Perfect 👌 this will give readers a contrast — Aran, the cold CEO at work, versus Aran at home with a warm, loving family. It makes him layered, and when Kanya eventually meets them, it'll hit even harder (especially since she sees only his ruthless mask right now). I'll write it like a slow, atmospheric chapter that starts with his solit
The city lights stretched endlessly, but from his penthouse, Aran saw none of it. His glass of whiskey was still untouched, the ice long melted. Work files lay open across the desk in precise order, numbers sharp enough to cut through silence. But even when immersed in deals and projections, a thought had lingered like a splinter: her.
Kanya's voice still rang in his head...bold, reckless, daring to bite back when others stayed quiet. She thought her defiance unsettled him. What she didn't know was that he replayed it in the stillness of nights like these, turning it over like a dangerous secret.
The phone on his desk buzzed. His jaw tightened. It was a call he never ignored.
"Aran" his mother's warm voice came through, full of life. "You didn't call today."
"I had meetings" he said simply, his tone clipped as always.
"You always have meetings" she replied, unbothered. "Come for dinner tomorrow. Your father's been complaining he hasn't seen you in weeks."
Aran leaned back in his chair, staring out at the city. Most people who dealt with him would never imagine this version of him...a son who still picked up his mother's calls without hesitation. He exhaled slowly. "I'll come."
The voice of his younger sister chimed in next, snatching the phone. "Aran! Don't be late this time. Last time you came when dessert was already finished. And you didn't even bring flowers for mom!"
"I'm not bringing flowers" he said flatly.
"You will" his sister sang. "Or I'll tell Dad about that fight you had at the shareholder's meeting."
Silence. Then, the faintest edge of amusement ghosted his expression. "You're still a brat."
"And you have a hand in it" she shot back, laughter in her voice before the line went muffled.
His mother returned, softer now. "He worries about you, you know. We all do."
Aran closed his eyes briefly, the cold mask settling again. "There's nothing to worry about."
But when the call ended, and silence returned, he didn't move for a long while. His family had always been a strange contradiction in his life...warmth he allowed himself in rare doses, a reminder of who he might have been if not carved into steel by power and expectations.
Tomorrow, he would sit at their table. He would listen to his father's sharp opinions, endure his sister's playful bickering, and let his mother fuss over him. And for one evening, the coldness would thaw just enough for them to see a version of him the world never could.
But tonight, he remained what everyone else believed him to be....alone, untouchable, and dangerous.
Except for the ghost of Kanya's smile, which refused to leave him.
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The city glimmered beneath him as Aran's car wound through the hillside roads, headlights slicing through the deep blue of the Bangkok night. From a distance, the estate looked like a fortress .... modern, elegant, silent , perched above the chaos of the city his family helped shape.
He parked, killed the engine, and sat there for a second, watching the reflection of his own expression in the windshield. Cold. Controlled.
Exactly how it was supposed to be.
When he stepped through the front door, the faint scent of jasmine and sandalwood wrapped around him, the smell of home. A low hum of music drifted from the living room, soft piano notes blending with laughter.
Laughter. It still felt strange to hear it in this house.
"Aran!"
His mother's voice cut through the air, warm and soft. She appeared from the hallway, graceful even in her simple ivory dress. The faint lines at her eyes deepened as she smiled. "Finally, my son decides to visit us before midnight."
He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his movements deliberate, restrained affection hidden behind formality. "You said dinner was at eight."
"And you're on time" she teased. "Miracles do happen."
From the dining room, his sister Mira called out, "Don't be fooled, Mom. He's only here because he ran out of food at his penthouse!"
Their father chuckled from the head of the table, folding his newspaper. "Come sit before your mother lectures you about neglecting family again."
Aran's lips curved faintly his version of a smile. The air here was always softer. The house, though wrapped in quiet luxury, pulsed with warmth when his parents were around. To the world, they were formidable, the kind of family that turned steel into empire. But behind these doors, they were something gentler.
Dinner was laid out perfectly, every dish balanced, every utensil aligned like an art piece. His mother had always believed presentation was respect.
They talked about business, Mira's charity projects, his parents' trip to London during his late friend's funeral. His mother's voice dipped slightly when she mentioned it. "It was difficult" she admitted. "He was so young. You must miss him."
Aran's gaze flicked down to his plate. "Every day."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy....just honest.
Then, as the meal went on, something shifted. His mother reached for the curry, the one dish glowing golden under the light. She smiled faintly as she poured some into his bowl.
"She would have loved this" she said softly.
Anya looked up. "She?"
"The girl" his mother replied, her voice distant but fond. "What was it she called herself? My kitchen assistant?"
Mira laughed, the sound tinged with nostalgia. "Kanya."
His father smiled faintly, leaning back. "Ah yes, the one who used to argue with the chef over chili spice."
Aran froze. The sound of her name in this house hit differently ... like an old song he'd tried to forget but still knew by heart.
His mother's eyes softened. "She was a little storm, wasn't she? All fire and laughter. I used to hear her following you in the garden. I thought no one dared to do this with my son until her."
Mira grinned. "She made him human, that's what she did."
Aran's jaw clenched. "You're exaggerating."
But his mother's voice had gone quiet again. "She cried the night she left. I still remember her sitting right there, on that step." Her eyes flickered toward the grand staircase, her fingers brushing the rim of her glass. "She kept saying she didn't want to go, but she had to."
The memory pressed against Aran's ribs like a knife. He remembered it too.... her trembling hands, the way she looked at him one last time before walking away. He had made her to do so. Because he thought it was for the best.
Because she deserved better than him.
He swallowed, forcing his voice to stay steady. "She's… back."
The room stilled.
His mother's head snapped up. "Back?"
Mira's eyes widened. "Wait — you mean Kanya?"
He nodded once. The air thickened instantly, heavy with surprise and something else....hope.
His mother's voice trembled slightly. "You saw her?"
Aran hesitated. The lie was there, ready to fall off his tongue....but he couldn't use it with them. "She works with the company now."
The silence was sharper this time.
His father set his wine glass down. "And you didn't think to tell us?"
"She just joined" Aran said flatly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the truth. "It wasn't—"
"important?" Mira cut in, disbelief flashing in her eyes.
His mother exhaled, her gaze softening but sad. "Five years, Aran. Five years since that girl left. Do you know I still get her letters every New Year? She sent them even after she left."
He looked up, startled.
His mother smiled faintly, her eyes misty. "She thanked us. Said we were the first family that ever made her feel at home."
The words hit him harder than he expected. He looked away, focusing on the flicker of the chandelier instead. Guilt, thick and heavy, rose up his throat.
If she still thought of them as family, she only hates him because of that night... The one he couldn't forget either.
His father's voice broke through the silence, low and steady, as if he knew something no one in the room does. "You always push people away, son. But some people don't stay gone forever. Be careful what you do with that chance."
Aran stood, gathering his coat. "I should go. Early meeting tomorrow."
His mother rose too, her hand brushing his sleeve. "Aran" she said gently, "if she's really back… bring her home."
He didn't reply. Just nodded once and walked toward the door.
Outside, the night was colder. The wind carried the faint sound of temple bells from across the hill. He paused by his car, looking back once at the glowing windows of the house..... the only place that ever felt like warmth.
And somewhere deep down, he wondered if she remembered it too.
If Kanya ever thought of this house the way his family still thought of her.
He got in, started the car, and drove off into the sleeping city..... the echo of his mother's words following him like a ghost.
Bring her home.
For the first time in years, he wasn't sure if he could.