Chapter 9
Kairen sat stiffly in the back of the cab, his fingers twitching against his thigh, the city nothing more than smears of light and glass rushing past the window. His chest rose and fell like a man halfway drowning. He had already spoken to his therapist, voice trembling through the receiver, but nothing could quiet the storm inside him. His decision was final. He would never, not for anything in this world, step foot in Maison de la Croix again—not when the ghost of his past had turned out to be his present nightmare.
The cab slowed, rolling to a stop in front of Amara's boutique. He stared at the familiar glass window, at the mannequin draped in one of her bold designs. A sigh broke from him, jagged and defeated. He paid, stepped out, and walked inside.
The shop was quiet, almost too quiet. No customers lingered, no chatter or laughter to distract him. Just the faint scratch of pencil on paper. Amara sat behind her counter, curls falling over her face as she leaned over a sketchbook, caught up in her world of lines and fabric.
The chime above the door squeaked. She looked up, expecting a customer.
"Welcome to—" her voice cut short. "Oh. Ren?" Her brows arched in surprise. "Back so soon? Don't tell me they already fired you."
But Kairen didn't answer. He walked stiffly across the shop floor, sank into the nearest chair like his bones had given up on holding him, and pressed his face into his hands. His shoulders shook once, then again, until the weight of it broke loose, and he was crying helplessly, soundlessly, like a dam split open.
Amara's sketchbook slid from her lap. In seconds she was at his side, crouching, gripping his arm. Her voice, sharp and frantic, tumbled over itself:
"What happened? What the hell happened? Talk to me, bitch, you're scaring me."
Kairen shook his head, words clogged in his throat. He forced a breath, forced the words out anyway. "Remember… my school bully?"
Amara's face tightened instantly. Her warmth sharpened into focus. "Sebastian," she said flatly.
Kairen's lips quivered. His eyes lifted, wet, broken. "He's my new boss."
The world seemed to freeze in that little shop. Amara's hand flew to her mouth. A sharp gasp broke through her fingers. For a moment she just stared, her mind racing back to all the nights Kairen had called her trembling, all the times he'd flinched at shadows and fought to fall asleep. The past wasn't the past anymore it was alive, and it was sitting at the top floor of Maison de la Croix.
"Oh, hell no," Amara muttered, standing abruptly, fury flashing hot in her eyes. "Oh, nuh-uh, I'm not doing this. That motherf—" She cut herself off, pacing like a storm bottled inside four walls. "Ren, don't cry. Don't you dare cry. This isn't high school anymore. You're not that scared boy anymore. And him? He's not gonna touch you. Not while I'm alive."
Kairen buried his face in his hands again, sobs trembling through his frame. But Amara crouched back down, pulling his wrists away, forcing him to look at her.
"Listen to me," she said, voice low, commanding, almost shaking with the weight of it. "He already took years from you. He doesn't get to take your future too. You hear me?"
Her words hung in the air, sharp and defiant against Kairen's broken silence.
Kairen lifted his face, streaked with tears, his chest rising and falling like he had run for miles. His voice cracked when he spoke, each word trembling.
"What am I going to do, Amara?" His eyes searched hers desperately. "That man isn't a boy anymore. He's… he's something else. And the way he smirked at me when he saw me—" Kairen shuddered, pressing a fist against his chest. "He's going to make my life a living hell."
Amara's throat tightened. For a second, she almost didn't know what to say. But she forced her voice steady.
"Stop it. Stop. Don't let him get in your head again. Just avoid him."
Kairen let out a humorless laugh, shaky and bitter. "Avoid him? He's my boss. I'm his PA."
Amara's eyes went wide, her mouth falling open. For once, she was speechless. She stared at him as though the universe itself had played the cruelest joke. Finally, she threw up her hands.
"What kind of misfortune is this? Bitch, you're so unlucky, uh!"
Kairen blinked at her, tears still clinging to his lashes, but the absurdity of her tone tugged a laugh out of him. It slipped through his sobs, awkward and broken. Amara, encouraged, laughed too. For a few seconds, the two of them just sat there, laughter echoing through the quiet shop like survivors clinging to humor in the middle of disaster.
But it didn't last. Kairen's laughter died, and his shoulders sagged again. "I don't want this job anymore, Amara. I can't. I can't stay there."
Amara's face softened, then turned serious. "Even if you don't want to… what about the contract you signed?"
The air seemed to thicken. Kairen froze. Amara froze with him, both staring at each other in heavy silence. Slowly, almost in a whisper, Kairen muttered.
"Bitch."
Amara leaned closer, whispering back with the same grave intensity.
"Bitch."
Then together, voices rising just enough:
"You are fucked," Amara declared.
"I'm fucked," Kairen echoed, his face collapsing back into despair.
The mood hung heavy for a moment, until the sharp trill of Kairen's phone shattered it.
He fumbled for it, still sniffling, glancing at the glowing screen. The name made his heart skip.
Kevin.
Kairen swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the answer button as Amara leaned in, peering at the screen.
"Well, well," she murmured, half curious, half cautious. "What the hell does he want now?"
Kairen sniffled, his thumb hovering uncertainly over the phone screen before pressing it to his ear. Amara leaned in close, practically resting her chin on his shoulder, hungry to catch every word.
"Hello?" Kairen's voice cracked.
"Hello, Kairen." Kevin's steady tone carried across the line, formal as always, yet touched with an older brother's concern.
Kairen tried to clear his throat. "Are you already on the plane?"
"Yes," Kevin replied, "but that's not why I called." His voice shifted, firming like stone. "The company just called me. They said you left the office for no reason."
Kairen's lips parted in panic. Amara, quick as lightning, waved her hands frantically in front of his face, shaking her head, mouthing don't you dare. He swallowed and forced a weak laugh.
"I—I'm sorry, Kevin. I… I have a running stomach," he lied.
There was silence for a beat too long, the kind that made sweat break across his palms.
Then Kevin exhaled sharply, disappointment weighing in his tone. "Kairen, please. Take this job seriously. I don't want to be getting calls like this again."
Kairen squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry, I'll do better."
"And for the stomach," Kevin added more softly, "make sure you take medication. Don't push yourself until you collapse."
The tenderness in his words made Kairen's guilt sting sharper. "Safe journey," he whispered, forcing steadiness into his voice.
"Take care of yourself," Kevin said before the line clicked dead.
Kairen lowered the phone slowly. Across from him, Amara tilted her head in that dramatic, theatrical way only she could pull off—chin tilted, lips pursed, eyes widening like she'd just watched the climax of a soap opera. Her look said it all: Girl, you have no choice.
Kairen let out a humorless laugh through the tightness in his chest. He was trapped, and they both knew it.
Sebastian's voice was low, half a smirk pressed against the receiver as he descended the marble stairwell.
"So you're really not flying out tonight?" his friend asked through the phone, a thread of surprise in his tone.
"No," Sebastian said flatly, though his eyes carried a glint. "I think I've found something here that'll keep me company for a long while."
The chuckle on the other end was knowing. "Something or someone?"
Sebastian didn't answer—he let the silence stretch, the corners of his lips curving.
"Well, thank God," the friend continued, "because I've already scheduled a match for you. Couldn't have you running off to Europe and skipping out."
Sebastian's expression darkened a fraction. "We'll see. My old man has me chained to the role of responsible heir for now. It's tedious."
He ended the call before a reply could come. The moment his phone slid into his pocket, his gait changed. Languid confidence hardened into sharp purpose. He stepped into the employee section, and the chatter around cubicles died like someone had pulled the plug from the room.
The shift was immediate—every voice hushed, every glance fell.
He didn't say a word as he stopped in front of Elodie's desk. She looked up, nail file frozen midair, and nearly dropped it. Her lips parted, her breath caught. For all her dramatic flair, she was suddenly wordless, staring up at him like a deer caught in the glow of something much too dangerous.
Sebastian leaned one hand on the desk, eyes cutting down at her with a lazy precision that still carried weight. He didn't need to raise his voice. The silence wrapped around him, heavy, charged.
In that moment, it was clear—Sebastian Cross didn't just walk into a room. He claimed it...