81
Kingsley stirred, groaning softly as his eyes fluttered open. His mouth was dry, head was pounding like drums were being played inside his skull. He blinked against the afternoon light leaking through the sheer curtains.
Afternoon?
He sat up slowly, squinting at the digital clock on the nightstand. 1:03 PM.
“What the…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I slept through the whole morning?”
He looked around and froze. This wasn’t the guest room he’d been using since returning from the retreat. It was his master bedroom—the one he shared with Beth. The scent in the room was different too… perfume, strong and floral. The silk bedsheets were slightly rumpled beside him.
He stared at them, heartbeat rising.
“What the hell?” he muttered, reaching for his phone.
The screen lit up with a flood of notifications: dozens of missed calls and texts. Several from work asked why he’d missed his morning meetings. But what hit him hardest—twelve missed calls from Devon.
His best friend.
His heart began to thud harder in his chest.
He tapped to call Devon back.
It rang only once.
“Kingsley, what the hell, man?” Devon’s voice exploded through the phone. “I’ve been calling you all morning! What’s going on?”
“—I’m sorry, bro,” Kingsley said, his voice still groggy. He dragged a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t know, man. I passed out. I’ve never slept like this before. I just woke up now.”
Devon went silent for a beat.
Then, flatly: “What do you mean you don’t know what’s going on?”
“I mean I woke up in the master bedroom, and I have no idea how I got there. I was drinking a little at the bar last night but—”
“Drinking a little?” Devon cut in, furious. “Do you know what your wife posted last night? What excuse are you going to give this time, huh? Because that ‘drinking’ sure looks a lot like you two were having a damn honeymoon!”
Kingsley sat up straighter, completely rattled now. “Wait, what? What the hell are you talking about? What post?”
“You’re telling me you haven’t seen the photos? She posted you both—in bed, holding her, looking like you two just finished making love. You don’t know anything about that?”
“I—what? No. What?!” Kingsley stood up now, pacing toward the window with a sick twist in his gut. “Devon, I’m telling you the truth. I have no idea what you’re saying.”
Devon’s breath was hard and short through the line. “Go check her Instagram page. Now.”
The call ended with a sharp click.
Kingsley swallowed hard, opened the app, and typed in BethRoweOfficial.
The page loaded. There it was.
Two photos.
One with her curled up on top of him, her hand over his face like she was cradling his cheek mid-kiss.
Another with him lying flat, his hand resting on her lower back, her lips in a smug smirk as if she’d claimed a trophy.
The captions: Finally home. #HealingTogether #ForeverStartsHere 💍
He stared in disbelief. He zoomed in on his face.
Eyes closed. Jaw slack. Arms unmoving.
“No, no, no…” Kingsley’s breath caught. “I wasn’t even awake… when did this—”
He immediately redialed Devon.
It rang twice before Devon answered. “Well?”
“Bro, I swear to God,” Kingsley said quickly, panicked, “I did not take that photo with her. I was out cold, man—I don’t even remember getting into that bed. I passed out in the bar. I only woke up a few minutes ago. She must’ve—she must’ve staged this!”
Devon didn’t answer right away.
“Kingsley,” he finally said, voice low, “you were holding her. Your hand was on her. In the picture. Either you’re lying or something seriously weird happened.”
“I don’t know, man!” Kingsley ran a hand through his hair again, pacing furiously now. “I need to figure this out. This has to be some twisted setup. She must have drugged me or something—I never sleep like that!”
Devon sighed. “Well, whatever it is, you'd better fix it fast. Because Katherine is done. She blocked your number, blocked you on socials—everything.”
Kingsley froze. “What?”
“You heard me. Carolina called me this morning. Katherine saw the pictures. She told Carolina she was done for good. She said she’s tired of the drama, tired of you, and tired of everything. I tried to calm Carolina down, but… Katherine meant it, man.”
“No… no, no.” Kingsley sat on the edge of the bed, his world spinning. “I need to fix this. I—I need to talk to her.”
“Then figure it out, Kingsley,” Devon said coldly. “Figure it out before it’s too late.”
And then the line went dead again.
Kingsley sat in silence, holding the phone to his ear long after the call had ended, his pulse thudding in his ears.
He dropped his phone and picked it up again, went to contacts and scrolled to Katherine's name, and tapped it, it rang and stopped almost immediately.
Kingsley’s fingers trembled as he tapped Katherine’s number again. The line didn’t even ring this time—it went straight to voicemail.
“Come on, come on…” he muttered, redialing.
Same result.
Again.
And again.
Until the truth slammed into him like a freight train.
He was blocked.
His breath caught. “No… No, no—Katherine…”
He stared at the screen, his heart hammering in his chest, a ringing building in his ears. His thumb hovered over her contact photo—her smile, those warm eyes—but now it might as well have been a ghost.
He stood abruptly, stumbling out of the room barefoot, the phone still clutched tightly in his hand. He stormed into the hallway and veered toward the lounge, rage, and panic twisting in his chest.
He stopped near the bar and shouted, his voice echoing across the wide corridor.
“Collins!”
Footsteps came quickly. “Yes, sir?” the butler replied, hurrying in from the side.
“Where is Thomas? The guy who served me last night. At the bar.”
“I believe he’s in the east quarters, sir. Should I fetch him?”
“Yes. Right now.”
“Of course, sir.” Collins turned swiftly and disappeared through the corridor.
Kingsley gritted his teeth and paced in front of the bar counter, fingers running through his hair. The polished marble top gleamed under the daylight, untouched since the night before.
He stared at it like it might confess something.
Within moments, Collins returned with a younger man trailing behind—Thomas, the soft-spoken, dark-eyed servant with nervous energy in every step.
“You called me, sir?” Thomas asked, standing stiffly at attention.
Kingsley turned slowly to face him.
“I need to ask you something,” he said, voice low but dangerous. “What the hell did you put in my drink last night?”
Thomas blinked, visibly startled. “Sir?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Kingsley snapped. “I drink almost every night, Thomas. You’ve served me a dozen times. But last night—last night I had three glasses and I was completely out. Dead asleep until the afternoon. In my master bedroom.”
Thomas swallowed hard. “Sir, I—I didn’t put anything in your drink. I—I dare not. I only gave you the usual.”
“Then what happened?” Kingsley stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “Why did I black out like that? Why didn’t I wake up? Why the hell did I end up in the same bed as Beth?”
Thomas looked down, shifting awkwardly. “I… I don’t know, sir. After the third glass, you looked dizzy and just said you were going upstairs. That’s all I remember. I didn’t see anything else. I swear it.”
“Did Beth come near the drink? Did she touch anything on the bar after I left?”
Thomas shook his head quickly. “No, sir. Not while I was there. I—I cleaned up and left shortly after.”
Kingsley stared at him long and hard, studying every twitch, every flicker of the man’s eyes. If he was lying, he was doing it very well.
And still…
Something wasn’t right. Something felt off.
He turned away abruptly, walking back toward the hallway without another word. Thomas remained frozen, unsure whether he was dismissed or condemned.
Kingsley didn’t care.
He entered the hallway, stormed toward the stairs, then stopped halfway—leaning on the polished bannister, gripping the wood until his knuckles turned white.
His mind was spinning.
A fake photo. A dead sleep. Being carried into the bed. His hand was placed on Beth’s back.
It didn’t make sense.
But one thing did: Beth had orchestrated this.
She wanted Katherine gone. And now… maybe she was.
His voice trembled as he whispered to himself:
“What did you do to me, Beth?”
Then he took his phone and dialed Beth's number.
The dial tone buzzed in Kingsley’s ear—once, twice… then voicemail.
He hung up.
Called again.
Voicemail.
Again.
On the third ring, she picked up.
“Kingsley,” Beth said casually, her voice echoing with retail hustle in the background. “I’m working. I’m at the boutique. Can we talk later?”
“Where are you?” he snapped.
“I just said I’m in the boutique. I stepped out to check on a shipment. I’ll be back in like thirty minutes. Can we not do this now?”
“Beth—”
“I’m busy, okay? We’ll talk later.”
She ended the call.
Kingsley stared at his screen, fury and disbelief boiling through him. His pulse pounded in his neck. She drugged me. Posted a picture without my knowledge. She’s walking around like this is normal?
He stormed toward his closet, yanked on a shirt, grabbed his keys, and headed straight to the boutique.
It was a high-end space that practically gleamed with wealth. Glass-paneled walls, soft lighting, subtle floral scents. Every assistant inside wore designer black and greeted him with a familiar mix of deference and awe.
“Mr. Rowe! Good afternoon.”
“Good to see you again, sir.”
A few even smiled with admiration, whispering among themselves.
Kingsley ignored it all.
“Where’s Beth?” he asked one of the sales assistants.
“She just stepped out to confirm the delivery at the warehouse next block, sir. But she’ll be back shortly.”
Kingsley gave a curt nod. “I’ll wait in her office.”
They didn’t question him.
He walked briskly to the back, past racks of high-end garments and soft jazz playing on the speakers, and entered the private office Beth used—immaculate, pink-gold decor, velvet couch, glass desk.
And there, on the desk, an envelope.
It wasn’t marked. But something about it called to him.
He picked it up. Slid his finger beneath the flap. Pulled out the contents.
His heart sank.
A printed photo—Katherine, smiling, standing in front of her café.
Then documents.
Receipts. Phone logs. Timelines.
A private investigator’s report.
Beth had investigated Katherine.
Beth had known everything.
He read on in stunned silence—A report of them meeting in the retreat camp. Even times they called.
Kingsley slowly placed the papers down, his hands shaking.
She knew. She planned this. She drugged me and staged that photo.
He couldn’t breathe.
“What are you doing here?”
The voice was sharp. Cold.
Kingsley turned slowly to find Beth standing at the doorway, arms folded, sunglasses still on, and a garment bag in one hand.
“Looking for more lies to add to your script?” she added flatly.
Kingsley’s voice was like gravel. “What is the meaning of this, Beth? What did you do?”
Beth stepped inside, her face unreadable. “I did what I had to do.”
“You drugged me,” he said, voice rising. “You took pictures of me unconscious. Posted it. Made it look like I—like we were together. You knew I didn’t want this. You knew I was trying to fix things with Katherine. And you went behind my back, hired a PI, and then used this—” he held up the photo—“to destroy whatever I had left with her.”
Beth closed the door behind her. “So, you found out,” she said coolly. “And this is all you have to say? After everything you’ve done?”
“I never lied to you, Beth. You knew what we had was broken. You knew I was trying to get out. But you couldn’t stand the idea of me loving someone else. So you drugged me, posed me like a puppet, and ruined the only chance I had at fixing this.”
Beth crossed her arms, her voice tightening. “You ruined it the moment you crawled back to her. After everything we’ve been through after I stood by you—”
“There was no standing by me. You stood over me. Controlled me. Manipulated me.”
Beth stepped closer. “And what did she ever do for you that I didn’t? Hm? Do you want to crawl back to her now that I posted one picture? You want to run to Brooklyn like a desperate schoolboy?”
Kingsley held her gaze, his tone cutting like a blade. “Yes.”
She blinked.
“I’m going to Brooklyn today,” he said. “I don’t care what it takes. I will beg her. Apologize until she hears me. Until she knows what really happened.”
Beth’s face darkened.
“And once she agrees to hear me… I’m coming back here.”
“For what?” she spat.
“To hand you the divorce papers.”
The room went cold.
Beth’s mouth opened—but no words came.
Kingsley stepped past her, toward the door.
“You’ve won your last battle, Beth,” he said without looking back. “But you’ve lost the war.”
He left her standing there, her perfectly tailored heels planted on a marble floor that suddenly didn’t feel so solid anymore.