Audrey's POV
The sunlight stabbed through my curtains like an unwanted truth. For the first time in a long while, I'd slept soundly — though the world outside clearly hadn't.
My phone buzzed nonstop on the nightstand. Another call. Then another. Then a third. By the time I sat up, I had forty-three missed calls and my social media was in absolute chaos.
#AudreyAndersonReturns
#GillianExFoundAlive
#SimonAndAudreyAtTheFoundationDinner
God help me.
I groaned, reaching for my robe. "So this is what a comeback looks like."
"More like a declaration of war."My mother's voice floated from the doorway. She stood there, arms crossed, holding a tablet that showed a photo — me and Simon, smiling for the cameras like a perfectly scandalous couple.
I winced. "It's not what it looks like."
She arched a brow. "Sweetheart, you know that line never works. The press is calling Simon your new mystery lover. And your husband—"
"Ex-husband," I corrected.
"—is threatening to sue half the media outlets in the country."
Of course he was. Jeremy Gillian never lost gracefully.
I took a deep breath and reached for my coffee. "Then let him. I'm not crawling back into his world again."
My mother sighed, walking closer. "You've started something, Audrey. And whether you meant to or not, everyone's watching. This—" she pointed at the photo again, "—this makes you look powerful. Collected. But also dangerous. Be careful how you play it."
"I didn't play anything," I muttered, taking a sip. "Simon just showed up."
"Simon Gillian doesn't just show up. He plans. And if he's suddenly your ally, that's even more dangerous."
She wasn't wrong. Last night, when Simon took my hand for the cameras, he'd whispered something low enough for only me to hear.
"Let's give him something to choke on, shall we?"
At the time, it felt satisfying — petty, even thrilling. Now, it felt… messy.
The doorbell chimed downstairs. My mother exchanged a glance with me, and before I could ask, one of the housekeepers appeared."Ma'am, Mr. Gillian is here."
"Which one?" my mother asked flatly.
The housekeeper hesitated. "The older one."
Simon.
Of course.
My mother gave a knowing smirk. "I'll be in my study. Try not to make headlines again before lunch, dear."
As she disappeared down the hall, I tightened my robe and braced myself. Because if Simon Gillian was here, it wasn't just a social visit.
He walked into the room like he owned it — casual white shirt, top buttons undone, and that maddening half-smile that always looked like trouble.
"Morning, Miss Anderson," he said, deliberately using my maiden name. "You look… awake."
"I was," I said, glaring at him. "Until I saw your face."
He chuckled. "You're welcome for saving your reputation."
"Saving?" I scoffed. "You turned a quiet night into a media circus!"
He leaned against the doorframe, completely unfazed. "A media circus that put you back on the map. No longer the poor ex-wife who vanished — now, you're the woman who made the Gillians sweat."
"Simon, what are you doing here?" I demanded.
He stepped closer, his voice soft but edged. "Maybe I came to see if you're still as brave as you looked last night. Or maybe…" He paused, eyes searching mine. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending I don't care what happens to you."
My heart stuttered. This man — my ex-husband's uncle, my biggest mistake after Jeremy — was dangerous in an entirely different way.
I forced a shaky laugh. "You're out of your mind."
He smiled faintly. "Probably. But that's what makes me a better company than your ex."
And just like that, I realized my life had officially turned into a war — not just between families, but between hearts.
Jeremy's POV
The morning sunlight cut through the blinds like knives, far too bright for a man who hadn't slept. My suit from last night was still crumpled over the chair, my tie on the floor. Everything in my apartment felt hollow — as if the air itself was punishing me.
I'd spent the night replaying every look on Audrey's face. The way her eyes hardened when I accused her of lying.The way she didn't even bother defending herself anymore.And then… the way her father wrapped an arm around her last night — Ethan Anderson, the man I'd only ever seen on television or in financial magazines — calling her "my daughter."
God. That single word made my stomach turn.
I hadn't just misjudged her. I'd humiliated her — publicly, cruelly — and in front of her entire world.
I grabbed my phone before I could talk myself out of it. There was no plan, no strategy — just the raw, aching need to hear her voice.
The call rang twice before it connected.
"Hello?"
But it wasn't Audrey. The voice was deep. Calm. Controlled.
"Mr. Riley," the man said evenly.
My throat tightened. "Mr. Anderson."
A long silence. The kind that feels like standing in front of a judge before a verdict.
"I assume you're calling for my daughter," he said.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I… I need to speak to her. Just for a moment."
"I think you've spoken enough."The words were polite — but sharp enough to cut through bone.
"Sir, please. I know what I did was unforgivable, but you have to believe me — I didn't know. I was lied to. I thought—"
"You thought," he interrupted smoothly, "that accusing and humiliating a woman you once loved in public was the way to get clarity?"
My silence was answer enough.
"Mr. Riley," he continued after a pause, "men like you often come to realizations after the damage is done. My daughter has had enough of men like that."
I swallowed hard. "She's not just anyone to me. I made a mistake, but I—"
He cut me off again, this time with quiet finality."My daughter is rebuilding her life, Mr. Riley. If you truly care about her, let her."
His words landed heavier than any punch.
"Mr. Anderson, please—just tell her I'm sorry. That's all I ask."
There was a soft sigh on the other end, then: "I think she already knows. She just doesn't care anymore."
The line went dead.
I sat there, staring at the phone, the sound of silence roaring in my ears.
For the first time, it hit me — there was no fixing this grand apology, no second chance, no way to undo the years I'd spent believing lies.
Outside my window, the city moved on — cars, chatter, laughter — as if nothing had happened. But everything in me had stopped.
Audrey Shepherd Anderson was gone from my world.And I was the one who pushed her out.