Chapter 23 — No Apologies
Vivienne's penthouse overlooked the Hudson, all glass and polished marble—cold beauty, calculated elegance. It suited her.
Kade stood at the entrance, hands in his coat pockets, jaw locked so tightly it ached. He hadn't been here since the night everything fractured—since the party, the lies, the way she'd looked at him like he was the problem.
The door opened before he could knock.
"You're late," Vivienne said coolly, already turning away. "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."
"I didn't come to talk about us," Kade replied, stepping inside. "So don't flatter yourself."
She paused mid-step, then smiled faintly. "Still dramatic. I always liked that about you."
The door shut behind him with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.
Vivienne crossed to the bar and poured herself a drink. She didn't offer him one.
"Say what you came to say," she said. "I have plans."
Kade watched her—perfect posture, flawless makeup, not a crack in the armor. He remembered once thinking that strength looked like that.
Now he knew better.
"You blamed me," he said flatly. "For your infidelity. For humiliating me. For lying to my face."
She took a slow sip, eyes never leaving him. "I didn't lie."
He let out a sharp laugh. "You were kissing another man."
"And?" she countered. "You were emotionally unavailable. Distant. Cold. Should I applaud your loyalty while you disappear for weeks at a time?"
"You cheated," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Then you tried to twist it into my fault."
Vivienne shrugged. "If you hadn't embarrassed me first, it wouldn't have happened."
Something snapped.
"You have no idea what embarrassment is," Kade said, stepping closer. "You have no idea what it means to be loyal when it costs you something."
Her smile hardened. "Oh, don't moralize now. You're not some wounded saint. You replaced me with your little nanny."
That did it.
He stopped dead, eyes turning glacial. "You will not speak about Kiera."
Vivienne laughed softly. "Why? Afraid I'll say the truth?"
"The truth?" His voice trembled with restrained fury. "The truth is you saw someone vulnerable and decided she was a threat. The truth is you bullied her, demeaned her, and enjoyed it."
Her eyes flashed. "She knew her place."
"No," he said sharply. "You wanted her to."
Vivienne set her glass down with deliberate care. "You've always liked broken things, Kade. They make you feel powerful."
He stared at her, stunned—not by the cruelty, but by how easily it came.
"You have no remorse," he said quietly.
She tilted her head. "For what? Wanting a man who actually shows up? For refusing to beg for scraps of attention?"
"You hurt people," he said. "And you don't care."
Her lips curved. "I care about myself. Someone has to."
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
"You know what disgusts me the most?" Kade said finally. "It's not the cheating. It's this—this emptiness. This complete lack of accountability."
Vivienne's eyes hardened. "Accountability is for people who lose."
Kade exhaled slowly, as if releasing something he'd carried for years.
"This is why I'm done," he said. "Not because you betrayed me—but because you'd do it again without blinking."
She crossed her arms. "You think that girl will save you? She's damaged. Fragile. She'll break, and when she does, she'll drag you down with her."
His gaze burned. "You don't get to define strength."
"Oh, please," Vivienne scoffed. "She's weak."
"No," he said firmly. "She survived. And you wouldn't last a day carrying what she has."
That struck something.
Her smile faltered—just for a second.
Then it returned, sharper. "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe," he said. "But it's mine."
He turned to leave.
"Kade," she called after him. "When she ruins you, don't come crawling back."
He stopped at the door but didn't turn around.
"She won't ruin me," he said. "But you almost did."
The door closed behind him, final and absolute.
The drive back felt longer than usual.
Not because of traffic—but because of clarity.
When he reached the penthouse, the lights were low. Quiet. Safe.
Kiera sat on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, a blanket around her shoulders. She looked up when he entered, worry flickering across her face.
"You're back early," she said softly.
He crossed the room in three long strides.
"It's over," he said. "Completely."
Her breath caught. "How did it go?"
He sat across from her, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "She didn't apologize. She didn't even pretend to understand."
Kiera nodded slowly. "That hurts."
"Yes," he admitted. "But it also… freed something."
She studied him. "You stood up to her."
"I did," he said. "And I meant every word."
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Did she say anything about me?"
He didn't want to lie—but he wouldn't repeat cruelty either.
"She tried," he said. "And she failed."
Kiera swallowed. "I'm glad you confronted her."
"So am I," he replied. "I needed to close that door."
A pause.
Then he added, "I won't let anyone hurt you again. Not her. Not anyone."
Her eyes softened—but she shook her head gently. "I don't need a shield, Kade. I just need a partner."
He held her gaze. "Then that's what I'll be."
Slowly, she stood and crossed the space between them, sitting beside him. This time, she took his hand.
He didn't pull away.
Outside, the past finally loosened its grip.
Vivienne was gone.
And with her went the illusion that love could survive without compassion.
What remained was fragile.
But real.
And Kade Nightwell was done choosing comfort over truth.