Chapter 99 Ninety Nine
Anger roared through Kennedy now, years of suppressed grief morphing into something raw and violent.
He swept her jewelry boxes off the shelf. They hit the ground with dull thuds, spilling necklaces and bracelets across the carpet.
“You made me a fool.”
His voice cracked.
He sank to his knees amid the chaos.
Cloth. Glass. Metal. Memories.
For years, he had carried her like a saint in his heart.
Untouchable.
Irreplaceable.
He had compared every woman to her memory.
Measured Antonia against a ghost.
And the ghost had been flawed.
Human.
Deceptive.
He sat there, breathing hard.
And then something unexpected happened.
The grief loosened.
Just slightly.
He looked around at the destruction.
The shrine was gone.
In its place was a mess.
Real.
Imperfect.
Honest.
He picked up the broken photograph frame.
The glass had splintered across Ruth’s face.
He studied it for a long moment.
“I’m done,” he said quietly.
Not in rage.
But in resolution.
“I’m done carrying you.”
He placed the damaged photo gently on the nightstand.
Not lovingly.
Not reverently.
Just… neutrally.
He stood and walked to the window, pulling the curtains open.
The city lights stretched endlessly outside.
Alive.
Moving forward.
Not stuck in the past.
He inhaled deeply.
He had loved Ruth.
That was true.
But he had loved a version of her that hadn’t fully existed.
And he had punished himself, and others,for that illusion.
Including Antonia.
He closed his eyes briefly.
His son’s tiny fingers curled around his own.
That was real.
That was now.
He turned back to the room, surveying the wreckage.
It looked like a storm had passed through.
Maybe it had.
He walked back to the closet and began pulling out the remaining clothes, not violently this time, but decisively.
They would be donated.
Sold.
Removed.
He would not keep a mausoleum in his bedroom any longer.
By the time he finished, the closet stood nearly empty.
Bare hangers swayed slightly from where he had missed a few.
The space looked strange.
But lighter.
He walked to the bed and sat down again.
The house was still quiet.
But it felt different now.
Less haunted.
He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling once more.
Sleep still didn’t come immediately.
But the weight pressing on his chest had shifted.
He wasn’t over betrayal.
He wasn’t over Antonia.
He wasn’t over the uncertainty of fatherhood.
But he was over pretending that the past was perfect.
And for the first time in years, Ruth’s memory no longer towered between him and the future.
The ghost had been dismantled.
What remained—
Was entirely his to face.
\---
Morning came without softness.
Kennedy had slept eventually—but not deeply. His rest had been thin, scattered, interrupted by flashes of memory and the echo of breaking glass. When his alarm rang at six, he was already awake, staring at the ceiling.
For a moment, he forgot.
Then he turned his head.
The closet.
Empty.
The sight grounded him.
No dresses.
No shoes aligned with reverence.
No preserved perfume bottles like sacred relics.
Just space.
He exhaled slowly and sat up.
He showered, dressed in a charcoal suit, and went downstairs. His staff moved quietly, sensing something had shifted, though no one dared ask.
He drank his coffee standing by the kitchen island, scrolling through emails on his tablet. Contracts. Proposals. A message from his legal team requesting clarification on a trust structure he had set up years ago—for Ruth.
He deleted it.
There would be changes.
Everything was being restructured.
A sharp knock echoed through the house.
He frowned.
No one visited unannounced.
He wasn’t expecting anyone.
He walked toward the door himself instead of signaling for the housekeeper.
When he opened it—
Sofia stood there.
For a split second, surprise flickered across his face.
She wore a simple cream blouse and fitted jeans, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes were rimmed slightly red, as though she hadn’t slept well either.
“Kennedy,” she said softly.
His expression hardened almost immediately.
“Sofia.”
He stepped partially into the doorway, blocking the entrance without making it obvious.
“What are you doing here?” he asked evenly.
She swallowed. “I needed to see you.”
“You could have called.”
“I didn’t think you would answer.”
A beat of silence passed between them.
He studied her face carefully. Not with longing. Not with affection.
With caution.
“You shouldn’t have come unannounced,” he said.
Her jaw tightened slightly. “I know. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
The words lingered in the morning air.
He didn’t respond.
She took that as permission to continue.
“I know things ended badly. I know you were hurt. But I can’t just walk away like none of it mattered.”
He glanced behind him briefly, then back at her.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
She stepped forward instinctively, but he didn’t move aside.
“Kennedy,” she said more urgently now, “we were building something. You don’t throw that away because of one mistake.”
He held her gaze steadily.
“It wasn’t one mistake.”
She flinched.
“You think I don’t regret it?” she asked, emotion rising in her voice. “You think I don’t hate that part of my past?”
“I don’t know what you feel,” he replied calmly. “And that’s precisely the problem.”
She exhaled sharply. “You’re punishing me.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “You’re projecting your anger at Ruth onto me.”
The name hung heavily between them.
For the first time since she arrived, something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Not quite.
Recognition.
“I dismantled that anger last night,” he said quietly.
She frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m done carrying ghosts.”
Her breath hitched at the finality in his tone.
“Then why are you pushing me away?”
He looked at her fully now.
Because this required clarity.
“Because I’m not interested in a romantic relationship.”
The words were steady.
Measured.
Definitive.
Her face fell.
“Not with me?” she asked.
“Not with anyone.”
She blinked, as if recalibrating.
“You can't be serious,” she whispered.
“It’s necessary.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”