CHAPTER 269: HIS ANCHOR IN CRISIS

Rain streaked down the glass wall of Ken Stuart’s penthouse, blurring the city into a shifting canvas of smeared silver and shadow. Each drop chased another, distorting the skyline until the familiar lights of skyscrapers and streetlamps dissolved into a nebulous glow, swallowed by the hungry mist. Inside, the room was heavy with the scent of strong coffee and the dust of old paper, file folders stacked like crumbling towers on Ken’s desk, untouched mugs cooling beside them. Every so often, his phone vibrated insistently, but Ken ignored it. Every call was a demand he couldn’t or wouldn’t face right now.

Bella stood at the window, arms hugged close to her body, her silhouette almost merging with the stormy reflection. She hadn’t uttered a word since Ken’s confession. Her gaze stayed fixed on the city, but her mind was far away, turning over and over the truth Ken had just laid bare. Silence swelled between them, punctuated only by the rain’s relentless drumming.

When Bella finally spoke, her voice was a whisper, thin and uncertain. "You’re sure?"

Ken didn’t move at first. He looked drained, the lines on his face deeper than the night before. The turmoil of the last few hours seemed to have leached the color from his skin, his posture slumped with exhaustion. "She told me herself," he said, his tone flat, almost numb. "Didn’t try to deny it. Ophelia Welhaven looked me in the eye and said it straight: Lyse is Maeve’s daughter. My daughter."

Bella’s eyes widened, her lips parting in disbelief. "And she just... told you? Like it was nothing?"

"She did," Ken replied, voice barely above a murmur. "Like she was commenting on the weather, or the price of bread."

Bella’s arms clamped tighter around herself, as if bracing against something cold that had crept into the room. "My God..." Her words trailed into a tremble, and then anger crept in, coloring her tone with heat. "She’s been lying to everyone, Ken. The family, the board, the press, she’s fooled them all—"

"To Lyse, too," Ken interrupted, his voice suddenly hard.

The accusation hit the air with a finality that silenced Bella. She seemed to shrink, her outrage fading into something more fragile.

But Ken wasn’t finished. "She didn’t stop with the truth. She threatened me, Bella. Told me if I ever breathed a word, Lyse would be the one to suffer. ’Accidents happen,’ she said. And with Ophelia... I believe her."

Bella went pale, her composure shaken. "You can’t just let her threaten you. Not after everything she’s done."

Ken’s lips twisted in a weary, hollow smile. "Do you really think I’d just sit back and do nothing?"

Bella moved closer, urgency in her step. "You’re scared, Ken. I get it. And you should be. But so should she. If this gets out, Ophelia loses everything. She’s desperate. Desperate people are dangerous, but they also make mistakes."

Her voice faltered, trembling with emotion. "But you can’t let her win. You can’t let her destroy Lyse the way she destroyed Maeve. Not again."

Ken watched her closely, noticing the way her eyes shone with fierce conviction, the rapid pulse at her throat. He remembered all the times she had stood by him, she was not just his manager, she was his anchor in chaos, the only one who never wavered. He’d seen Bella angry, seen her determined, but tonight something else flickered beneath her words: a raw, personal stake.

"Bella..." he began, but she turned away, hiding her trembling hands.

"You have to fight back," she insisted, voice low but urgent. "You have proof, the DNA test?"

"It’s real," Ken said. "Locked up, safe. But proof only matters if we survive long enough to use it. Ophelia has eyes everywhere. She’ll know the moment we make a move."

Bella exhaled sharply and started pacing, her shoes whispering over the thick carpet. "Then we protect Lyse. We don’t wait, Ken. We go public, we get the police involved..."

Ken shook his head, frustration bleeding into his voice. "Ophelia’s got her claws in everyone. The police, the courts, half the city council. She’s been buying loyalty for years. One wrong move, and she’ll make sure we’re the ones who fall."

Bella stopped pacing, turning to face him, her eyes blazing with resolve. "Then we make her fall harder. We go bigger, faster. We don’t give her time to react."

Despite everything, Ken felt a hint of a smile tug at his lips, the first in what felt like ages. "You always were the strategist," he said softly.

She shot him a look, defiant and tender all at once. "I’m just tired of watching good people get crushed by monsters."

For a moment, the tension eased, replaced by something softer, an unspoken understanding, a shared history of scars and loyalty. Thunder rolled distantly, underscoring the storm’s relentless song.

Ken’s gaze lingered on Bella. The lamplight gilded her hair and cast a stubborn glow in her eyes, defiant against the darkness pressing in from outside. In that instant, he saw just how much she cared. Not only about the truth, or about Lyse, but about him. The realization struck him deep, stirring embers he’d tried to smother for years.

He stood, crossing the space between them. Bella turned, startled, meeting his eyes.

"Ken?" she breathed.

He reached up, tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His hand lingered, gentle, trembling just slightly. "You’ve always been here for me," he said softly. "Even when it would’ve been easier to walk away."

She swallowed, her expression vulnerable. "You’d do the same."

He managed a quiet, bittersweet smile. "I’m not sure I deserve you, Bella. Not after everything."

Her voice was a whisper, fierce and certain. "You do. You always did."

He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just the two of them. Gratitude, fear, longing, and something deeper that had never quite found words. The storm, the threats, the web of secrets, all faded, insignificant in the hush that settled between them.

Ken’s thumb traced her cheek, and Bella closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. For an instant, hope trembled in the air, fragile as spun glass.

Then, without warning, the door crashed open.

The sound cleaved the quiet, echoing off the marble and glass. Both spun around as the heavy oak slammed against the wall, rattling the shelves. Framed photos toppled. A man filled the doorway, gaunt, hollow-eyed, rain streaming from his tangled hair and soaking his clothes until they clung to his thin frame. His labored breath fogged in the chill, and his eyes burned with a wild, desperate light that sent a jolt of dread through the room.

Whatever hope had kindled was snuffed in an instant, replaced by the icy certainty that nothing would ever be simple again.

"Ken Stuart... you need to hear what I found before she kills us all."