Chapter 31 Thirty One
Kennedy’s phone rang just as he leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on nothing, mind still tangled in the quiet devastation Antonia had left behind.
The sharp sound sliced through the silence of his office, jolting him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen absently, then frowned.
Mother.
He hesitated.
For a brief second, he considered letting it ring out. He wasn’t in the right headspace for conversation—especially not with her. But the call kept ringing insistently, and guilt nudged him harder than avoidance ever could.
He answered.
“Hello, Mother.”
Her voice came through softer than usual, weighted with exhaustion. “Kennedy… I needed to tell you myself. We just got the news this morning.”
He straightened slightly. “What happened?”
There was a pause on the other end, the faint sound of a shaky breath being taken. “My co-manager,” she said carefully. “Matthew. He passed away last night.”
Kennedy’s brows knit together. “Passed away? But I thought you said he was responding to treatment.”
“So did we,” his mother replied quietly. “The sickness worsened suddenly. The doctors said his body just… gave up.”
He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Mother. Truly. That’s… that’s terrible.”
“Yes,” she said. “He was more than an employee. He was a friend.” Her voice cracked slightly before she steadied it again. “It’s been a long day.”
“I wish I could be there,” he said automatically.
“I know,” she replied. “You have responsibilities.”
There was a brief silence, then her tone shifted—gentler, probing, familiar in a way that made his chest tighten.
“And Antonia?” she asked suddenly. “How is she?”
The question landed unexpectedly, sharp and unwelcome.
Kennedy’s jaw clenched. “Why are you still asking about Antonia?” he said, more harshly than he intended. “I already told you, I called off the engagement.”
“Yes,” his mother said slowly. “You did. But—”
“But what?” he cut in.
“But I still find it hard to believe,” she said frankly. “Antonia cheating on you? Kennedy, I met that girl. I watched her. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who—”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. Too controlled. Too rehearsed.
There was a pause.
“Kennedy,” his mother said carefully, “are you sure you’re telling me everything?”
His fingers curled around the phone. The lie rose easily now—too easily.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “That’s the truth. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
Her sigh was long and heavy. “I just… she seemed like such a good lady.”
“She seemed,” he echoed, bitterness creeping into his tone. “That’s the key word. People are very good at pretending.”
His mother was quiet for a moment, then spoke again, reluctantly. “If that’s truly what happened, then I suppose it’s for the best that things ended.”
“They are,” Kennedy said quickly. “And it’s over between us. Completely.”
“Alright,” she said, though the word sounded anything but convinced. “I trust your judgment. You are my son.”
Guilt twisted sharply in his chest.
“Take care of yourself,” she added. “And please… don’t let this harden you too much.”
“I won’t,I promise,” he lied again.
They exchanged brief goodbyes before the call ended.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Kennedy lowered the phone slowly, letting it fall onto the desk with a dull thud. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, his chest tight, lungs heavy.
He hated himself in that moment.
He hated the lies he had just told about Antonia. He hated painting her as something she was not. He hated that he had stained her name so easily, just to protect a version of the truth that already felt like it was rotting inside him.
And worse…
He hated lying to his mother.
A woman who had trusted him all his life. Who had believed in his judgment, his integrity, his sense of right and wrong.
He exhaled slowly, regret pooling deep in his chest.
You didn’t deserve that, he thought, not for the first time.
His mother deserved honesty.
But honesty would unravel everything.
It would raise questions he wasn’t ready to answer. Decisions he wasn’t brave enough to make. Truths that would demand responsibility.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion weighing him down.
Antonia had been honest in every way that mattered. It was he who had drawn lines, crossed them, then pretended they didn’t exist. He who had called what they shared a mistake, then watched her quietly remove herself from his life without protest.
Now she was gone.
She had resigned.
She was leaving the city.
And he was left here—surrounded by lies, regret, and the unbearable weight of what he would never be able to undo.
Kennedy Walton closed his eyes, a bitter truth settling heavily in his heart. He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his hands clasped tightly together.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to no one.
To Antonia.
To his mother.
To himself.
But apologies didn’t change consequences.
And the truth—no matter how deeply buried—had a way of surfacing.
Sooner or later.