Chapter 29 — When Silence Speaks
The backlash came quietly.
No screaming headlines. No paparazzi camping outside the building. Just subtle shifts—glances held too long, conversations that stopped when Kade entered a room, invitations that never came.
The kind of judgment that lived between lines.
Kiera felt it first at school.
She sat in the back row of her afternoon class, notebook open, pen moving steadily as the professor spoke about ethics and power dynamics. The irony wasn't lost on her.
A whisper floated from two seats ahead.
"Isn't she the one from that article?"
Kiera's hand paused for half a second—then continued writing.
You don't have to respond to every noise, Dr. Hensley had said. Some silence is strength.
After class, a girl she'd spoken to a few times lingered by the door.
"Hey," the girl said awkwardly. "I just wanted to say… I'm sorry people are being weird."
Kiera managed a small smile. "Thank you."
"For what it's worth," the girl added, lowering her voice, "I read the follow-up. You didn't do anything wrong."
Kiera's throat tightened. "That means more than you know."
It wasn't applause.
But it was acknowledgment.
And for someone who had spent years unseen, it mattered.
At Nightwell Enterprises, Kade faced a different kind of pressure.
Board members smiled tightly. Investors asked careful questions wrapped in concern.
"Perception matters," one of them said during a closed-door meeting. "We're not accusing—just advising discretion."
Kade leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Discretion shouldn't mean erasing people to make others comfortable."
The room went still.
"Ms. Frost is qualified," he continued. "Her role is documented. Her presence in my life is not a scandal—it's a fact. And I won't treat it like a liability."
One board member cleared his throat. "You're risking a lot for this."
Kade met his gaze evenly. "I'm defining what's worth risking."
When the meeting ended, Carter walked beside him down the hallway.
"You handled that well," the lawyer said. "But you should know—Vivienne's camp is getting quieter."
Kade frowned. "That's not good news."
"No," Carter agreed. "It usually means she's changing tactics."
That evening, Kiera cooked dinner.
It wasn't elaborate—just pasta and roasted vegetables—but the act of doing something ordinary grounded her. Leo sat at the counter coloring, humming to himself.
Kade watched from the doorway, something heavy pressing against his ribs.
"You don't have to do that," he said gently.
"I want to," she replied without turning around. "Normal things remind me I'm still here."
He stepped closer. "How was school?"
She shrugged lightly. "Uncomfortable. But manageable."
"Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?" he asked. "Just to walk you in?"
She considered it—then shook her head. "Not yet. I need to know I can do this on my own."
Pride flickered through him. "Okay."
Dinner passed quietly, comfortably. Leo chattered. They listened. Life kept insisting on itself.
Later, after Leo was asleep, Kiera found Kade in his office, lights dimmed, documents spread across his desk.
"You're working late," she said softly.
He looked up, surprise giving way to relief. "I didn't hear you."
She stepped inside, closing the door halfway—not shutting him out, not trapping him in.
"You're carrying a lot," she said.
"So are you," he replied.
She crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite his desk. "I got a call today."
His body went still. "From Vivienne?"
"No," she said quickly. "From my sister."
That eased him—slightly. "How is she?"
"She's worried," Kiera said. "She asked if I was safe. If I wanted to come stay with her for a while."
"And?" Kade asked carefully.
"I said no," Kiera replied. "Not because I don't love her. But because running would feel like erasing myself again."
He nodded slowly. "I respect that."
She hesitated, then added, "But I need to know something."
"Ask."
"If this gets worse," she said, voice steady but soft, "if staying near you starts to cost me more than I can carry—will you let me go?"
The question hit him harder than any accusation ever could.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "I would hate it. But yes."
She searched his face. "You mean that."
"I do," he said. "Because love that traps isn't love. And I refuse to become another cage in your life."
Her eyes shone—not with tears, but with something clearer.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He stood, rounding the desk—but stopped a careful distance away.
"I want to ask you something too," he said.
She nodded.
"When all of this started," he said slowly, "I thought protecting you meant standing in front of you. Blocking every blow."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now I think protecting you means trusting your strength," he said. "Even when it scares me."
She smiled—small, real. "That's the first time someone's done that."
They stood there, the space between them alive with unspoken feeling.
Finally, Kiera broke the silence.
"Can I stay here a bit?" she asked. "Not to talk. Just… to exist."
Kade gestured to the couch. "As long as you like."
They sat in quiet companionship—no touching, no promises, just presence.
Outside, the city pulsed with opinions and rumors and speculation.
Inside, something else spoke louder.
Choice.
Trust.
And a growing understanding that love didn't have to shout to be heard.
Sometimes, the strongest thing it could do—
Was stay.