Chapter 30
Kairen let the dry laugh settle in the air, his shoulders loosening as if he'd just admitted something he couldn't change. "I've accepted my fate," he said, and the words carried both surrender and a strange kind of peace.
Julian tilted his head, the corners of his mouth lifting in quiet approval. "That's good," he replied softly. "I'm proud of you."
Their eyes lingered for a second too long, a fragile thread of warmth tying the space between them. Then Julian broke it with an easy question. "So… are you heading back to where I picked you up this morning?" He didn't know the name of the place, only remembered the door Kairen had stepped out from with heavy eyes.
Kairen shook his head, lips curling faintly. "No. I'll go to my own apartment."
Julian nodded, as though the answer settled something inside him. He hesitated only a beat before asking, "Can I take you home? Is that okay?"
The question slipped out with a gentleness that startled Kairen. He blinked, then caught the sincerity in Julian's gaze. Warmth bloomed in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he answered too quickly. "Of course, Julian. I'd appreciate that."
Julian's smile widened, sheepish yet genuine, a flicker of boyish charm breaking through his usual composure. "Okay then. I'll be waiting for you outside."
"Thank you," Kairen said quietly as Julian stepped out, leaving the office door to click shut behind him.
The silence rushed back in, and with it, Kairen's face broke into a grin he couldn't hold down. He twirled once on the spot, almost a silent dance of relief, before pressing a hand over his chest. Saved. No cab fare tonight.
He exhaled a laugh, then hurried to pack his things with a little more spring in his movements, every gesture lighter now that he knew someone was waiting just for him.
Julian stepped out of Kairen's office with a quiet smile tugging at his mouth, the air still carrying Kairen's laughter. But the moment he crossed the threshold, he froze.
There she was—Elodie—leaning against the cream-painted wall like some spy caught between shifts, her arms crossed, her expression drawn into that theatrical pout she wore whenever she smelled gossip.
Julian sighed inwardly and kept walking, hoping silence would work.
"Can I take you home? Is that okay?" Elodie's voice rose in a sing-song mimic, pitched to mock tenderness.
Julian stopped mid-step, shoulders stiffening, before pushing forward again. "Rest it out, Elodie."
"Oh, please." She pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him, eyes sparkling with delight. "You've never offered to take me home before."
Julian's jaw tightened. He could feel the heat of frustration pushing through his calm. "That's because you're a woman," he said flatly, "and I'm not attracted to women."
Elodie gasped so loudly that two passing staff turned their heads. Her hand flew to her chest in mock horror, as if Julian had confessed to murder. "So all my little teasings" her voice climbed an octave "they were true? You really are catching feelings for Mr. Janitor?"
"Don't call him that," Julian cut in sharply, the first crack in his usual composure. He turned, pinning her with a look that silenced her for half a second. "And why are you even still here? Shouldn't you be on your way home by now?"
But Elodie was already grinning again, unbothered. She followed him down the marble hall, heels clicking with each step. "Julian and Kairen," she sing-songed under her breath, ignoring the disinterested glances of staff heading out. "You'd make such a tragic workplace romance. The assistant and the… oh, what was it again? Janitor? No, wait, promoted janitor." She burst out laughing at her own dry joke.
Julian pinched the bridge of his nose but kept walking, his patience thinning. Elodie, however, looked like she'd just found her new favorite pastime.
---
Celeste's heels clicked lightly against the worn floorboards as she stepped into Larry's apartment. The air was heavy—stale liquor, sour sweat, and the thick curl of smoke that clawed at her lungs. She wrinkled her nose but forced a honeyed tone into her voice.
"Honey? Baby, are you here?"
No answer.
She pushed deeper into the apartment, her eyes flicking over the scattered bottles and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The sight alone made her skin crawl. Then she found him.
Larry stood near the window, his broad back to her, one hand clutching a lit joint, the other gripping a half-empty whiskey bottle. The glow of the streetlights outside cut his silhouette sharp against the smoke that coiled lazily around him. He didn't turn when she entered, didn't even flinch.
"Baby," she coaxed softly, stepping closer with the practiced caution of someone approaching a cornered animal, "what's the matter?"
Larry exhaled a thick cloud, his voice cutting through the haze—low, hard, edged with something dangerous.
"Who's fucking you?"
Celeste froze, her breath caught in her throat. For a heartbeat she was certain she had misheard him. But then he turned slightly, just enough for her to see the twisted anger in his face, his eyes bloodshot, teeth clenched around the question.
"W–what? Nobody," she stammered, her voice trembling though she tried to hide it behind a quick smile. "It's only you. Always you."
The words did nothing to calm him. In fact, they seemed to ignite something worse.
With a guttural sound, Larry hurled the whiskey bottle to the ground. Glass exploded at their feet, shards scattering across the room like sparks. Celeste flinched, her composure shattering.
Before she could retreat, Larry closed the space between them in two strides. His hand shot up, clamping around her throat, and he slammed her back against the wall so hard the air fled her lungs in a violent gasp.
Her nails clawed at his wrist as she struggled, panic flooding her chest. His breath reeked of smoke and whiskey as he leaned in close, eyes wild.
"She's fucking richer men." The words pounded in his head, Amara's voice echoing, drilling into him until it drowned out reason. He squeezed tighter. "Tell me the truth. Tell me!"
Celeste's legs kicked weakly against the floor, her voice a strangled rasp.
"Larry stop, please it's not"
But her pleas bounced uselessly off the rage consuming him. In that suffocating moment, she realized just how much power she had lost.
Celeste's nails clawed at his wrist, her voice breaking as she rasped, "Larry—stop, let me go!" But the tone was too practiced, too familiar. This was not the first time his hand had found her throat, and in her bones she knew it would not be the last.
She had been here before. A girl on the street, trembling, cornered by men with greedy hands then Larry came, her knight in cheap denim, swinging fists and spitting curses, dragging her out like a savior. For a fleeting moment, she believed she had been saved. Months later, she understood the truth: he had only cleared the way to make her his own prisoner.
Now his eyes burned with suspicion, veins swelling at his temple. He pressed her harder into the wall until the frame rattled.
"Tell me the truth!" he snarled, his breath hot with whiskey. "Who the fuck is touching you? Huh? Who's paying for that fur on your back?"
Her lips trembled, but she bit down on them, refusing. If she admitted anything even a lie it would be her death sentence. "No one," she gasped. "It's only you. Always you."
That only enraged him further. His grip loosened just enough for him to slam a fist against the wall beside her head. The sound cracked through the air, making her flinch.
"You think you can make a fool of me?" His voice was low, guttural. "If you won't confess, then I'll make sure no rich bastard will ever want you. I'll ruin you, Celeste. Don't you dare play games with me."
And before she could even draw breath, he hurled her sideways. Her body collided with the edge of the bedside drawer, the sharp corner biting into her ribs. She crumpled onto the carpet, air punched from her lungs in a ragged gasp.
For a moment she stayed there, frozen, one hand clutching her side. Pain radiated through her chest, but sharper still was the cold clarity flooding her mind.
Larry loomed above her, pacing like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching. But Celeste's thoughts were already slipping past him, past this room filled with smoke and violence. She would not die here, she vowed. Not under him.
Her exit plan Sebastian suddenly felt less like an indulgence and more like survival.
_____
Larry's fist struck her shoulder, then her ribs, each blow thudding with the weight of something deeper than jealousy. Celeste's cries cracked against the four walls of the room, but even in the sting of his rage, she heard the truth beneath it this wasn't just about her.
It was about him.
About Kairen.
Larry's anger burned hotter because it was hollowed by loss, by a failure he couldn't forget. He had tried to break Kairen once, to chain him down like he did with her. But Kairen had slipped through his fingers, walked away, and never looked back. That humiliation, that powerlessness, haunted him more than her supposed betrayal ever could.
Now every strike he delivered was punishment not just for Celeste, but for the boy he could never reclaim.
Celeste's back hit the bedside drawer with a sick crack. The sting in her spine blurred her vision, but she refused to cry not the way he wanted. She pressed her lips tight, tasting the iron of blood, while Larry's words slashed through the haze.
"Don't fuck with me."
He stood over her, chest heaving, the smoke from his half-burnt joint curling around his face like a mask. But behind the fury, she saw it the frustration, the failure, the desperation of a man unraveling.
Celeste drew a shuddered breath, forcing her trembling hands to brace against the floor. This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last… unless she made it so. She thought of Sebastian then, cold and glittering like the crown she had her eyes on. Toxic, yes. But unlike Larry, Sebastian offered escape, a doorway out of this suffocating cage.
Her body ached, her pride stung, but her resolve hardened. She would play her part, smile through the bruises, and climb her way out.
Larry might think he still owned her—but tonight had only proven how wrong he was.