Angela and I decided right on the spot to go on a group vacation with our partners. It's been a crazy few months and we could all definitely use a breather.
The country we decided on was South Africa, and the city we chose was Cape Town.
I've been to South Africa before and absolutely loved everything about it from the food to the sight seeing. I know they'll love it.
We left 2 days later.
The moment we landed in Cape Town, the air felt lighter, cleaner. The villa, The Pinnacle, was exactly the kind of structural masterpiece I needed. An all glass, stone, and absolute, controlled beauty. It stood high above Clifton, the infinity pool looking like it was pouring straight into the Atlantic. Kyle had done well.
Marshall and Angela were already there, making the transition seamless. We settled into the master suite, where the floor-to-ceiling glass offered a panoramic view of the Twelve Apostles. I insisted on unpacking everything immediately, a ritual of establishing permanence and banishing any hint of fragility. This trip was an investment in structural integrity, and I treated it as such.
That evening, over dinner, Kyle was attentive, his hand resting on my knee. We talked about everything but business, enjoying the simple luxury of shared silence and laughter. He called me his "Architect," but with genuine affection, not professional distance.
Later, on the deck, I watched the city lights and felt completely safe in his arms. I reminded him of our promise: "No more secrets, Kyle." He promised never again, and I believed him completely. The intimacy we shared that night felt like a final, sacred act of repair.
The next day, Day 2, was dedicated to pure, unscripted relaxation. We bypassed any structured tours. I enjoyed watching Kyle disconnect. We spent hours by the pool, talking about hypothetical futures and building a life not just a corporation. He confessed anxieties about his father and the company, and I offered assurance, not critique. "Your value isn't tied to the portfolio, Love," I told him. "It's tied to who you are." That conversation felt monumental; it felt like the strongest foundation we had ever laid.
I was completely open, completely vulnerable, and completely trusting. The feeling was intoxicating. I was certain that the worst of our life was behind us, and that our love was finally, fiercely protected.
Kyle's POV
It was now day 3 and I was bored out of my mind by the wine lecture in Franschhoek. The sommelier's droning on about soil acidity was a poor substitute for a good market analysis. I excused myself from Marshall, telling him I needed a moment to check on a silent auction I was monitoring, knowing that the real reason was simply escape.
I wandered into an older, quieter cellar. The air was cool and smelled of oak and aged tannins. Then, the silence shattered.
I saw her. Belinda Hawthorne.
The shock was immediate and paralysing. It was like seeing a ghost from the most painful chapter of my past. The woman who had ripped my heart out a decade ago, leaving me with nothing but a note and a fear of genuine commitment. My carefully constructed composure disintegrated in an instant.
"Belinda?" I managed, my voice flat and hollow.
She looked up, recognition hitting her with equal force. "Kyle. Goodness. What are the odds?"
I wanted to run, to rewind the day, but before I could, I felt Viola's presence. She didn't have to say anything; the way she slipped her arm through mine, the sudden possessiveness of her grip, spoke volumes. She had sensed the threat immediately.
"Viola Cage. Kyle's fiancée," I heard her say, her voice cool and lethal, challenging the intrusion.
The rest of the day was agony. I couldn't focus, couldn't look Viola in the eye. I tried to deflect her inquiries with professional jargon, blaming "residual risk" from past deals, but the lie felt cheap and worthless. I knew I had to handle this. I couldn't let Belinda's ghost haunt my future with Viola. The need to neutralise the emotional risk became an overwhelming, urgent tactical requirement. I started formulating a plan that was already fundamentally flawed: I needed to see her alone.
Viola's POV
The entire day 3 was a masterclass in silent surveillance. Kyle was present, but vacant. The Llandudno Beach excursion was not a relaxation exercise…it was a field test for his emotional state. He was distracted, staring at the waves, his phone carefully tucked away.
I tried a soft probe during lunch: "Are you sure this isn't about Belinda, Love? You seemed affected." His immediate defensiveness—the quick deflection to corporate stress—was all the data I needed. The lie was confirmed. I realised he wasn't afraid of me finding out about Belinda; he was afraid of his own failure to manage the sudden intrusion of his past.
I spent the afternoon with Angela, forcing myself to maintain an air of calm normalcy, discussing abstract art while my mind was racing through scenarios. I decided not to confront him. A direct accusation would force him into a reactive defense. I needed to let him make the next, decisive move—to expose the full, structural extent of his cowardice. The integrity of our relationship was based on transparency; his choice to hide this was the true, unforgivable breach. I was cold, calculated, and ready for the inevitable conclusion.
Kyle's POV
The guilt on day 5 was a physical weight on my chest. I knew I was about to commit a massive breach of trust, but the urge to eliminate the Belinda risk was overwhelming. I fabricated the lie—the "urgent CFO call"—and watched Viola's face confirm her absolute skepticism. Her quiet acceptance was worse than a scream.
I drove out to the desolate stretch of Llandudno Beach where I'd told Belinda to meet me. The sun was setting, casting long, dramatic shadows. I cut straight to the core of the matter, demanding to know why she had destroyed me all those years ago.
Her confession—that she regretted leaving, that she had been foolish, that she still loved me—hit me like a sudden, unexpected wave. It was a torrent of raw, desperate emotion. When she moved in and kissed me, I was lost for a fleeting, agonising second, tasting the ghost of my past. I pulled away quickly, filled with self-loathing.
"Stop, Belinda. I love Viola. This is over," I stated, my voice shaking.
I left her there, knowing I had failed the mission spectacularly. I hadn't neutralised the risk; I had confirmed it and compounded the lie. I returned to the villa, the residual scent of her perfume a brand of betrayal on my skin. I avoided Viola's gaze, unable to face the fact that I had just jeopardised the most important thing in my life for a moment of foolish emotional closure. I felt like an absolute structural failure.
Viola's POV
The final two days were agonising. I was in a state of clinical detachment. Kyle was in a panic spiral. I watched him jump whenever his phone buzzed; I watched him avoid any form of physical intimacy, terrified that touch would reveal his secrets. My silence was deliberate—a tactical move to allow his guilt to fester.
On Day 6, I made us go to the V&A Waterfront for shopping. I forced him into a public environment just to watch his anxiety escalate. His distraction was absolute.
On Day 7, at our final dinner, he gave a heartfelt toast, calling me "Love" and promising a magnificent future. It was a beautiful, desperate attempt to disarm me, but I saw the fear in his eyes. I smiled perfectly, raising my glass, and accepted his lie, knowing that the environment for the inevitable structural termination was finally prepared: the private jet. I had the evidence, the cold fury, and the strategic rationale. All I needed was altitude.
The flight home was a death march. I waited until Kyle was asleep, his guard down. I picked up his phone. The text message from "B" was the confirmation.
I woke him up with a touch colder than the steel of the jet.
"Who is B, Kyle?" My voice cut the silence like glass.