Chapter five
Morning draped the city in gold, but Maison de la Croix made the sun feel like an afterthought. The skyscraper rose like glass carved into a blade, edges catching light, walls of stone anchoring its immensity. Inside, the lobby was a cathedral of money — marble floors echoing with purposeful footsteps, crystal chandeliers raining sharp light onto gilded trim, and the massive Croix crest in iron and gold presiding above the reception like a warning: power lives here, not people.
Kairen sat across from a man in a sleek black office. Everything about the room was designed to dwarf him — black marble table, leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows stretching out to the endless city. The man slid a crisp paper across the desk.
"Go through this carefully. If the terms suit you, sign and bring it back tomorrow. You'll start right away."
The words sank like stones in Kairen's chest. He nodded, clutching the paper as though it might vanish. "Thank you, sir."
When he stepped out, the corridor swallowed him in its silence. Kevin sat waiting on a lounge chair near the glass railing, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, tracking him. Another handshake was happening — the officer clasping Kevin's hand firmly, gratitude written in the gesture.
"Appreciate your help, Mr. Green," the officer said before gliding away.
Kairen blinked. So that was it. Kevin had put in a word.
Kevin stood as Kairen approached, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. "Well?"
Kairen almost laughed, relief breaking like sunlight through him. He held up the paper. "Interview was great. I'm supposed to sign this and start tomorrow."
"Knew you'd manage," Kevin said, clapping his shoulder.
"You're too humble," Kairen shot back. "This was you. Your influence."
Kevin shrugged like it was nothing, though the corner of his mouth lifted. "Maybe. But you still had to walk in there yourself."
For a moment, hope felt tangible in Kairen's chest. He could almost breathe again. "When's your flight?"
"Tomorrow."
"Then I'm treating you tonight," Kairen said, voice firm, as though declaring a vow.
Kevin chuckled. "I'll hold you to that." Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, "But first — come on. You should meet some of the team. Better to start with friendly faces than cold ones."
The contract crinkled slightly in Kairen's grip as he hesitated. The walls of Maison de la Croix loomed around him, sleek and merciless. He wasn't sure if he belonged here, but Kevin was already walking, and so he followed, unaware that with each step deeper into the building, he was walking into the orbit of the Cross family itself into his own daytime nightmare.
---
The sleek black car purred to a halt outside the glass-and-stone tower of Maison de la Croix. Its doors unlocked with a quiet click, and from the backseat Sebastian leaned lazily into the screen of his phone, voice low and sharp against the playful chatter echoing from the other side.
On the call, a sunlit living room flickered across the screen — his sister sprawled on a velvet sofa in Germany, throwing her hands up in dramatics.
"Why should you even listen to Dad? Leave that place, Seb. Come to me. Germany is bigger, freer, and honestly, you'd love it here. You don't owe him anything."
Sebastian smirked, teeth flashing as he dragged a hand through his tousled icy-blonde hair. His mother's voice cut in then, soft, velvety, commanding in its own way.
"I'll speak to him, darling. You shouldn't be pushed so hard. You're not meant to be like Victor."
The corner of Sebastian's lips curled higher — a private smirk of a man who'd been told his whole life that rules bent around him.
The chauffeur opened his door, and Sebastian slid out, the camera of his phone still catching his stride. His long frame unfolded effortlessly, suit sculpted against his lean muscle. As he stepped onto the marble pavement, the building seemed to notice — as though the tower itself straightened its spine for his arrival.
"—And what about Celeste?" his mother pressed suddenly, her tone laced with sly curiosity.
Sebastian's jaw flexed, but he didn't falter, already striding across the lobby floor where heads were bowing, voices softening. "She's fine," he lied smoothly, without missing a step. "We're… making it work."
Onscreen, his sister groaned theatrically. "God, she's boring. You should've dumped her years ago."
Sebastian chuckled, low and mocking, the sound reverberating as the sound of his Italian leather shoes clicked across marble.
"Trust me," he said, hazel eyes glinting with gold under the lobby's chandelier. "You two worry too much. I've got everything under control."
He tilted the phone slightly, laughing at his sister's exaggerated scowl, even as the building's workers shifted to the edges of the hallway, granting him passage. He moved like a storm dressed in midnight fabric, his mother's voice still cooing in his ear, his sister still flaring up in dramatics — and the world around him parting to let him through.
---
The worker's floor hummed with the steady rhythm of keyboards, low chatter, and the occasional ring of a desk phone. Kevin pushed open the glass door and motioned Kairen inside, his voice warm as he introduced him.
"This is my friend, Kairen. He'll be taking my place."
Heads turned, curious eyes scanning him. Smiles broke the still air.
Julian leaned casually against his desk, his sleeves rolled. "I'll help you clear out the office so you're comfortable tomorrow," he offered, his tone easy, reassuring.
Before Kairen could thank him, Elodie let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes. "Another newbie," she muttered, though the teasing curl of her lips betrayed her.
"Don't mind her," someone whispered with a chuckle. "She's always like that."
Kairen laughed nervously, tugging at his sleeve. For a brief second, he felt he belonged.
Then the air shifted.
A sleek shadow cut across the room. Footsteps slow, unhurried, commanding.
Sebastian Cross strode past, phone angled before him, his voice low as he spoke into the screen. Blond hair caught in the white light overhead, gold flecks of his hazel eyes flashing between words.
He passed so close Kairen could almost feel the drag of his cologne — sharp, expensive, suffocating.
The world faltered.
Kairen froze mid-breath, his chest tightening, a ripple of nausea surging as if memory itself pressed against his skin. Sebastian, too, faltered. His stride hitched, just a fraction. On the screen, his sister's voice spilled in German-laced English: "Seb? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, his gaze hardening again as he moved on, his laugh returning, rich and careless.
Time snapped back.
"Elodie," someone hissed, but she was already on her feet, hurrying after him, words tumbling eagerly as she tried to catch his attention.
Kairen blinked, swaying slightly. His stomach turned.
"You good?" Kevin asked sharply, hand at his elbow.
"I—" Kairen swallowed. "I feel… off. Like I just… walked through something."
Julian studied him, sympathetic. "Nerves. Happens on the first day. Go home, rest. Tomorrow's the real start."
Kevin guided him toward the door. Still pale, Kairen glanced back once.
All he saw was the broad back of the blond man, shoulders straight and untouchable, Elodie clinging to his orbit like a moth.
"Who was that?" he asked, voice low.
Kevin didn't even blink. "The CEO's son."
Kairen nodded, no suspicion in his eyes. He didn't know yet. He couldn't.
But fate had already turned its face toward him.
---
Kairen stepped out of the glass fortress that was Maison de la Croix, the weight of the contract tucked under his arm like a lifeline. The late morning sun spilled down the street, catching in the mirrored walls of skyscrapers, making everything look too sharp, too clean. For the first time in weeks, his chest lifted. He had a job. A way forward.
Kevin had already slipped away with a quick excuse, leaving him alone in the stream of pressed suits and honking cabs. The city pressed around him, but Kairen's smile was small, private. Hope—fragile but real—settled into his bones.
He reached for his phone, dialing the only person he wanted to tell.
Across town, Amara's boutique was a storm of color and chatter. The narrow space smelled faintly of fabric dye and coffee. Sunlight spilled through the wide glass window, catching on sequined hems and bold silhouettes draped over mannequins. Behind the counter, Amara balanced a measuring tape around her neck, one hand tugging at the sleeve of a client's blouse while the other snatched up her phone.
"Ren, bitch, this better be good," she answered, her tone sharp but softened with laughter. Then, to her customer, she added in the same breath: "Hold still, honey, you're about to lose an armhole."
Kairen's grin widened through the line. "I just got a job."
Amara froze, one brow arching as if he could see it. "Wait—what? You quit yesterday and found another today?" She clicked her tongue, incredulous. "You're either cursed or God's favorite. I can't tell which."
Her client chuckled nervously, but Amara only winked at her before shifting the phone against her shoulder.
"I'm serious," Kairen said, his voice carrying a rare lightness. "Interview went well. I start tomorrow."
For a beat, Amara let the news sink in. Then she huffed, dramatic. "Unbelievable. Meanwhile, I work my ass off and the universe hands you a cushy desk job like a party favor." She tugged at her customer's hemline, muttering: "Stand still, baby, I'll be done in a second."
Kairen laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he crossed a quiet street.
"Listen, I'm drowning in thread and deadlines right now," Amara said, her tone softening, "but when I'm done? You're coming over. We'll celebrate, catch a drink, something."
"Deal," Kairen said.
And though she was buried in fabric and fittings, Amara's voice carried the kind of warmth that made Kairen believe, just for a moment, that everything might actually be okay.