Chapter 30 — What the Storm Reveals
The storm broke just after midnight.
Rain lashed against the windows with sudden fury, thunder rolling low and heavy over the city. Kiera woke with a start, heart racing—not from a nightmare, but from the violence of the sound. For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
Then she remembered.
The penthouse. The quiet. The choice she'd made to stay.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and wrapped her cardigan around herself, grounding her feet against the floor. I'm safe, she told herself. I'm here.
Lightning split the sky, bright and unforgiving.
She didn't like storms. Never had.
Before she could overthink it, she stepped into the hallway. A faint light glowed from Kade's office at the far end. He was still awake.
She hesitated—old instincts warning her not to intrude, not to need.
Then she walked anyway.
Kade looked up when she knocked softly. "Kiera?"
"The storm," she said, feeling oddly shy. "I—could I sit with you for a minute?"
He was on his feet instantly. "Of course."
She settled on the couch as he dimmed the lights, the thunder muffled but still present. He sat at the opposite end, close enough to feel but not crowding.
"Do storms bother you?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "They used to mean something bad was coming."
He absorbed that without comment. After a moment, he said, "When my parents died, it was raining. Not like this—but enough that I still notice."
They shared a look—two different histories, the same echo.
Another crack of thunder shook the windows. Kiera's shoulders tensed before she could stop herself.
Kade shifted closer—not touching. Waiting.
"Is it okay if I sit nearer?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
He moved, stopping just short of her space. She closed the distance herself, resting her forearm against his. The contact steadied her breathing.
Outside, the storm raged. Inside, something settled.
"I got an email tonight," Kade said after a while. "Vivienne's lawyer requested mediation."
Kiera stiffened. "That sounds… official."
"It is," he said. "But it also means she's running out of leverage. Mediation is quieter. Controlled."
"And you?" she asked. "What do you want to do?"
He considered the question carefully. "I want resolution. Not revenge. And I want to make sure you're protected from any fallout."
She nodded. "I trust you."
The words surprised them both.
He turned to look at her. "You don't say that lightly."
"No," she said. "That's how I know it's true."
Thunder rolled again, but softer now—further away.
"I had a moment today," she continued. "At school. Someone asked me if I was okay. I said yes. And I meant it."
His chest tightened. "That matters."
"It does," she agreed. "Because for the first time, I'm not pretending."
They sat in silence as the rain eased, the storm losing its edge.
"Kade," she said softly, "can I ask you something hard?"
He nodded. "Always."
"What happens if this ends?" she asked. "Not the legal mess—the us part. If we try and it doesn't work."
He didn't flinch. He thought.
"Then we grieve it," he said finally. "And we don't rewrite it as a mistake."
Her eyes shimmered. "You really believe that."
"Yes," he said. "Because something can be real and still not be forever. That doesn't make it worthless."
She leaned her head against the back of the couch, exhaling. "I wish someone had told me that earlier in my life."
"I wish someone had told me too," he replied.
The rain softened to a whisper.
Kiera shifted, then looked up at him. "May I…?" She gestured vaguely between them.
He understood. "Yes."
She leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder. Carefully. Testing.
He stayed still, letting her set the pace.
After a moment, he lifted his arm and rested it lightly around her back—an anchor, not a cage.
They stayed like that while the storm passed.
Morning came bright and clear, sunlight washing the city clean.
Kiera woke with a strange feeling in her chest—lightness. She dressed quickly and stepped into the kitchen to find Kade already there, coffee in hand, phone buzzing on the counter.
"Good morning," he said, smiling.
"Good morning," she replied. "The storm's gone."
"So it is," he said. "Funny how that happens."
Leo burst in moments later, announcing grand plans involving pancakes and superheroes. The day moved forward—mundane, hopeful.
Later, as Kade prepared to leave for a brief meeting, he paused at the door.
"I'll be back before dinner," he said. "If anything feels off today—anything at all—call me."
She nodded. "I will."
He hesitated, then added, "And Kiera?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," he said. "For staying."
She met his gaze, steady and sure. "Thank you for making it safe to."
The door closed behind him, not with finality—but with trust.
Kiera stood in the quiet kitchen, sunlight warming her skin, and realized something important.
The storm hadn't ended her.
It had revealed her.
And for the first time, she wasn't afraid of what stood in the light.