Chapter 271
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Chapter 271:
Kieran studied her face. He watched the tears fall. He thought of Jocelyn’s eyes at the wedding — the absolute, cold certainty of a woman who had nothing left to hide.
He closed the folder slowly.
“My family’s lawyers spoke to the DA this morning,” Kieran said, his face a mask. “They’re focusing on the Branden Cole testimony for now. The attic video is being treated as a separate, older case. For the moment, you are in the clear on that front p>
A flash of pure, unguarded joy sparked in Aspen’s eyes. It lasted only a fraction of a second — but Kieran saw it. The victim mask slipped, revealing the calculating survivor beneath.
“Oh, thank God.” Aspen threw her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. “I knew the truth would come out p>
Kieran let her hold him. His arms hung limply at his sides. His eyes were ice.
“Since the misunderstanding is cleared up,” Aspen murmured against his neck, “we should move into the Hamptons house next week. We can plan a small, private ceremony. Just us p>
𝖱𝘦𝗰о𝗺𝗆𝗲n𝘥 ѕ.𝗰𝗼𝗺 𝘵о y𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝗳𝗿𝘪𝗲ո𝖽𝘴
Kieran placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back firmly. “Not yet. The merger with the Japanese firm took a hit from the bad press. I need to stay in the city to manage the fallout. The move is postponed indefinitely p>
Aspen’s smile froze. The corners of her mouth twitched. She knew better than to push him when he used business as a shield. “Okay, baby. Whatever you need p>
She turned and walked out, her heels confident on the polished floor.
The moment the door clicked shut, Kieran carried the technical report to the heavy-duty paper shredder. The machine whined as it reduced the lies to thin strips of confetti.
As the CEO of a tech empire, Kieran knew exactly what deepfake technology looked like. He also knew that the degraded quality of a handheld camcorder provided far too little data for a flawless AI face swap. The video was real.
Kieran dropped into his leather desk chair. A sickening gnaw of self-doubt settled in his gut.
He unlocked a hidden drawer and pulled out an old, dusty file — the background check he had run on Jocelyn years ago, when she first became his assistant. He flipped past the financial records to the psychological profiles and read the notes about her childhood. Marginalized. Ignored by her mother.
Then a memory struck him with the force of a physical blow. The day he pulled the crying girl from the dark attic. She had clung to him, her face buried in his chest — but what he remembered now was her hand gripping his shirt. And the deep, jagged scratch across her left wrist, bleeding heavily where she had clawed at the wooden door in the dark.
Kieran opened his eyes and stared at the empty space where Aspen had just stood. Aspen’s wrists were flawless. They always had been.
He slammed the file shut, grabbed his car keys, and sprinted out of the office.
Forty minutes later, Kieran sat in a dingy, grease-stained booth in a cheap diner in Queens.