“Hey there, dragonfly,” came the all-too-familiar voice through the receivera voice that made her skin crawl. “Bet you didnt see this coming?”
Keira froze, the bottle of perfume slipping slightly in her grip. The air in her walk-in closetusually filled with the scent of sandalwood and successsuddenly felt thick and heavy, like that night a year ago in the stairwell where shed slept with the kids.
“What do you want, Gregory?”
She forced her voice steady. Forced herself not to glance toward the nursery, where Maisie and Poppys laughter drifted through the half-open door.
“Straight to business, then? No how are you? No catching up? Were not strangers, Keira. Weve got two kids together, remember?”
His chuckle scraped against her nerves like rusted nails on glass. A whole year without that smug tone, that grin that had always carried the unspoken claim he had on her life.
“I remember. What. Do. You. Want?”
She set the perfume bottle down on the marble vanity. Her fingers trembled, but her voice didnt. Shed learned that much.
“Money.”
Short, simple. No apologies. No sugarcoating. He hadnt changed.
“Are you serious?”
“Do I sound like Im joking?” His voice sharpened, an edge of anger slicing through. “Ive got problems, Keira. Big ones. And you? Looks like youve landed on your feet. Mansion, billionaire husband. The papers werent lying, then?”
She turned to her reflection. The woman staring back wore a silk robe and a blowout from a Mayfair salon. Not the hollow-eyed wreck hed shoved out the door with two bin bags of the kids things.
“Would your new sugar daddy even miss it? Tossing your ex a few quid to stay afloat?”
Business went south, get it? Happens to the best of us. Invested in crypto, lost the lot. Need cash to pay off some very serious people.
She could picture him saying itlounging in some grubby armchair, that same arrogant smirk, certain shed crack. That the guilt hed spent years hammering into her would kick in.
“You threw us out in December, Gregory. Do you remember what Poppy said when we were sleeping at Kings Cross?”
“Spare me the sob story. Water under the bridge. Im not asking for a flat in Knightsbridge. Just £50k. Pocket change for you. Call it hush money.”
“Hush money? For what?”
“For the skeletons in your closet. Think your precious Oliver would love a few juicy details about your past?”
The closet door opened. Oliver stepped incalm, unshakable, in a Savile Row suit. He took one look at her face and frowned silently: Everything alright?
Keira stared at him, at the quiet concern in his eyes, while Gregorys voice hissed through the phone. Two worlds. The one shed built, and the one coming to tear it down.
“So, Keira?” Gregory pressed. “Going to help a bloke out? When a man crawls back begging after a year, you know hes proper desperate.”
She gave Oliver a slow nod, thenfor the first time in this whole conversationher voice changed. Not fear. Something colder. Sharper.
“Where and when?”
They met in a faceless café in Westfield. Loud music, popcorn smell, teens shriekingperfect for a conversation no one would overhear.
Old habit. Solve problems where scenes cant be made.
Gregory was already there, in a cheap suit trying too hard. He swirled a straw in his orange juice.
“Youre late,” he said instead of hello. “Rude, making the father of your children wait.”
She sat, clutching her handbag. “Im not giving you £50k.”
“No?” He finally looked up, eyes raking over her dress, the Cartier on her finger. “Changed your mind? I could ring your Ollie right now. Numbers easy enough to get.”
“Ill give you £10k. And a job. Oliver has connections”
Gregory barked out a laugh. “A job? Youre having a laugh. Me, slogging through interviews like some intern? Im a businessman, Keira. I need capital, not handouts.”
He leaned in, voice dropping. “Sitting there all high and mighty. Think I dont know how you landed him? Sob story about poor little you? Bet hed love to hear how you rang me a week before you met him, bawling down the phone, begging me back.”
Every word hit its mark. He knew her biggest fearthat Oliver would see the old her: weak, broken.
She slid a cheque across the table. “Take this. And stay out of our lives.”
Gregory held it up, thenslowly, savagelytore it to shreds.
“£10k? Thats an insult. £50k, Keira. Or Ill be everywhere. School runs, texts, telling the kids who their real dad is. Youve got a week.”
He left without looking back.
For seven days, Keira barely slept. Thenthe final straw.
Poppy came home clutching a lollipop. “A man gave it to me. Said hes my real dad. Said were leaving Uncle Ollie soon.”
Something inside her snapped.
That night, she told Oliver everything. No tears, no excuses. Just the truth.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, voice steady.
“I want him gone. Permanently.”
The next day, Gregory strutted into Olivers corporate skyscraper, smug as ever.
Keira waited in the boardroom, Oliver beside her, their head of security looming.
“£50k,” she said, sliding a folder across. “But were investing it in you.”
Gregory paled as he flipped throughdebts, fraud charges, damning photos.
“Sign this,” Oliver said. “Termination of parental rights. And a three-year contract.”
“Working for you?” Gregory scoffed.
“In Aberdeen. Offshore rigs. Good pay. Come back clean.”
“Bollocks! Ill ruin you!”
The security chief tapped the file. “After this goes to the Met, your words worth less than this paper.”
Gregorys bravado crumbled. Defeated, he signed.
As he slouched out, Keira stood.
“You said when a man crawls back begging, hes hit rock bottom,” she murmured. “Youre not crawling, Gregory. Only because this carpets too expensive. Heres your fresh start.”
She walked out without a glance back. The winner whod lost everything stayed behind, alone.
