Chapter 6

Kayna’s POV

The city was quieter at night or at least, it pretended to be.

The bright light and buzz of New York City was still however present.  Even up here, in my tiny third-floor one bed room apartment with its peeling paint and humming fridge, I could hear the occasional car horn cutting through the summer heat. Somewhere in the distance a couple argued in quick, clipped tones. Above me, my neighbor’s TV set murmured through the floorboards.

But the shadows outside my window felt less demanding than the daytime rush.

I sat cross-legged on the couch, hair twisted into a messy bun, laptop closed on the coffee table. I’d told myself I’d review some notes for tomorrow—Damian’s calendar was still a beast I hadn’t fully tamed—but instead my phone was in my hand, thumb hovering over my mother’s name.

It had been over two weeks since I’d called. Longer than I should have I know but I’ve had a lot of unloading to do this past few weeks.

I pressed the call button before I could overthink it the situation further.

“Hello?” Her voice was softer than I remembered, threaded with a rasp that made my chest tighten.

“Hey, Mom. It’s me.”

A pause, then a small, relieved laugh. “Kayna. I was starting to think New York had swallowed you whole.”

“Not yet.” I tried to keep my tone light. “It’s only been… what, two weeks since I called?”

“Three weeks since I spoke to my baby.” she corrected gently.

I winced. “Sorry mom. ”

“You’re busy. I understand.” There was a faint clink of ceramic on ceramic, like she was setting down a mug. “So? How’s this big new job you ran off to?”

I leaned back into the couch cushions. “Intense. My boss—Damian Marshall—is… let’s just say he’s not the type to let you coast.”

“That’s good, though, right? Keeps you sharp?”

“It’s… good,” I said slowly. “Challenging. He’s smart. Demanding. The kind of person who makes you want to keep up.”

I didn’t add that he also had a way of looking at me like he was taking apart my sentences, piece by piece, to see what was underneath. That part was harder to explain without sounding… something I wasn’t ready to define.

She hummed. “Sounds like someone I’d like to meet.”

I snorted. “Pretty sure he’d terrify you.”

“I raised you, didn’t I? I’m not easily terrified.”

Her voice was lighter now, but I caught the faint undercurrent of strain. It wasn’t just age. She’d been battling bouts of fatigue lately, something she brushed off as “nothing,” but I could hear it creeping into her tone.

“You’re feeling okay?” I asked.

“Just tired,” she said, which was her stock answer. “The heat doesn’t help.”

“Did you call Dr. Ellis?”

She hesitated. “Not yet.”

“Mom…”

“I will, Kayna. Don’t fuss.”

I chewed my lip. “I’m allowed to fuss. You’re my mom.”

There was a beat of silence, then she said quietly, “I wish you’d go visit.”

The words hit harder than I expected. “You know I can’t just—”

“I don’t mean here,” she interrupted. “I mean… when you’re home and less busy . You could stop by and see your father.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. My fingers tightened around the phone. “We’ve talked about this mom.”

“I know. But it’s been five years. People change.”

“He didn’t.” My voice was sharper than I intended.

“You were just a teenager when—”

“I was nineteen” I said. “Old enough to know exactly who he was.”

Her sigh was long, weary. “He’s still your father.”

“He’s the man who—” I cut myself off. “Mom, I’m not doing this tonight.”

Silence stretched between us. I could hear her breathing, slow and steady, the same rhythm that used to lull me to sleep when I was little.

Finally, she said, “I just don’t want you carrying all that anger forever. It’s heavy.”

I stared at the ceiling. “It’s lighter than pretending nothing happened.”

She didn’t push further, and I was grateful for that. We drifted into safer topics—her neighbor’s new dog, the garden she was stubbornly keeping alive despite the heat.

By the time we hung up, it was almost midnight. I sat there for a while, staring at the darkened screen, trying to shake the hollow ache that conversation with her always left behind.

She meant well. She always had. But she still believed in pieces of him I’d stopped believing in years ago.

…….

The Next Morning, I arrived at the office early, determined to start the day without the emotional residue of last night clinging to me.

Damian’s floor was still quiet. The glass walls reflected the pale morning light, the skyline sharp and clear against the horizon. I settled at my desk outside his office, running through his schedule: a call with the Singapore investors, a midday meeting with the legal team, lunch with a media contact.

By eight-thirty, the hum of the building had started. Phones rang, heels clicked against the marble floors. I was halfway through confirming his lunch when the elevator doors slid open and Damian stepped out.

He looked… different.

Still immaculate in his well tailored charcoal suit, but there was a sharpness to him this morning. His jaw was set tighter, his gaze fixed ahead like he was moving through invisible obstacles. The air around him felt colder somehow.

“Good morning Sir” I said, keeping my voice neutral.

“Is it?” He didn’t slow down as he passed my desk. “Reschedule the media lunch. Something’s come up.”

“Should I move it to tomorrow?”

“No.” He paused at his office door. “Next week. Or the week after.”

“Understood.” I said, making the note.

A moment later, his voice came from inside his office. “And who approved the revised figures in the Cosmo file?”

I blinked. “You did. Yesterday.”

He appeared in the doorway, brows drawn. “I approved the adjustments, not the final report. There’s a difference.”

I felt my stomach tighten. “I thought—”

“I don’t pay you to think. Confirm.” He said with a snide expression.

The words weren’t loud, but they cut. He turned back into his office, leaving me staring at the screen.

The rest of the morning followed that rhythm. Short, clipped exchanges. Questions that felt more like interrogations. A barely contained tension that made me check and recheck every note before sending it through.

By eleven, I’d convinced myself it had to be me. Maybe I’d been too casual yesterday. Maybe the way I handled the Cosmo meeting hadn’t actually impressed him, maybe it had annoyed him.

I told myself it didn’t matter. My job wasn’t to be liked. But the knot in my chest said otherwise.

At one point, I brought in a folder he’d requested, placing it carefully on his desk.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked.

“No.” He didn’t look up from his computer.

I hesitated in the doorway. “Excuse me Sir—”

He glanced at me then, and for a split second, something flickered in his expression. Not anger. Something heavier. But it was gone before I could name it”

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.” I stepped out, closing the door behind me.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was exhausted—not from the work, but from the constant second-guessing. When he left for a late meeting without a word, I sat at my desk for a long moment, staring at the closed elevator doors.

Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this after all. Or maybe… maybe I just needed to figure out how to read him before he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

Either way, I had the unsettling feeling that whatever this was—it wasn’t just about me.

And that made me even more unsure about what tomorrow would bring.