Chapter four
The hum of the refrigerator was the loudest sound in the apartment. Kairen lay sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over his stomach, phone pressed against his ear. The apartment was small but curated — secondhand furniture softened by throw pillows, fairy lights strung lazily along one wall, and a coffee table scarred by age but dressed with neatly stacked magazines. It was the kind of place that whispered survival, not permanence.
Amara's voice crackled through the phone, thick with irritation.
"Kai, I swear, I have never felt so embarrassed in my life. That bitch had the nerve—THE NERVE—to call security on me like I was some intruder. Do you know how humiliating that was? Fur wrap and all. I could've just died right there."
Normally, this was where Kairen would chuckle, roll his eyes, maybe fire back with a teasing "I told you so, bitch." But tonight, silence hung. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes unfocused as they drifted across the ceiling.
Amara's voice faltered. "…Kai? You're quiet. What's wrong?"
He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, as though saying it out loud would make it more real.
"I lost my job today."
The pause on the other end was sharp. "Wait—what?"
He shifted upright, leaning his elbows onto his knees, his voice low and flat. "Manager gave me a letter. Said I wasn't… present. Emotionally, physically. Whatever. I quit before he could sack me. Tore the damn letter up in his face."
Amara gasped. "Kairen Noel—are you insane? How are you going to pay rent now? Or your mom's bills? Or—God, Kai."
Her panic pressed through the phone, fast and breathless. Kairen rubbed his temples, closing his eyes.
"Relax. I'll figure something out. Maybe… I don't know. Help you out at the boutique. You said you got new customers, right? Might as well make myself useful."
Her voice rose an octave. "This is not a life, Kai. You're not some assistant seamstress. If you find a job—any job—you need to stick to it. No more running."
Kairen scoffed, leaning back against the couch, legs stretched out. "You sound like my therapist."
"Good. Somebody needs to talk sense into you," she shot back. Then, after a beat, her tone softened. "Look, I'll let you figure your shit out. But promise me you'll actually try."
The corner of Kairen's lips twitched — not quite a smile. "Yes, ma'am."
"Bitch."
"Bitch."
They both chuckled, the sound light but fragile, before the line clicked dead. The apartment immediately felt heavier, quieter, the weight of reality pressing back in.
Kairen set the phone aside, running a hand through his curls, when the front door creaked open. The metallic rattle of keys, the squeak of worn hinges — and then Kevin, his roommate, stepped inside.
Kevin stepped in, not in his usual pressed work clothes but in a plain tee and jeans, his arms full of bags. Not grocery bags — luggage. A duffel slung over his shoulder, a suitcase rolling behind him, a folder tucked under his arm. It was the kind of load you carried when you weren't coming back.
Kairen straightened from the couch, blinking at the sight. "Hey… you're back early."
Kevin set the suitcase down with a soft thud, exhaling like someone at the end of a long day. His smile was small, almost apologetic. "Yeah. Not just early. I'm traveling."
Kairen tilted his head, confused. "Traveling? Like… for work?"
Kevin shook his head, the answer simple, heavy. "No. For good. I'm relocating."
The words settled over the room like a weight. Kairen sat up straighter, searching Kevin's face. "Wait. For good? What about your job at De la Croix?"
Kevin crouched to unzip the duffel, sorting through his things. "I signed off. But they asked me to do one last thing before I leave—help them find a replacement."
Kairen's eyes widened, the heaviness of the moment cracking open into light. He leaned forward, voice rising without restraint. "Then pick me. Kevin, I'm available. I can do it!"
Kevin paused, finally looking up at him, brow arched. "What about your own job?"
The question hit harder than expected. Kairen's throat tightened, but he forced a scoff, waving a hand. "The company was running low on tasks. They dropped a few people. No big deal."
A lie. Sharp, clean, and necessary. He wasn't about to admit he'd been fired — not when opportunity was finally staring him in the face.
Kevin studied him for a moment, but didn't press. He simply nodded, his tone calm. "Alright then. Get ready. Tomorrow, we'll go to De la Croix together."
Kairen sat back, pulse hammering. Relief and gratitude tangled in his chest, spilling out in a breathless, "Thank you, Kevin. Really."
Kevin gave a small smile, already turning back to his packing. "Don't thank me yet. Just be ready."
Kairen leaned against the couch cushions, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, there was a spark in his chest. Hope. Fragile, terrifying — and pulling him straight toward a name he hadn't said aloud in years.
Sebastian Cross.
The heels of Sebastian's leather shoes clicked against the marble floor as he approached, slow and heavy, like a man walking toward judgment. His broad shoulders swayed, his head tilted slightly down, the faintest curl of irritation still playing on his lips.
Victor didn't wait. He raised the folded magazine in his hand like it was a weapon and let his voice rip through the grand silence of the room.
"You can't even beat an allegation, can you?" His words rang sharp, cutting the air. "The son of Victor Cross, reduced to a thug in the papers. Irresponsible. Aimless. A disgrace to my name."
Sebastian stopped in his tracks. His jaw tightened, fists flexing by his sides. His hazel eyes glowed under the chandelier, but he didn't speak. Instead, he turned, slow and deliberate, walking toward the tall glass doors that led outside, as if the mere act of leaving could shut Victor's words out.
But then—
"Sebastian."
Victor's voice, deep and commanding, froze him like a blade at his back. He didn't raise his tone this time. He didn't need to.
Sebastian stopped, his chest rising and falling, rage simmering beneath his skin.
"You will no longer live freely," Victor said, each word delivered with surgical precision. "From tomorrow, you will step foot in the office. You will earn everything you want. Every dime, every privilege, every ounce of respect. Your freedom—" he paused, his eyes narrowing, "—is revoked."
He turned sharply, the polished soles of his shoes striking the floor as he walked away, leaving nothing but authority lingering in the air.
Sebastian's hands trembled. His knuckles whitened. He wanted to shout, to fight, to smash the chandelier above them into dust—but all he did was storm past the velvet couches, brushing against Celeste as though she were nothing but air.
"Sebastian—" she started, reaching out, her voice dipped in a softness meant to soothe. But he was already gone, climbing the grand staircase two steps at a time, his presence swallowed by the shadows of the upper floor.
Celeste stood frozen, her perfectly lined lips parting in a stunned silence. Her chest rose with a frustrated breath before her cheeks flushed scarlet. The maids, lined discreetly against the wall, tried to avert their eyes. That was all it took.
Her head snapped toward them. "What are you looking at?" she hissed, venom dripping from her tone.
The maids dropped their gazes instantly, scurrying away into the shadows of the hall.
Celeste stood alone in the living room of the mansion, the echo of Victor's words and Sebastian's rejection still thick in the air. She smoothed her dress with trembling hands, but the fabric could not iron out the humiliation etched on her face.
Above, the slam of a bedroom door reverberated down the hall. The Cross mansion fell into silence—cold, suffocating, and unyielding, just like its master.
---
Somewhere else in the city, far from marble staircases and glittering chandeliers, Kairen was walking the narrow, familiar streets of his neighborhood. The night air clung cool against his skin, the flicker of streetlamps painting his path in fragments of light and shadow.
For the first time in weeks, his chest felt lighter. Hope — fragile, almost ridiculous — sat quietly in him like a seed. Tomorrow, he would step into De la Croix. Tomorrow, he might just change everything.
A smile tugged faintly at his lips as he thought of Amara's voice still ringing in his ears, her fire, her loyalty. He thought of his mother too, imagined telling her that maybe things were finally turning around.
He adjusted the strap of his worn satchel, his steps brisk, almost buoyant. He had no idea.
No idea that the very place he was walking toward — the towering glass fortress of the Cross family — would reopen wounds he thought had long scarred over. No idea that the name Sebastian would shift from a ghost in his therapy sessions to a shadow cast across his waking days.
Kairen turned the corner toward his apartment, his silhouette swallowed by the night. Above him, the city lights burned bright, indifferent, as if mocking the calm before the storm.
Because his daytime nightmares were only just beginning.