Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 296: That’s Kinda Complicated
They talked first about the safe things—the victories. The Kane Mall under construction rolled across the screen: steel beams cutting into the sky, cranes moving. Winn spoke easily about his investors, partnerships. The growth of House of Kane followed naturally, Tyler praising its expansion while Winn deflected credit with an easy smile, joking about money being his true love language.
Then came the Orchard inheritance.
"So what made you push this hard," Tyler asked, "when you didn’t really have to?"
"Ugh... well, that’s kinda complicated." He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if buying time. "As a Kane, Tom didn’t have much. He basically relied on my mother’s trust fund to get his feet off the ground. But my grandfather, George Orchard—may his soul rest in peace—who the city considers the richest man in the city," he added with a self-aware grin, "was my rock. He taught me everything I know about business. So yeah... I drive constantly to make him proud. Even now."
Tyler nodded, letting the silence breathe. "I can’t help but notice," he said gently, "that you call your father by name. Tom. Is there history there?"
"First of all," he said evenly, "Tom isn’t my biological father." He talked about the years of abuse. About being locked in the trunk of a car as a child, the darkness, the heat, the panic—how Tom had forgotten he was there. "I genuinely thought that was it," Winn said quietly. "That I was going to die because I wasn’t worth remembering."
Tyler’s face tightened, but Winn kept going. He spoke of the constant evisceration of his self-worth, the way words could bruise deeper than fists. He talked about Tom’s involvement in entangling him with Sharona Kane. About how that manipulation had ended with his sister dead.
"And then there’s his other family," Winn added, a bitter humor slipping in despite himself. "Somewhere out there." He shrugged, the motion small. "I tell myself I hope he’s a better father to them. Truly. Even though I highly doubt it." He looked straight into the camera then. "Success wasn’t about money for me. It was about proving that what was done to me didn’t get to decide who I became."
Tyler Wilde did a good job of ensuring listeners—and later, viewers—would walk away with a very clear picture of who Tom was as a father, without ever once sounding like he was leading Winn by the nose. It was subtle. The pauses Tyler allowed, the way he circled back with gentle clarifying questions, the way he let silence do some of the talking—it all painted a portrait far uglier than any outright accusation could have.
Off-camera, producers exchanged glances, already aware this episode would ripple far beyond entertainment blogs. Once aired, there would be no pulling it back. Tom would hear it. The city would hear it. Ivy would hear it. And some small, stubborn part of Winn hoped his younger self—the boy locked in the trunk, forgotten—would hear it too and finally feel seen.
A couple of minutes later, the red studio light blinked off, the tension easing in a collective exhale. Headsets came off. Crew members moved again, laughter returning in low, careful doses. Winn rolled his shoulders, suddenly aware of how tight they’d been, and accepted a bottle of water from an assistant with a murmured thanks.
"Mr Kane," Tyler said after the show, stepping closer with genuine admiration. "You...you are a formidable man. This is great material. Thank you."
Winn gave a small nod. "When will it air? I want to make sure I have my phone turned off."
"Tonight. 9pm but we will be having trailers aired throughout the day in anticipation," Tyler explained.
"Alright. I’ll be looking out for your ratings." Winn winked, the familiar charm resurfacing. "See you later." He shook Tyler’s hand firmly and headed out of the studio, not looking back.
The lobby outside felt brighter, noisier—too alive after the quiet intensity of the set. That was when he spotted Reese waiting near the seating area.
"Reese, send a message to Sam with your phone," he said, already thinking ten steps ahead. "Tell him I can meet him at 9pm tonight."
"Yes sir," Reese replied immediately, pulling out his phone.
Winn stepped into the car. As Reese slid into the driver’s seat and the car pulled away from the premises, Winn stared out the window, jaw set.
Tonight would change things. He could feel it. And no matter what came next, there would be no turning back.
*****
Evans sat sprawled on the couch with Theresa firmly in his hands—or rather, ruling his lap. The television blared the millionth replay of Baby Shark, the cheerful tune looping endlessly, bright colors flashing across the screen. Evans sighed dramatically, his head tipping back against the couch. "Sweetie," he pleaded, rubbing a hand over his face, "by 9pm we all have to watch a grown-up show. You gotta cut us some slack, love."
Theresa responded with an emphatic, full-bodied "No," complete with a tiny finger wag for emphasis, as she continued to bounce on his lap in perfect rhythm with the song. Her curls bobbed, her laughter bubbling out.
In the kitchen, Irene poured kernels of corn into a wide pot of shimmering oil, adding a drizzle of honey. The stovetop crackled to life, the sound growing louder as the kernels began to heat. Ivy leaned against the counter nearby, arms folded loosely. She and Irene chatted easily. Ivy had chosen to watch the interview here, because Sam was out with old friends.
As the smell of popping corn wafted through the kitchen, sweet and rich from the honey, Ivy suddenly felt her stomach roll. It was sharp enough to make her straighten, one hand instinctively pressing against the counter. She swallowed hard, willing the sensation away.
"Are you okay?" Irene asked, turning quickly, her eyes narrowing with concern as another loud pop echoed from the pot.
"Yeah," Ivy said. "I’ve just been feeling a little off lately. I’m sure it’s nothing." She waved it off lightly. Nightmares, stress, sneaking around with the man she loved—her body had been keeping score even when her mind refused to slow down.
