Chapter 118 One Hundred And Eighteen
Across town, Kennedy was unaware of the storm unfolding.
He stepped into his office building just as his assistant hurried toward him.
“Sir…”
He frowned. “What?”
She hesitated. “You might want to see this.”
She handed him her tablet.
His stomach dropped the second he saw the headline.
His jaw clenched as he scrolled through the images.
What the—?
The pictures were carefully selected.
Crookedly framed.
Suggestive.
It looked like something it wasn’t.
His expression darkened instantly.
He hadn’t touched her like that.
He hadn’t—
Realization hit him like a punch.
Sofia.
Of course.
He replayed the afternoon.
Her positioning.
Her slight pauses.
The way she had angled herself.
The subtle brush of her hand.
Calculated.
Every second.
He felt a surge of anger.
Not just at her.
At himself.
He had walked straight into it.
Kennedy stood frozen in his office for exactly three seconds after the realization hit him.
Then instinct took over.
Antonia.
His hand tightened around the tablet before he handed it back to his assistant.
“Cancel everything,” he said flatly.
“Sir, your eleven—”
“Cancel. Everything.”
She had never heard that tone from him before. She nodded quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
He was already walking.
By the time he reached the elevator, his phone was in his hand. He pulled up Antonia’s contact.
He hesitated.
If she hadn’t seen it yet, calling would confirm it.
If she had—
His jaw tightened.
He dialed anyway.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then voicemail.
He swallowed, and stepped into the underground parking lot.
The drive felt longer than usual.
Every red light was an obstacle.
Every slow-moving car in front of him an irritation.
His mind replayed the pictures over and over.
The angle of her body.
The deliberate positioning of her hand.
He should have known.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
If Antonia thought—
No.
He wouldn’t let this spiral.
When he finally pulled up in front of Antonia’s building, he didn’t wait. He stepped out and walked briskly toward the entrance, barely acknowledging the security guard who recognized him.
The elevator ride up felt suffocating.
When he reached her door, he knocked.
Once.
Twice.
He heard movement inside.
Then silence.
Then the sound of the lock turning.
The door opened slowly.
Antonia stood there.
And something in his chest cracked.
She looked composed.
Too composed.
Her face was calm.
Her eyes were not.
They were distant.
Guarded.
There was no warmth.
No relief at seeing him.
Just restraint.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
She didn’t move aside immediately.
“You shouldn’t be here unannounced,” she replied evenly.
The formality in her tone unsettled him more than anger would have.
“I needed to see you.”
“You’ve seen me.”
He inhaled slowly. “Can I come in?”
A long pause.
Then she stepped aside without speaking.
He entered, noticing instantly how different the space felt.
Colder.
Or maybe it was just her.
She closed the door carefully.
Not slammed.
Not emotional.
Controlled.
Their son was in the playpen near the couch, happily playing with soft blocks.
Kennedy’s heart softened at the sight.
He crouched instinctively.
“Hey, champ,” he murmured.
The baby squealed happily, reaching for him.
That simple reaction hurt more than he expected.
He lifted his son briefly, pressing a kiss to his hair, then placed him back gently.
When he stood, Antonia was watching him.
Arms crossed.
Distance measured.
“You saw it,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
The single word carried weight.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“That sentence is becoming popular lately.”
His brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” she replied calmly, “that I said the same thing about Austin.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Fair.
“Antonia, I think Sofia set that up.”
“Did she force you to sit with her?”
“No.”
“Did she force you to walk beside her?”
“No.”
“Did she force you to have lunch?”
He exhaled sharply. “That’s not the point.”
“It is the point,” she said, voice still controlled but firmer now. “You went.”
He stepped closer.
“She asked to talk.”
“And you went running.”
“I didn’t run.”
She laughed softly.
It wasn’t amused.
It was wounded.
“You accused me of still having unfinished business with Austin,” she continued. “You questioned me. You doubted me. And the next day you’re photographed looking intimate with your ex.”
“It wasn’t intimate.”
“It looks intimate.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
There it was again.
He couldn’t deny it.
Because that part was true.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Pressurized.
“I needed clarity,” he admitted.
“About what?”
“About us.”
She blinked slowly.
“You don’t seek clarity from your ex, Kennedy.”
He had no answer for that.
She uncrossed her arms finally, but not in surrender.
In finality.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly.
His chest tightened.
“About what?”
“About how unstable this feels.”
Her voice trembled slightly, but she held it together.
“One misunderstanding,” she continued, “and everything collapses.”
“It didn’t collapse.”
“It did.”
She gestured vaguely toward the air.
“Publicly.”
He stepped closer again.
“I’m here.”
“You’re here because you got caught in something embarrassing.”
That stung.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
Their eyes locked.
Pain meeting pride.
Fear meeting ego.
“I can’t do this,” she said suddenly.
His heart dropped.
“Do what?”
“This constant tension. The suspicion. The interference.”
“There’s no interference.”
She gave him a look.
He exhaled sharply.
“What are you saying?”
She drew in a slow breath.
“I’m saying… from now on, we need boundaries.”
His expression darkened slightly.
“Boundaries?”
“Yes.”
The word landed between them like a wall being built.
“What kind of boundaries?”
Her voice was steady now.
“We talk about our son.”
He went still.
“Only our son.”
A beat.
“Co-parenting. Schedules. School. Health. That’s it.”
He stared at her.
“And us?”
“There is no us.”
The words were soft.
But they cut.
“The only thing connecting us,” she continued quietly, “is him.”
She nodded toward the playpen.
“And that’s enough.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Hurt.
Deep.
But it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
He straightened slightly.
“So that’s it?”
“Yes.”
He studied her face carefully.
Trying to see if this was anger speaking.
If this was temporary.
If this was fear.
But what he saw instead was protection.
She was protecting herself.
From him.
From humiliation.
From disappointment.
“You’re doing this because of those pictures,” he said quietly.
“I’m doing this because I don’t want to feel stupid.”
He flinched internally.
“You’re not stupid.”
“I felt like it.”
Silence again.
He looked at his son.
Then back at her.
“You think I ran back to her.”
She didn’t respond.
Which was answer enough.
“I didn’t,” he said firmly.
“But you could,” she replied.
That truth hung in the air.
Potential.
Possibility.
Doubt.
And that was enough to damage everything.
He inhaled slowly.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Okay?” she repeated.
“If that’s what you need,” he said calmly. “We keep it about him.”
She searched his face.
Looking for resistance.
Anger.
He gave her none.
Because the heartbreak?
He buried it.
Deep.
“You agree?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
The word felt like swallowing glass.
She looked away.
“We obviously don't trust each other enough to be together,” she reminded him.
That hurt more than anything else.
He glanced at his son again.
Walked over.
Picked him up.
Held him close for a moment longer than usual.
When he placed him back down, his movements were careful.
Measured.
He walked toward the door.
Paused.
Without turning, he said softly,
“I’ll text you about the pediatric appointment next week.”
Professional.
Neutral.
Exactly what she asked for.
“Okay,” she replied.
He opened the door.
Stepped out.
And only when it closed behind him did he allow his composure to slip.