, my body already responding to the low, steady command in his voice. "Lie on your stomach."
I roll over, my cheek pressed to the cool cotton, my robe pooling around me. The silk slides against my skin, and I can feel him moving behind me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and wide, and start to work. Slow circles, pressing out the tension I've been carrying. My eyes flutter closed.
"Your shoulders are like concrete," he murmurs.
"Stress."
"I know." He kneads deeper, finding the knots, working them with a patience that makes my whole body start to unclench. "You've been carrying too much. You've been carrying it alone."
"I had you."
"You had me, but you still did the hard part." His hands slide down my spine, thumbs tracing the edge of my spine, making me shiver. "You walked into that boardroom. You convinced Evelyn to flip. You stood up to the man who's been trying to destroy you."
"I did it because you believed I could."
"I believed you could because I know you." He leans down, presses a kiss to the back of my neck. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Amber. Stronger than me, honestly."
"Bullshit."
"It's not bullshit. You built two businesses from nothing. You birthed twins. You stood in front of a boardroom full of people who were ready to hate you and made one of them switch sides." His hands work lower, finding the curve of my ass, kneading the muscle there. "I've never met anyone like you. I never will."
Something in my chest aches. Not painfully, but warmly. I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. "I love you."
"I know." He smiles, soft and slow. "I love you too. Now close your eyes."
I do. I let his hands work their magic, let the warmth of him sink into my muscles, let the steady rhythm of his breathing sync with mine. The thoughts start to quiet. The scenarios stop spinning. There's just this. Just him and me and the warmth of the room.
I don't remember falling asleep. But when I wake, it's dark, and Kash is curled around me, one arm draped across my waist, his breath warm on the back of my neck.
The clock on the nightstand reads 3:47 AM.
I lie there, listening to the quiet hum of the house. The twins are asleep. Cynthia is asleep. Kash is warm and solid against me, and for a moment, everything feels almost normal. Like this is just another night in a marriage, not the eve of a battle.
But it's not. Tomorrow, I walk into a room full of cameras and face the man who's been trying to destroy my life. Tomorrow, I stand in front of the world and let him spin his lies while I sit there, unmoved, unbroken.
I should be terrified.
Instead, I feel something else. Something that's been building in me for weeks, through every attack, every setback, every moment of fear and exhaustion.
I'm ready.
I don't go back to sleep. I just lie there, feeling Kash's heartbeat against my back, and I let the anticipation build. By the time the first gray light starts creeping through the curtains, I'm already awake, already moving.
I shower. I do my hair, my makeup. I put on the navy suit again, and this time, it doesn't feel like armor. It feels like truth.
When I walk into the kitchen, Kash is already there, coffee in hand, dressed in a dark charcoal suit that makes him look like he's about to close a billion-dollar deal. He looks up as I enter, and something flickers in his eyes.
"You look ready."
"I am."
He crosses to me, presses a kiss to my forehead. "You know the plan?"
"I stand in the front row. I look him in the eye. I don't flinch."
"And?"
"And when he's done talking, the world already knows he's a liar."
He pulls back, studies my face. "You're not nervous."
"Not anymore." I take a sip of his coffee, savoring the bitter warmth. "I've spent weeks being scared of him. Today, I'm done."
Cynthia appears in the doorway, Sidnee on her hip, Sincere trailing behind with his dump truck. She takes one look at me and nods, satisfied. "That's the expression of a woman who's about to win."
"I hope so."
"Don't hope. Know." She shifts Sidnee to her other hip. "That man's been running a war against a woman he underestimated. You're about to show him exactly how badly he fucked up."
Sidnee reaches for me, and I take her, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. "Momma's got to go, baby girl."
"Momma be back?"
"Soon, baby. I promise."
Sincere tugs at my skirt, and I crouch down to his level. "You be good for Grandma, okay?"
He nods solemnly, then holds up his dump truck. "I bring this."
"For good luck?"
"Yeah."
I kiss his forehead. "Thank you, baby. I'll take all the luck I can get."
Kash's hand finds my lower back as we walk out the door. The sun is rising over Charlotte, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. It feels like an omen. A good one.
The press conference is at the Omni Hotel downtown, a grand ballroom set up with a podium and a wall of cameras. We arrive forty-five minutes early, and even so, the room is already filling with journalists, camera crews, and the kind of people who smell blood in the water.
I feel their eyes on me as I walk in. The murmurs, the whispers, the phones coming up to capture my image. I keep my face neutral, my chin high, and I walk to the front row like I belong there.
Because I do.
Kash takes a seat beside me, his hand finding mine under the table. "You okay?"
"I'm fine." And I am. I'm more than fine. I'm exactly where I should be.
The room fills. The lights brighten. And then Viktor Haas walks in.
He moves through the crowd like a predator, his suit immaculate, his smile practiced and warm. The cameras eat it up, flashing in bursts as he makes his way to the podium, shaking hands, nodding at familiar faces. He's good at this. I'll give him that. He looks like a man who belongs in the spotlight, a man with nothing to hide.
I keep my eyes on him, watching him work the room, and I feel Kash's hand tighten around mine. A reminder. I'm not alone.
Haas reaches the podium, adjusts the microphone, and surveys the room with that easy confidence. His gaze sweeps across the journalists, the cameras, the rows of seats. And then it lands on me.
For a fraction of a second, his smile flickers. His eyes narrow, just barely, a crack in the mask before he smooths it over. But I see it. I see the recognition, the calculation, the faintest trace of surprise that I'm here, in the front row, looking right at him.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he begins, "thank you for coming this morning. I know you're all busy, so I'll keep this brief."
He launches into it. A statement about corporate responsibility, about integrity, about the importance of holding businesses accountable. It's a beautiful speech, polished and sincere, designed to make him look like a crusader for justice rather than a man trying to destroy a woman's livelihood.
I listen. I keep my face still, my hands folded in my lap. And I wait.
"There have been serious allegations brought to my attention," Haas continues, his voice carrying that weight of manufactured gravitas. "Allegations regarding a series of businesses here in Charlotte, businesses that have presented themselves as upstanding contributors to our community. But the evidence we've collected paints a very different picture."
He pauses, letting the silence stretch. The cameras click and whir, capturing every angle.
"I'm referring to the King Nail Group, owned by Amber King. Our investigation has uncovered substantial evidence that these salons have been operating in violation of federal immigration law, employing undocumented workers under exploitative conditions. We have payroll records, witness testimony, and documentation that corroborates these findings. And I believe it's my responsibility, as a member of this community, to bring these matters to light."
He looks directly at me now, his smile gone, replaced by something that's meant to look like concern. But I see the triumph underneath. The smug satisfaction of a man who thinks he's already won.
The room buzzes with whispers. Phones are raised, cameras turning toward me, waiting for my reaction. I don't give them one. I sit perfectly still, my eyes on Haas, my expression unreadable.
"Mrs. King," he says, and the way he says it, the slight emphasis, is a challenge. "I want to give you the opportunity to respond."
He's baiting me. Daring me to stand up, to defend myself, to start shouting. To look guilty.
I don't stand. I don't speak. I just hold his gaze, and I let the silence stretch.
The room waits. The cameras wait. Haas waits.
And then, from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, a phone buzzes. Then another. Then a row of them, all going off at once. Journalists glance down at their screens, their faces shifting from curiosity to surprise to something that looks a lot like confusion.
Haas notices. His brow furrows slightly.
A woman near the front, a reporter from the Observer, raises her hand. "Mr. Haas, we're receiving reports that the Department of Labor has just released a statement. They're saying the investigation into King Nail Group found no violations and that the claims of undocumented workers are unsubstantiated."
The room goes quiet. I can feel the shift, the energy changing, the momentum slipping away from him.
Haas recovers quickly. "That statement is premature. Our evidence is substantial—"
"Also," the reporter cuts in, "there are new documents circulating from Apex Broadcasting's internal audit. Documents that appear to show a pattern of financial irregularities tied directly to your stake in the company."
The murmurs grow louder. Haas's jaw tightens.
"I'm not sure what documents you're referring to," he says, but there's a crack in his voice now. A fissure.
Kash's hand squeezes mine under the table. I can feel the heat of his palm, the steady rhythm of his pulse. He doesn't look at me. He's watching Haas, cataloging every micro-expression, every tell.
"We have the documents," the reporter presses. "They've been shared with every major outlet in the state. They show that you've been using Apex Broadcasting as a vehicle for a series of fraudulent transactions dating back three years. Can you comment?"
Haas's smile is gone now. His face is pale, his eyes darting around the room like he's looking for an exit. "This is clearly a coordinated attack. A smear campaign orchestrated by my enemies."
"Your enemies?" another voice calls out. "Or a convicted security chief you hired to dig up dirt on your rivals?"
The room erupts. Questions fly from every direction, shouted over each other, the cameras closing in on Haas like a swarm of locusts. He holds up his hands, tries to regain control, but it's too late. The tide has turned, and he's standing in the middle of it, drowning.
I watch him. I watch the man who tried to destroy me, who attacked my salons, who threatened my mother, who tried to tear apart my family. I watch him flounder, his words lost in the chaos, his carefully constructed lies crumbling around him.
And I feel something I haven't felt in weeks.
Peace.
Kash stands, his hand still holding mine, and gently pulls me to my feet. The cameras turn to us, the questions starting to shift, aimed at me now. But I don't answer them. I don't need to.
I look at Haas one last time. He's surrounded now, a wall of microphones and demanding voices. He's forgotten I exist. The man who came here to destroy me is now fighting to save himself.
I turn away. I walk out of the ballroom, Kash's hand warm in mine, the noise fading behind us. The corridor is quiet, empty, the morning light filtering through the windows in long golden bars.
"You did it," Kash says softly. "You didn't even have to say a word."
"I didn't do anything."
"You showed up. You stared him down. You let him dig his own grave while the evidence did the talking." He stops, turns to face me, and cups my face in his hands. "That's not nothing, Amber. That's everything."
I look at him, this man who believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. This man who fought a war to protect me, our children, our life together. And I feel the tears threatening to spill, but I hold them back. I want to remember this moment clearly. The morning light, his hands on my face, the sound of Haas's empire crumbling behind us.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now?" He presses his forehead to mine. "Now we go home. We hold our babies. We eat my mother's gumbo. And we wait for the dust to settle, knowing that Viktor Haas is finished."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure." He kisses me, soft and slow, and I sink into it, into him. "I've got the evidence. Evelyn flipped. Raymond's testimony. The audit. It's over, Amber. He's done."
Something in my chest unclenches. Something I didn't realize I'd been holding so tightly. The fear, the tension, the constant watchfulness. It all starts to loosen, to melt away under the warmth of his kiss.
"Take me home," I whisper against his lips.
"Gladly."
The drive back to the estate is different from the drive there. The silence isn't heavy; it's light, almost celebratory. The city slides past the windows, golden in the morning sun, and I let myself believe that this is real. That the war is actually over.
When we pull through the gates, Cynthia is waiting on the front steps, Sidnee in her arms, Sincere clutching his dump truck. She takes one look at my face and smiles, wide and knowing.
"Well," she says. "I'd say that went well."
"Grandma, Momma!" Sidnee reaches for me, and I take her, burying my face in her curly hair, breathing in the scent of baby soap and love.
"We won," I murmur into her scalp. "We won, baby girl."
"Bring candy?" Sidnee asks.
I laugh, the sound bright and surprised. "I forgot the candy. I'm sorry."
"Next time."
"Yes, next time."
Kash scoops Sincere up, the little boy's hand finding his collar, and we stand there on the steps, our family, our home, the morning light washing over us. For a moment, everything feels perfect. Everything feels possible.
Later, after the twins are down for their nap and Cynthia has insisted on making a celebratory lunch, I find myself standing in front of the mirror again. The navy suit is still on, but it feels different now. Lighter. I look at the woman in the glass, and she looks back at me with steady eyes.
"You did it," I tell her. "You actually did it."
Kash appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame, that lazy smile on his face. "Talking to yourself?"
"Just having a moment with my reflection."
"She's pretty." He pushes off the doorframe, crosses to me, and wraps his arms around my waist from behind. "And she's got great taste in husbands."
I laugh, letting my head fall back against his chest. "Is that so?"
"That's so." He presses a kiss to my shoulder, his lips warm through the fabric. "You know, Mrs. King, now that the war's over, I'm thinking we should celebrate."
"Oh? What did you have in mind?"
"Like I said. My mother's gumbo. The twins. A quiet evening at home." His hands slide down my hips, pulling me closer. "And maybe, after the kids are asleep, a private celebration. Just the two of us."
I turn in his arms, my hands finding his chest. "That sounds like a plan."
"Good." He kisses me, deep and slow, and I feel the warmth building, the anticipation already coiling low in my belly. "Because I've been thinking about you all day. About how you looked sitting in that front row, staring down Viktor Haas like he was nothing."
"I was thinking about you too." I slide my hands up his chest, around his neck. "About what I was going to do to you once it was over."
"Oh yeah?" His voice drops, rough and low. "Tell me."
"I was thinking about how I was going to take off this suit, piece by piece. How I was going to push you down on the bed and ride you until you forgot your own name."
His breath catches. "Amber."
"Shh." I press a finger to his lips. "We've got time. The babies are napping. Your mother's in the kitchen. We've got hours before anyone needs us." I step back, reaching for the zipper of my skirt. "Now, you going to watch, or are you going to help?"
His eyes darken. "Oh, I'm going to do a lot more than help."
I watch his eyes darken as my fingers work the zipper, the sound of it sliding down sharp in the quiet room. The skirt pools at my feet, and I step out of it, the silk of my slip catching the afternoon light.
"Help me with this," I say, turning my back to him.
His hands find the clasp of my bra, unhooking it with practiced ease, and I shrug the straps off my shoulders. The fabric slides down my arms, and I let it fall, turning to face him in nothing but my slip and the garter belt holding up my stockings.
Kash's gaze rakes over me, slow and hungry. "You're fucking gorgeous."
"I know." I reach for his tie, loosening the knot. "But I want to be naked in about thirty seconds, so speed it up."
He laughs, low and rough, and his hands are moving, shedding his jacket, his shirt, unbuckling his belt with an urgency that matches mine. The suit falls away, piece by piece, until he's standing in front of me in nothing but his boxers, his chest broad and warm, his cock already tenting the fabric.
I step into him, my hands flat on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. "I've been thinking about this all day."
"Me too." His hands find my hips, pulling me against him. "When you were sitting there, staring him down, I wanted to drag you out of that room and fuck you against the wall."
"Should have." I slide my hands down, hooking my fingers into the waistband of his boxers. "We could've made the news even more."
He growls, low in his throat, and lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed. He drops me onto the mattress, the cotton cool beneath me, and I reach for him, pulling him down on top of me.
His mouth finds mine, hard and demanding, and I open for him, tasting the coffee and victory on his tongue. His hands are everywhere, sliding up my thighs, under my slip, finding the wet heat between my legs.
"Fuck," he breathes against my lips. "You're so fucking wet."
"That's what you do to me." I arch into his touch, my head falling back. "Every time. Every goddamn time."
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.