The words, spoken by Clare with a quiet, devastating finality, ripped through Kyle Abbott’s carefully constructed world like a cruel, unexpected gust of wind. The last rays of daylight cast long, mournful shadows across the Abbott estate, but inside the mansion, there was no warmth, no golden glow—only a tension as thick as a winter fog between Kyle and Clare. Their relationship, once delicate and hopeful like a rosebud on the cusp of bloom, had withered under the relentless pressure of expectation and unresolved pasts. Kyle, ever the romantic at heart, had believed that Clare represented a clean slate, a chance to rewrite his history, free from the entanglements of Summer, the corporate wars, and the crushing weight of family obligations. But lately, Clare had grown distant, preoccupied, her eyes clouded more often with hesitation than illuminated by affection. Conversations had dwindled, moments once intimate now felt procedural, almost perfunctory.
At first, Kyle had laughed, dismissing her words as nerves, a fleeting fear before the grand commitment. But Clare wasn’t uncertain; she was decided. She didn’t want the fairy tale ending. She didn’t want to be Mrs. Abbott. Not now, maybe not ever. Kyle’s jaw clenched with disbelief as Clare, graceful and tragically calm, voiced the very thoughts he’d buried deep within his own mind but never dared to face. She cared for him, yes, she admired him, but love—the kind that drives people to walk down an aisle and bind themselves together forever—had slipped from her grasp. Her heart was burdened by something she couldn’t articulate, a pull in another direction, away from Kyle, away from the future he had meticulously planned.
He felt the rejection like a cold blade severing his spine. “You led me on,” Kyle accused, his voice cracking with a restrained, raw rage. “You made me believe this was real.” Clare blinked back tears, but held her ground, a quiet defiance in her gaze. “It was real, but I’m not ready to pretend forever.” The words left Kyle hollowed, broken in ways he hadn’t felt since the devastating collapse of his marriage to Summer. Clare, sensing the walls around him crumble, whispered an apology, a ghost of regret, and simply stepped back. She didn’t wait for permission. She simply left, leaving him alone in the drawing room, standing amidst the rose petals he had scattered for a proposal that would never come.
But fate, cruel, ironic, and relentlessly theatrical, wasn’t done with Kyle Abbott just yet. That very evening, as Genoa City buzzed with whispers of Aristotle Dumas’s challenge to the Newman Empire, another kind of headline emerged from the shadows. One that had been calculated and timed with unnerving precision.
Summer Newman returned.
She didn’t arrive with confetti or fanfare, no press release or social media post to tease her comeback. She simply walked into a high-profile fundraising gala, radiant and poised, her hand gently resting on her slightly swollen stomach. The whispers began instantly. Heads turned, waiters dropped trays, and Kyle, who had come to the gala hoping to numb his heartbreak, stood rooted to the floor, his eyes fixed on the woman who had once vowed to love him for eternity.
Summer’s golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, her skin glowed, her eyes locked on Kyle with an unreadable emotion. For a moment, the room seemed to collapse into a deafening silence as every conversation died, replaced by a singular, unspoken question: Why had Summer come back, and with this profound, visible change? For weeks, she had supposedly been in Milan, starting a new life. Rumors suggested she was dating someone powerful, an Italian designer with old money and new scandals. Others claimed she had simply fled her heartbreak, unable to bear seeing Kyle move on with Clare. But no one, not a single soul, had anticipated this: the child, the pregnancy, the undeniable bombshell.
Summer took a glass of water from a stunned bartender, her fingers trembling only slightly. She made her way across the room towards Kyle, who hadn’t moved an inch, seemingly paralyzed by the revelation. As she approached, eyes followed her like the wake of a storm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said quietly, forcing a half-smile. Kyle swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Is it? Is that mine?” Summer held his gaze, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I don’t know.” The air left his lungs. Around them, people tried to appear distracted, but everyone was watching, holding their breath. “I slept with Chance before I left,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “But I also… we… you and I…” Her voice faltered. “There’s a window where it could be yours.”
Kyle stared at her stomach as though it contained both salvation and apocalypse. He thought back to those stolen nights, the rising tension between Clare and him, the desperate comfort he had sought in Summer’s arms even as she prepared to leave Genoa City. The memory of that encounter, so brief, so charged, now returned with the crushing weight of profound consequence. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” he asked, his voice rising, edged with a bewildered accusation. Summer’s face softened, a heartbreaking vulnerability in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure. I needed time. I needed space. I thought I could figure things out in Milan, but the further I ran, the more confused I became. And now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
Clare, who had returned to the gala hoping for a reconciliation, a calm conversation with Kyle, stood just a few feet away. Her face was pale, her glass still in hand. Watching the man she had just rejected, standing in the center of a public spectacle with his ex-wife, possibly pregnant with his child, she felt the bottom fall out of her resolve. Her chest tightened, her vision blurred, and then it happened.
Kyle, still reeling from the emotional whiplash of Clare’s departure and Summer’s bombshell, turned back towards Summer. In his pocket, the engagement ring he had meant to give Clare still glinted in its velvet box. It wasn’t logic or reason that drove him in that moment, but raw instinct, pain, and a defiant surge of responsibility. Without fully knowing why, he reached into his jacket, pulled out the ring, and dropped to one knee. The crowd gasped, a collective intake of breath.
“Summer Newman,” he said, his voice trembling, raw with a mix of desperation and conviction. “I don’t care what’s happened. I don’t care whose child this is. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Marry me.”
Summer’s eyes widened, her lips parting, breath caught in her throat. Before she could even respond, Clare, a silent fury burning in her eyes, turned on her heel and walked out of the gala, her heels clicking like gunshots on the polished tile, her cheeks flushed with humiliation and utter heartbreak. Gasps and whispers erupted anew as opportunistic photographers snapped the scene, already preparing the next day’s scandalous headlines: “Kyle Abbott Proposes to Pregnant Ex-Wife in Public Scandal! Clare Grace Walks Out!”
The ring still hovered in Kyle’s outstretched hand. Summer’s fingers shook as she reached for it, then hesitated, her gaze searching his. “Kyle,” she whispered, her voice laced with an unbearable question. “Are you doing this for me… or for revenge?” But Kyle had no immediate answer. Not yet. And as Genoa City erupted in rumor, betrayal, and speculation, one thing became terrifyingly clear: no matter what Summer chose, no matter whose child she carried, the Newmans, the Abbotts, and everyone between them, would never be the same again. The past had returned with a vengeance, and its reckoning had only just begun.
Later, in the hushed sanctuary of Summer’s childhood bedroom at Society, the club now closed and quiet, the echoes of the night still reverberated. Summer lay back against satin pillows, her hand cradling her abdomen, soothing the small, precious heartbeat within. When Kyle approached her door, a soft yet determined knock, she steeled herself. He stood in the frame, the ring box still open in his hand, his eyes, usually so guarded, raw with earnest vulnerability. For a moment, Summer remained silent, studying the man who had once been her first love and one of her greatest regrets. He was no longer the carefree young man she had known; the heartbreak of Clare’s rejection and the looming responsibility of fatherhood had reshaped him into something more—a man capable of fierce protection and selfless devotion.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, nodding towards the box. “I didn’t think you meant it.” Kyle ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to untangle the mess of fate that had brought them to this precarious point. “I know it looked impulsive,” he said, stepping into her room and closing the door against the hush of the closed club. “But I… I love you, Summer. Not just as a friend or someone I slept with one last time before you left for Milan. I love you as the mother of my child.” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if it’s mine or Chance’s, or what that means for our future, but I do know this: that baby deserves two parents who love him or her. And if you’ll let me, I want to be that father.”
Summer’s breath hitched, tears pricking at her eyes. Part of her wanted to be angry, furious at Kyle’s theatrics, at the way he had flaunted the proposal in front of Clare as if to prove a triumph. She could have stormed out of Society, but she had stayed because, deep down, she understood him. His pride wounded by rejection, his heart aching with the sudden reality of losing the only woman he had truly wanted, and the sudden transformation into someone who no longer had the luxury of emotional detachment. She also understood that despite the chaos of their past, Kyle’s capacity to love ran deeper than most people in Genoa City could imagine. He had always wanted someone to challenge him, someone to share not just his triumphs, but his darkest fears. And now, he faced the ultimate fear: fatherhood.
“Why are you doing this, Kyle?” she asked quietly, moving to sit at the edge of her bed. Her fingers absent-mindedly traced the soft satin of the duvet. “Are you proposing because you genuinely want to spend your life with me, or are you doing it to hurt Clare?” Kyle took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He knelt on one knee again, this time in the safe privacy of her room. “I’d be lying if I said never to both,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “Clare’s rejection cut me deeper than I thought possible. I thought I could move past it, but the moment I saw her walk away at the gala, I felt a part of me shatter. But when I looked at you, pregnant, unsure, yet still here in Genoa City, I realized that our future isn’t about Clare at all. It’s about us, about the little person growing inside you, and about the chance to rewrite our story. Maybe it’s reckless or selfish, but it’s also real. I love you, Summer. I want you. I want that baby. I want to build something positive out of this mess.”
Summer’s tear-filled eyes held his. For a long moment, silence settled like a benevolent veil between them. Outside, a soft breeze rustled the branches of oak trees lining the estate. But inside her bedroom, all that existed was Kyle’s open box, his unwavering gaze, and the shared weight of possibility. She remembered the lonely nights in Milan, the emptiness of posh restaurants, and unfamiliar faces. Here with Kyle, she felt seen, truly seen, for the first time in months. He didn’t ask for explanations; he didn’t judge her for her past choices. In his willingness to embrace her unborn child, to claim responsibility regardless of paternity tests or social fallout, she glimpsed a devotion she hadn’t thought possible. She reached out and closed the distance between them, placing her hand over his. The diamond ring caught the lamplight, refracting a fragile hope into the dim room.
“I don’t know if I can accept right now,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Because what if the baby’s not yours? What if I’m making a mistake? What if…?” Kyle raised a finger to her lips, silencing her fears with a tenderness she had missed. “Then we’ll face that together. I don’t care whose baby it is. I only care that the three of us become a family. I’m not pretending to fix everything. I’m not guaranteed to be the perfect husband or father. But I promise I’ll try. I promise I won’t let you walk away because you think I’m not serious, or because you think I’m doing this for revenge. I’m doing this because I love you, Summer. And I love that baby more than I’ve ever loved anything else.”
Summer’s breathing steadied as she looked down at his earnest face, the face of a man transformed by heartbreak and by the sudden rush of responsibility. She felt a cautious hope stirring in her chest, a fragile bud of possibility in place of the dread she had carried for so long. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she let her hand slide into his. Kyle rose and hugged her gently, pressing her to his chest as though anchoring both of them against the shifting tides of scandal and parenthood. When they finally pulled apart, Summer reached out, her fingers brushing the ring in the box before slipping into Kyle’s. She closed the ring box, placing it on the nightstand beside her bed. The gesture was simple, but laden with unspoken understanding. She would not accept his proposal tonight, but she would not refuse him either.
“Let’s take this one step at a time,” she said, her voice resolute but soft. “First, we find out whose baby it is. Then we figure out what our next step is. But Kyle… thank you for caring, for wanting to step up. That means more to me than you know.” Kyle smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s all I need for now.” Behind them, the city lights of Genoa City flickered like silent witnesses to their private pact.
Downstairs, Clare sat in Jack’s study, scrolling through news alerts and social media posts of Kyle’s public proposal. She read each headline with growing horror: “Kyle Abbott Proposes to Summer Newman!” “Spousal Sincerity or Spite? Who’s the Father?” “Clare Grace Left at the Altar Again!” Each word was a dagger, a brutal reminder of her own choices and the inescapable consequences. She wished she could rewind the evening, slam the brakes on the events, and reclaim the love she once believed would endure. But now it was too late. Kyle had reclaimed her ring, using it to stake a claim on a future she had walked away from. The echoes of his proposal would reverberate through every circle of power in Genoa City, complicating alliances, reigniting old rivalries, and most devastatingly, reshaping the bond between her and the man she still loved.
As the rain began to patter against the mansion’s windows, Summer and Kyle sat on her bed, hands intertwined, staring at the ring box now resting between them. They did not speak of grand gestures or wedding plans. Instead, they lingered in the delicate uncertainty of the moment, tethered together by love, by responsibility, and by the lurking possibilities of heartbreak. Neither of them knew for certain where this path would lead—whether they would emerge as a family bonded by choice, or whether the fragile hope between them would shatter under the weight of scandal and secrets. But in that quiet pre-dawn hour, they clung to the promise that love, even when born from chaos, could still be enough to carry them forward. And so, with hearts battered but not broken, they faced the coming storm—two imperfect souls bound by a single shining truth: that sometimes, the most terrifying leaps of faith can become the foundations of a new tomorrow.
In the wake of Kyle’s breathtaking proposal and the shocking pregnancy reveal, can Summer truly trust Kyle’s intentions, or is this a foundation built on heartbreak and defiance? And for Clare, can she ever truly move past being publicly discarded, or will this become a new chapter of bitter resentment? Share your thoughts below!
