Chapter 09

Kylie

The air was different in New York. Colder, sharper. The moment I stepped off the plane, the city’s unfamiliar sounds washed over me like a wave—horns blaring, people talking in hurried voices, and the constant hum of life moving at a relentless pace. It was nothing like home.

But that was the point.

I clutched my suitcase tightly, my heart pounding in my chest. This was my new life now, far away from the drama and tension that had defined everything back home. Far away from the cold judgment of my father and the scheming eyes of Celeste and Vaness. Here, I was just Kylie. Not the daughter of a wealthy businessman, not the woman caught in a web of lies. Just me.

My grandmother was waiting for me at the airport, her face lighting up as soon as she saw me. Her gray hair was pulled into a neat bun, and she wore the same kind of warm, practical clothes I remembered from my childhood. She looked smaller than I remembered, but her presence was just as comforting.

"Kylie, my dear!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight embrace. The warmth of her hug was enough to make my chest tighten with emotion. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this, how much I had been craving the kind of love only she could give.

"Hi, Grandma," I whispered, my voice thick with tears that threatened to spill over.

She pulled back, her sharp eyes scanning my face as if searching for answers I wasn’t ready to give. "You look tired, sweetheart. But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Let’s get you home."

The drive to my grandmother’s house was quiet. She didn’t press me for details about why I had come or what had happened back home. She had always been the kind of woman who waited for you to open up on your own terms, and I appreciated that more than ever now.

Her home was tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a modest, cozy brownstone with ivy creeping up the brick walls. It felt like a sanctuary, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of peace.

"You’ll stay as long as you need to," she said as we walked inside. "There’s no rush to figure things out. You’re family, Kylie, and family takes care of each other."

Her words nearly broke me. After everything I’d been through, hearing someone offer help without conditions or judgment felt like a lifeline. I hadn’t realized how suffocating my life had become until that moment. I nodded, unable to speak through the lump in my throat.

The first few weeks in New York passed in a blur. My body adjusted to the changes pregnancy brought, and my grandmother hovered around me like a protective shield, making sure I was eating well, resting, and staying healthy.

But the emotional weight of everything I’d left behind still lingered. At night, when the house was quiet, I found myself thinking about Atlas. I missed his presence, his steady reassurance. Part of me wondered if I’d made a mistake in pushing him away, but I knew deep down that I had done the right thing. Atlas deserved a life free from the burden of my past, free from the complications that came with raising a child that wasn’t his.

And then there was Rage Montez.

I had spent months trying to forget that night, trying to push the memory of his touch and the fire between us out of my mind. But no matter how hard I tried, he was always there, lurking in the back of my thoughts.

Every time I felt the baby kick, I was reminded of him—of the life we had created in that fleeting, reckless moment. I wondered what would happen if he ever found out. Would he even care? Or would he see this child as just another piece of leverage in the ongoing feud between our families?

I shook the thoughts away, determined to focus on the present. I had made my choice. I was here now, and my only priority was my child.

As the months passed, my belly grew, and so did my connection to the life inside me. Each kick, each flutter, brought with it a sense of awe and responsibility. I was going to be a mother. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

My grandmother was there for every step, offering wisdom and comfort in ways only she could. She never asked about the baby’s father, and for that, I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to talk about Rage, not yet.

As I neared my due date, the reality of what was coming began to settle in. I was going to raise this child on my own. There would be no Atlas by my side, no father to share the burden of late-night feedings or diaper changes. But I wasn’t afraid. If anything, I felt stronger than I ever had before.

The day my son was born was both the most beautiful and the most overwhelming experience of my life. The labor was long and exhausting, but when they placed him in my arms for the first time, all the pain and fear melted away.

He was perfect.

Tiny, with a shock of dark hair and wide, curious eyes that seemed to take in the world around him. I named him Liam, after my mother’s father. It felt right, honoring the family that had always supported me.

Holding him in my arms, I made a silent vow to protect him from the chaos of my past. He was my world now, and I would do everything in my power to give him the life he deserved.

Five years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. Life in New York had become our new normal. Liam grew into a bright, energetic boy with an infectious smile and a curiosity that reminded me of my younger self. He was my anchor, the reason I got out of bed every morning and pushed forward, no matter how hard things got.

My grandmother had been a constant presence in our lives, helping me raise Liam and offering guidance whenever I needed it. She adored him, spoiling him in the way only a grandmother could.

I had found work at a local fashion boutique, nothing glamorous like the life I had left behind, but it was enough. The customers were kind, and my boss appreciated my hard work. It was honest, simple, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of peace.

But despite the distance and the time that had passed, there was always a part of me that worried about what would happen if the truth ever came out. Liam looked more like Rage with each passing year—the same dark hair, the same intense gaze. I tried not to think about it, but the resemblance was undeniable.

Sometimes, I wondered if I should’ve told Rage about his son. I hadn’t heard from him in years, hadn’t seen his face since that night. For all I knew, he had moved on with his life, completely unaware of the child he had fathered.

But as much as I feared what would happen if Rage found out, I also feared what would happen if he didn’t. Liam had a right to know where he came from, to know the truth about his father.

One evening, after I had put Liam to bed, I sat by the window, looking out at the city lights. My grandmother was knitting quietly beside me, the click of her needles the only sound in the room.

"You’ve done well, Kylie," she said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "Raising Liam on your own... you should be proud."

I smiled, though my heart felt heavy. "I couldn’t have done it without you, Grandma."

She reached over and patted my hand. "You’re stronger than you think. But I can see the weight you’re carrying, dear. It’s time to let go of the past."

I looked at her, my throat tightening. She had always known. Maybe not the specifics, but she had known there was something I hadn’t told her. Something I had been holding onto all these years.

"I’m scared," I whispered. "I’m scared of what will happen if I tell him... or if I don’t."

My grandmother’s eyes softened with understanding. "You can’t live in fear, Kylie. You’ve built a beautiful life here. Whatever happens, you’ll handle it. You always do."

I nodded, wiping away the tears that had slipped down my cheeks. She was right. I had built a life for myself and Liam, and I would do whatever it took to protect it.

But deep down, I knew the day was coming when I would have to face the truth. Liam deserved to know who his father was, and Rage... well, he deserved to know the son he had unknowingly left behind.