Trapped in His Love

Chapter 8 : The Fall

The lobby of VanceCorp Tower had become a circus.

Reporters shouted questions from behind a police barricade. Camera flashes stroboscoped off the marble floors. And in the center of it all, Sarah held onto Kaelan’s hand like a lifeline, while Mira stood in front of them both, blocking the media with nothing but a sharp tongue and a press pass.

“No comment,” Mira said for the fifth time. “My client will issue a statement through proper channels. That channel is not your microphone.”

Kaelan’s lawyers arrived within seven minutes three suits who looked like they had been assembled from the same bolt of gray wool. They pulled Kaelan aside, speaking in urgent whispers. Sarah caught fragments: forfeiture, board meeting, seventy two hours.

Mira grabbed Sarah’s arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You just told a billionaire to give up forty billion dollars for you. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s either love or a concussion.” Mira guided her to a bench near the elevator. “Talk.”

Sarah took a breath. “I meant it.”

“Of course you meant it. You’re the most stubborn person I know.” Mira sat beside her. “But do you understand what happens now? No more penthouse. No more private security. He becomes Kaelan Vance, unemployed rich guy.”

“He’s not unemployed. He has skills.”

“Stalking and brooding don’t pay the bills.”

Sarah almost laughed. Almost. “He has investments. Trusts. His grandfather left him something outside the company. He won’t be poor.”

“But he won’t be powerful.” Mira’s voice softened. “And Celeste will still be both.”

That was the truth Sarah had been avoiding. Celeste hadn’t lost. She had simply changed tactics.

Kaelan returned from his lawyers, his face unreadable. He dismissed them with a nod and knelt in front of Sarah, taking both her hands.

“The board meets in three hours,” he said. “I’m going to formally relinquish operational control of VanceCorp. They’ll vote, but it’s a formality. By midnight, I’ll be a former CEO.”

Sarah squeezed his fingers. “How do you feel?”

“Free.” He said it like a confession. “And terrified. Because I can’t protect you the same way anymore.”

“You never needed money to protect me. You just needed to be willing to bleed.”

His eyes glistened. “You’re too young to be this wise.”

“I’m twenty two. That’s old enough to know what I want.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Now take me to this safe house you mentioned. I want to see where we’ll hide while the world burns.”

Mira stood. “I’ll handle the press. You two disappear for a few days. But Sarah—” She pulled her friend into a fierce hug. “Call me every night. Or I’ll write an exposé on both of you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’m a journalist. I would.” Mira grinned. “Now go. Love your crazy billionaire. I’ll keep the wolves at bay.”

Kaelan led Sarah out a service exit, into a waiting car that was not his usual black luxury sedan. This one was modest — a dark SUV with tinted windows but no brand logo. “Borrowed,” he said. “From a friend who owes me a favor.”

“You have friends?”

“One. Maybe.”

The drive took forty minutes. Away from the city, into the hills, past a lake that glittered like broken glass. Finally, they stopped at a small cottage — wooden, rustic, with a garden overgrown by neglect.

Kaelan killed the engine. “This was my mother’s. Before she died. She left it to me in a separate trust my grandfather couldn’t touch.”

Sarah got out and walked toward the front door. A key was hidden under a loose stone the old fashioned kind, not an electronic lock. She turned it, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

The cottage smelled of dust and lavender.

Furniture draped in white sheets. A stone fireplace. A small kitchen with yellow cabinets. And in the corner, an easel old, but sturdy with a half-finished canvas still resting on it.

Kaelan stood in the doorway. “My mother painted. Not professionally. Just for herself.”

Sarah walked to the easel. The canvas showed a woman’s face soft, kind, with Kaelan’s silver eyes. “She was beautiful.”

“She was the only person who ever made my grandfather afraid. Because she loved me without conditions.” His voice cracked. “He couldn’t control that.”

“And now you have me.”

“Now I have you.” He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “No conditions. No contracts. Just… this.”

Sarah turned in his arms. “Show me the rest of the house.”

He did.

The cottage had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a screened porch overlooking the lake. Everything was old but solid. There was no surveillance — no cameras, no hidden microphones. Just wood, glass, and the memory of a woman who had once been happy here.

“We can stay as long as you want,” Kaelan said. “I have enough saved to last a year without touching investments. After that…”

“We’ll figure it out.” Sarah pulled him down onto a worn couch. Dust puffed up around them. “Right now, I want five minutes where we don’t think about Celeste or money or lawyers.”

He kissed her. Soft this time — not desperate, not possessive. Gentle, like he was learning how to touch without fear.

“I’ve never done this,” he admitted. “Normal.”

“Neither have I.” She smiled. “Let’s be bad at it together.”

They spent the afternoon cleaning. Stripping sheets, sweeping floors, opening windows to let in the lake air. Sarah found a box of her mother in law’s old paints in the closet dried out, but the pigments were still good. She set them on the kitchen table like treasures.

Kaelan made dinner. His cooking was terrible — eggs burned, toast blackened — but Sarah ate every bite and laughed at his scowl.

“You’re a billionaire,” she teased. “Hire a chef.”

“I’m an unemployed billionaire. I can’t afford a chef.”

“Then learn to cook.”

“I’ll burn the house down.”

“I’ll paint the ruins.”

By sunset, they had made the cottage livable. They sat on the porch, watching the lake turn orange, and for one perfect hour, Sarah forgot about Celeste.

Then Kaelan’s phone rang.

He looked at the screen. “It’s my lawyer.”

“Answer it.”

He did. Listened for thirty seconds. His face went pale.

“The board voted,” he said after hanging up. “I’m out. VanceCorp is now under temporary control of the largest shareholder.”

“Which is?”

He met her eyes. “Celeste. She bought enough proxies this afternoon. She owns fifty two percent.”

Sarah’s blood chilled. “She can do that?”

“She just did.” Kaelan set the phone down like it was poisoned. “She doesn’t want the company. She wants the power that comes with it. And now she has it.”

The sunset didn’t look beautiful anymore. It looked like a warning.

Sarah pulled her knees to her chest. “What happens next?”

“She’ll come after us. Not directly — she’s too smart for that. But she’ll find ways to squeeze. Block our credit cards. Freeze my personal accounts. Make it impossible to live anywhere but on her terms.”

“Then we live here.”

“We can’t stay forever.”

“Why not?” Sarah stood up, walked to the porch railing, and stared at the lake. “Your mother lived here. She hid from your grandfather here. If it was good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.”

Kaelan joined her at the railing. “She died here.”

“Of what?”

“A broken heart. After my father died, she just… stopped. My grandfather moved me to the estate. She stayed. Six months later, she was gone.”

Sarah reached for his hand. “That won’t be us.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m not going to stop painting. And you’re not going to stop fighting.” She turned to face him. “Your mother gave up. We won’t.”

He pulled her close, buried his face in her hair. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You watched me for three years without touching. That’s either devotion or insanity. I’m betting on both.”

They stood like that until the stars came out.

Then Kaelan’s phone buzzed again.

Not a call. A text.

From Celeste:

“Congratulations on your retirement, darling. I’ve decided to keep the cottage as a wedding gift. You have until Friday to vacate. The deed is in my name now, I bought the land this afternoon. Enjoy your last few days of freedom.”

Attached was a scanned document. A deed transfer. Signed, sealed, notarized.

Kaelan stared at the screen.

Sarah read it over his shoulder.

“She can’t do that,” Sarah whispered.

“She just did.” His voice was hollow. “The land was in a family trust my grandfather controlled. As majority shareholder, she has access to all trust assets.”

“Including your mother’s cottage?”

“Including everything.”

The lake, the porch, the old easel all of it slipping through their fingers like water.

Sarah took the phone from Kaelan’s hand, typed a single word in reply, and sent it before he could stop her:

“Try.”

Three dots appeared. Then Celeste’s answer:

“Oh, I will. Starting tomorrow at 8 AM. A crew will arrive to begin demolition. I’m building a hotel on this site. Every stone of your mother’s memory will be ground to dust.”

Kaelan made a sound not a word, not a scream. Something between.

Sarah wrapped her arms around him.

“Tomorrow at 8 AM,” she said. “That gives us twelve hours.”

“For what?”

She looked at the cottage. At the easel inside. At the lake that had witnessed her mother-in-law’s last heartbreak.

“To save it,” she said. “Or to make sure they remember why they shouldn’t have tried.”

Kaelan’s arms tightened around her.

“What are you planning?”

Sarah smiled in the darkness — the same smile she had worn when she walked into his locked room and kissed him.

“I’m going to paint.”

End Of Chapter 8 • To be Continued