GENESIS
"It's going to be fine, princess. It's time the world knew who you really are," Kieran said with a smile, his large hand squeezing my thigh. I smiled back at him, even though nerves twisted inside me. I kept biting my bottom lip, staring out the window while he gently stroked the skin on my neck, his finger brushing the collar fastened there.
Kieran had told me it was time to take back what was mine, my father's company. Time to silence the rumors that I'd been given to him in marriage when I was little, after my dad died. Time to show them that I was Genesis Esther Caldwell.
I was scared. Scared the world would want answers about what happened to me—where I really was all those years. But Kieran said we'd play into my stepmother's lie, the one she told everyone: that I'd been sent abroad to study.
So now, here we were.
Heading to—honestly, I didn't even know. He'd said we were going to a press conference. I had no idea what that meant, so he explained it in the car using simple words. A press conference was where people asked questions and reporters took pictures. But I didn't have to say anything. Not a word. He would talk. All I had to do was stand beside him. Look soft. Quiet. Like someone who'd been gone a long time.
When he finished explaining, I nodded, even though my fingers were shaking in my lap. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to do this right—for him, but also for me. For my father. For everything they took from me.
The car slowed.
Kieran sat up straighter, buttoning his suit jacket, adjusting the dark cuffs like he was preparing for battle. I copied him, straightening my shoulders even though my chest was tight. Then he turned to me and brushed his thumb over my cheek.
"You're beautiful," he whispered. "And they'll see that. But what they won't see—what they'll never guess—is what's really inside you. That's our secret, right?"
I nodded.
Our secret.
That I wasn't as soft as I looked. Not anymore. I was learning.
That behind this innocent face was a girl who remembered everything—the cold floor, the bruises, the assault. The way they locked the door and threw away the key. The sound of my stepmother laughing downstairs while I screamed and no one came.
The car door opened.
Kieran stepped out first, tall and sure of himself.
The cameras exploded with light.
I froze.
Then his hand reached back for me—warm, steady, grounding.
I took it.
I stepped out.
The lights were brighter than I imagined. The sounds louder. Reporters shouted, pushing against security. One of them called my name.
"Genesis Caldwell!"
I blinked, unsure if I should respond. Kieran gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
"It's okay," he murmured. "Just look at me."
So I did. I kept my eyes on him, and nodded when he said my name again.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and led me toward the stage where microphones waited. Everything felt like a dream. A loud, glittering, hot dream.
I stood beside him as he faced the press.
"Thank you all for coming," Kieran began, his voice calm and proud. "I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Genesis Esther Caldwell Blackwood—the true heir to Caldwell Industries."
Gasps.
Camera flashes.
Whispers.
Someone asked, "Why hasn't she ever been seen before?"
Another voice shouted, "Is it true she was given to you in an arranged marriage?"
My chest tightened. Kieran glanced at me, then back at the crowd.
"Genesis was sent abroad to study shortly after her father's passing. The press was… misinformed, thanks to certain family members who no longer have a say in this company. But she's back now. And she's ready to step into her rightful place."
I looked at him again.
He gave me the smallest nod.
So I smiled. Just a little.
Let them see what they wanted to see.
The quiet girl.
The obedient wife.
Let them believe whatever lies made them comfortable.
Because one day, I would tell the truth.
But not today.
Today, I stood beside my husband—a pretty picture in a tight dress and a leather collar, stitched with the words property of Knight.
They thought I'd remain soft, pliant, bendable forever.
But I was unbending.
And it was all thanks to the man beside me.
I turned to Kieran, biting down hard on my bottom lip. He turned to me too, his eyes flicking to my lips, and my cheeks warmed.
But then—
A woman's voice sliced through the crowd.
"Mrs. Caldwell Blackwood," she called clearly. Every camera turned toward her. "With all due respect, the world has waited years for your voice. There's been endless speculation about your disappearance, your marriage, and now your return. So why haven't we heard from you directly? Why the silence? Is there something you're not telling us?"
Her words landed like a slap.
The clicks of the cameras slowed, then stopped.
The air shifted.
The crowd fell silent, like the volume of the world had been turned down to hear the sound I wasn't making.
My throat closed.
Just like that.
The pressure in my chest rose—hot, tight, aching. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My lungs forgot how to breathe. I tried to blink, to nod, to do something.
But everything inside me froze.
Kieran felt it instantly.
His hand at my back pressed firmer. His other hand moved to hold my arm—gently, but grounding me.
I could feel it happening—the panic.
The kind that starts in your belly and climbs fast. The kind that makes the lights too bright, the noise too sharp. My fingers curled, nails digging into my palms.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to vanish.
But I just stood there, frozen.
I didn't cry.
I didn't scream.
I couldn't.
The woman's question still lingered in the air, unanswered. All eyes on me.
Then Kieran stepped forward, shielding me slightly with his large body, voice calm but cold enough to freeze the air.
"My wife does not owe this world a sound," he said, sharp and low. "Not today. Not ever, unless she chooses. I suggest we show some respect for that."
The female reporter lowered her mic, her face going blank.
Kieran turned slightly, leaning toward me, whispering low into my ear, "You're safe. I've got you. Just breathe for me, princess."
I nodded once.
Tight.
Barely.
But enough.
He kept his arm around me, shielding the shaking in my legs with his body. I stared ahead, past the reporters, past the cameras, into nothing.
I could still feel the question echoing in my head. Why the silence? Why the silence? Why the silence?
Because if I opened my mouth…
I might never stop screaming.