Zander Kash
The digital screen on the kitchen island glared back at me in the dim morning light, the harsh blue glow illuminating the cold, poisonous fury churning in my gut.
I had been awake since five. Arthur had called thirty seconds after the blog went live, his tone tight with frantic urgency. “Zander, this is spiraling. The public isn't treating him like a hired nanny anymore. The tabloids are framing this as a domestic drama inside your personal circle. They’re calling him your kept man having late-night flings behind your back.”
I didn't care about the gossip rags. I didn't care about the board members who would inevitably choke on their morning coffee when they saw the Kash name dragged through the gutter again. What made my chest burn with a white-hot, suffocating rage was the
