16
The next morning came with sunlight streaming through the penthouse windows, but Kingsley didn’t feel its warmth.
He sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed in the navy blue suit Beth had picked out. His hands were clasped loosely between his knees, head bowed slightly. Beth, in a sleek white dress and heels that clicked against the floor with every step, was checking her reflection for the third time.
“They’ll probably bring you in toward the end,” Kingsley said softly, glancing over. “Talk to you a bit about us, how we make it work, all that.”
Beth gave a small shrug. “Of course. I already prepared my answers. Nothing to worry about.”
He nodded slowly, hesitating. Then he said, “I don’t know… I just feel kind of off. Like I’m not ready. I know how these interviews go, but this one’s different. Forbes doesn’t just scratch the surface.”
Beth raised an eyebrow, turning to him. “Wait. Are you nervous?”
He managed a quiet laugh, trying to play it off. “Maybe a little.”
Her expression twisted slightly into amusement. “Wow. I didn’t think someone like you could be so weak.”
Kingsley froze.
He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing for a moment, just standing there, the weight of her laughter clinging to the corners of the room like dust.
And then, like muscle memory, his mind drifted, uninvited but welcome, to Katherine.
It had been years ago. He was sitting on the worn-down couch in her tiny apartment, hands trembling slightly after getting news that a major deal might collapse. He’d tried to hide it, but she noticed. She always noticed.
“I just…” he’d said, trying not to sound pathetic, “I don’t think I can handle another hit. Not this week.”
Katherine had looked up from the book she was reading, her bare feet tucked under her. She didn’t mock him. She didn’t laugh.
Instead, she slid closer, resting her hand on his.
“You don’t have to be made of steel all the time, Kingsley,” she had whispered. “Even the strongest people bend when the wind’s too much. But you,” she smiled, touching his cheek, “you always find your way back. That’s your strength.”
He hadn’t known it then, but those were the words he’d carry for the rest of his life.
Now, standing in a designer suit in his mansion he barely called home, with a woman who didn’t see past his surface, Kingsley wondered if that heart had betrayed him.
Because when he opened up to Beth, not as a billionaire, not as the Rowe heir, but just as a man, she made him feel like he should’ve kept quiet.
She laughed lightly, clearly thinking it was just a joke. “Come on, babe. You’re the Kingsley Rowe. You walk into boardrooms like you own the world, and now you’re scared of a few questions?”
He didn’t respond.
Inside, something cracked.
I shared my heart, and she crushed it like it was nothing.
Beth had already turned back to the mirror, adjusting a strand of hair. “Anyway, just fake it like you always do. You’ll be fine.”
Kingsley stood, straightened his cuffs, and forced himself to breathe.
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Fine.”
They rode to the interview in silence, the city flashing past the windows. Kingsley watched the streets, the people, the life outside this polished car, wishing, for just a second, he were anyone else.
The next morning, the sun rose too brightly for how heavy Kingsley’s chest felt. The air was warm, the sky too blue, like the world had no idea how far apart two people could feel, even while sharing the same bed.
Beth was in the dressing room, talking loudly on the phone with her stylist. Kingsley sat alone in the breakfast nook, untouched coffee in front of him, scrolling through a calendar filled with meetings, appearances, expectations.
Everything looked perfect on the outside. But on the inside, he was tired.
When Beth finally joined him at the table, still looking flawless in silk and diamonds, he took a breath.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
Beth looked up, distracted. “About what?”
“There are just… so many things you do lately that I don’t like anymore, Beth,” he said, not looking at her. “And whenever I try to talk about them, it ends up in a fight. You either mock me, get defensive, or shut down. So I’ve been thinking… maybe we should see a marriage counselor.”
Beth, who had been lounging on the couch scrolling through her phone, suddenly sat up.
“A marriage counselor?” she repeated, frowning. “Wait, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want us to fix things. But talking just the two of us clearly isn’t working.”
Beth blinked, then scoffed. “Kingsley, are you serious right now? Do you even understand what you’re suggesting? What if someone finds out? What if the press gets wind of this? Do you know what that would do to my image?”
His brow furrowed. “Your image?”
“Yes!” she said. “We’re the couple people admire. We can’t just walk into a therapy office. You know how fast gossip spreads, one photo, one leak, and it’s all over the media. ‘Beth and Kingsley in crisis.’ Do you want that? Imagine the headlines, ‘Golden couple in counseling!’ Everyone will start digging, twisting it, making it worse than it is.”
He stared at her, stunned. “So that’s what you’re worried about? Not us. Not our marriage. But what people will think?”
Beth stood too, crossing her arms to mirror him. “Don’t twist my words. Of course I care about us. But we don’t need therapy. We just need to stop overreacting and—”
“No,” Kingsley cut in, voice rising. “You need to stop pretending everything is perfect just because the outside world thinks it is. I came to you with honesty. Vulnerability. And all you cared about was your reputation.”
Beth opened her mouth to respond, but he raised his hand.
“Save it,” he said tightly. “I won’t talk to a wall anymore. If protecting your image means more than protecting your marriage, then maybe we’ve already lost.”
He turned and walked out, leaving Beth frozen, caught between confusion, anger, and the slow realization that she might actually be losing him.
Kingsley entered his car and drove with the windows down, letting the wind slap against his face, hoping it would blow away the bitterness that clung to his chest. But it didn’t. By the time he reached the penthouse, his parents’ private residence in the city, his jaw was tight, and his thoughts were louder than ever.
He took the elevator straight up. No calls. No heads-up. He just needed to breathe.
When the doors slid open, his mother was already pouring tea in the living room, her silk robe flowing like she’d been expecting him. His father sat nearby, newspaper in hand, glasses perched on the edge of his nose.
“Kingsley,” his mother said with a soft smile. “To what do we owe the visit?”
He didn’t sit. He stayed standing, fists clenched at his sides.
“I want a divorce,” he said plainly.
His mother blinked. The smile didn’t fall, but it didn’t quite stay either.
“I’m done,” he added. “This… marriage is draining me. I don’t recognize myself anymore.”
His father folded the newspaper slowly, placed it on the table, and stood up. The silence that followed felt sharp.
“You’re not divorcing Beth,” his father said. Not a question. A command.
Kingsley met his eyes. “I’m not asking for permission.”
“You should be,” his father snapped. “Because this isn’t just about you. This is about legacy. Power. Alliance. The Rowes and the Whitmores are the strongest combined families in the business world right now. You think we’re going to throw that away because you’re having a little emotional episode?”
Kingsley’s jaw clenched. “It’s not an episode. I’m unhappy.”
“Then fix it in private,” his mother said gently, setting down her teacup. “But don’t embarrass this family with talks of separation. The world doesn’t need to know about your temporary struggles.”
“Temporary?” Kingsley laughed bitterly. “You think this is just a phase? She doesn’t see me. She doesn’t hear me. She mocks the things that matter to me.”
“And yet you married her,” his father said coldly. “You made that choice. And choices come with consequences. You’re a Rowe, Kingsley. You don’t get to just walk away when things get hard.”
Kingsley’s voice dropped. “I married her because I loved her. But love isn’t enough when it’s only one-sided.”
His mother stood now too, placing a hand on his arm. “Then make her love you again. You’re not weak. You’re a leader. Fix your home.”
He pulled away.
“This isn’t a company,” he muttered. “It’s my life.”
He turned to leave, but his father’s voice stopped him cold.
“You walk out on that marriage, Kingsley, and don’t expect this family to back you up. Not publicly. Not privately. You’ll be on your own.”
Kingsley didn’t answer. He walked out, the echo of his father’s threat following him into the elevator.
He was a man drowning in luxury, surrounded by power, and completely alone.