Chapter 15 SECRETS REVEALED

Chapter 15 SECRETS REVEALED
I glide through the magnificent indoor pool, the cool water a brief, necessary escape from the tension of the mansion. I push off the side, floating on my back, watching the glass ceiling as the morning sun attempts to break through the clouds. I am heavy now, but the water makes me feel weightless.
I watch him standing at the edge. Killian is fully dressed in a crisp white shirt, staring down at me. His usual intensity is softened by something I can’t quite name.
"It's good for the baby," I call out, pushing off the side.
He doesn't smile, but his eyes soften. "It suits you," he says, his voice quiet. He must be thinking about last night, about the threats he’s trying to manage. I can see the calculating storm behind his eyes, but it’s mixed with a genuine warmth I haven't seen before. He worries about me.
"What are you thinking so hard about?" I ask, splashing him playfully with my foot.
He shakes his head, walking to the edge. "Nothing that matters more than you right now. I told you I have a date planned. Get out of there."
I pull myself up to the edge, my bump making the movement clumsy. He grabs a massive, fluffy towel and wraps me in it, his hands lingering on my shoulders. The warmth of the towel can’t compete with the heat of his touch.
"I feel like I'm dreaming," I admit, blushing.
"This is real," he says, his grip tightening gently. "Go dress. Something... elegant, yet comfortable. We leave in an hour. And Annabella, listen to me: I’ve increased security. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will touch you today. I promise."
"I believe you," I say, and realize with a shocking clarity that I genuinely do.
I choose a simple, deep blue silk dress. He’s not the monster I thought he was. That moment last night, when he knelt before me, worshipping the life I carry, it changed everything. He’s protective, demanding, yes, but also attentive, and now, I know he is capable of a fierce, all-consuming love. Killian Astor, the terrifying CEO, is actually... charming. Everything I need.
I finish dressing and go to find him. I check the dining room, then the library, and finally, I stand before the huge oak door of his private office. I knock lightly, then push it open.
"Killian? We should leave soon," I call out.
No response. I step inside. The room smells of expensive leather and ambition. My eyes land on the desk, drawn by two photos lying face up: one of me, and one of my father, smiling in his construction gear. Beside them, a thick manila folder titled: "E. Evans Homicide Investigation - Killian Astor Sr. Involvement."
The world tilts. Homicide? Killian’s father? My father's death was always ruled an accident, a faulty crane at the construction site. I walk to the desk, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I grab the file.
I start skimming. Dates, witness reports, offshore transactions. My eyes land on a paragraph that steals my breath. The reports claim my father discovered an elaborate embezzlement scheme involving Killian's father, Elias Astor, and was silenced. Silenced. Not an accident. He was murdered.
A choked sound escapes my throat. Killian’s father. The blood is pounding so hard in my ears, I barely hear the door open behind me.
"Annabella? What are you doing in—"
I turn, the file clutched to my chest, tears streaming down my face. My voice is a raw, desperate scream. "Killian! Explain this! What is this? Why is my father’s death, a 'homicide', on your desk? Why does it say your father was the target of the investigation?"
He rushes toward me, his face pale with alarm. "Stop! You shouldn’t be looking at that, Annabella! Give me the file!"
"Don't touch me!" I shout, backing away violently. "Did you know? All this time, did you know your family killed my father?"
"It's not that simple! It’s history, Annabella, old history! My father is dead—"
"My father is dead too!" I scream, tears blinding me. "Because of yours! Is this why you hired me? To keep me close? To manage the scandal if I ever found out?"
"No! I—" He tries to plead, reaching for my arm, his movement frantic.
"Tell me the truth, Killian! Everything! Did your father murder mine?"
He recoils, his eyes desperate, his hands held up in surrender. "I didn't! I've been trying to prove it wasn't him! I've been running my own investigation to clear my family's name, or find the truth, whichever it is!"
"A likely story! The son of the murderer is going to solve the crime? Get out of my way!"
"Listen to me!" he insists, his tone hardening with panic. "If you leave now, you put yourself in danger! The people who want me dead know about the baby, Annabella! You need my protection!"
"I need protection from your family!"
His patience snaps, and in his blind panic, he says the unforgivable line, the words of the cold CEO, not the loving man: "You're hysterical! Now act like the mother of an Astor heir and calm down!"
The insult hits me like a physical blow. Hysterical. Act like. I freeze, stunned into silence. The love, the charm, the protection, it vanishes, replaced by the crushing weight of his control and his lies.
I drop the file. I don't wait. I run.
"Annabella! Stop!" I hear his desperate roar behind me as I sprint out of the office, down the main hall, toward the front doors.
The skies open up outside, a sudden, torrential downpour. I don't care. I push open the massive front doors and run onto the circular drive. The rain instantly soaks my elegant blue dress, matting my hair.
"Annabella! Get back here!"
I look wildly around the grounds. The driveway is usually swarming with black SUVs and sharp-eyed men, but right now, there is nothing. The driveway is empty, washed clean by the rain. Where are the guards? The strange absence is alarming, but I can't stop. I reach the main iron gates. They are slightly ajar.
I slip through, onto the main road. I hear Killian screaming my name, the sound muffled by the rain, desperate and fading. I’m about to cross the wide, four-lane street, needing only to escape him, escape his world, escape the Astor name.
Before I can take the first step off the curb, a hand, strong and smelling faintly of chemicals, clamps over my mouth. An arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off my feet. I thrash wildly, kicking and screaming against the gagging hand, but I'm heavy with the baby, unbalanced, and my attacker is silent, relentless. My struggle is useless. The world spins, and the last thing I hear before everything goes black is the distant, frantic sound of Killian's voice tearing through the rain.