Chapter 20
20
ROMAN
T he moment I walked into the house, I knew something was off.
I couldn’t put my finger on it right away, but the air felt different. Warmer, somehow. Livelier. Voices and laughter drifted down the hall, a stark contrast to the usual quiet that greeted me when I came home. Usually, one of my staff would be waiting to take my briefcase or offer me a drink.
I heard them talking in the kitchen, which seemed odd. But it wasn’t their voices that had me going down the other hall. It was Kaira. She was talking to someone, which confused me.
I paused at the doorway, watching the two of them reclined on the sofas with a tray of snacks between them, laughing about something. My staff, usually composed and efficient, were lounging in the room, enjoying drinks and food with smiles and even a chuckle or two.
It was like walking into someone else’s home.
When I finally stepped into the room, the staff jumped up and rushed out. I wasn’t thrilled about the intrusion, but I let it go. For now.
After being dismissed in my own home, I walked back to the foyer with the intention of going to my study when I noticed a couple garbage bags and boxes in the corner. What the hell?
It was like I walked into the wrong house. My staff had been put under some spell. I stared at the things and knew where they came from—Kaira, obviously.
I stared at the clutter, my irritation growing. This wasn’t acceptable. My home was a place of order, of structured calm, not this. I took a deep breath, trying to control the flare of anger. I couldn’t help but overhear more laughter coming from the sitting room. The sound grated against my nerves. It wasn’t that I despised joy or laughter; I just didn’t know what to do with it.
I walked to my study, not surprised to see it had all been put back to rights. I did feel a little guilty for the mess I left the staff to handle. It had been quite a bit worse than the mess in the foyer. I knew I was going to have to talk to Kaira at some point, but I wasn’t doing it in front of an audience.
After a couple of hours, I emerged from the study and noticed the clutter in the foyer was gone. I was informed dinner would be served in twenty minutes. I went upstairs to change before returning to the dining room, wondering if our guest would be joining us.
Kaira was already there, chatting with one of the staff. They were acting like they were best friends. When I entered the room, they stopped talking. The staff member, Jessica maybe, quickly poured me a glass of water before leaving the dining room.
Kaira looked at me but said nothing. Her friend must have left at some point, for which I was grateful.
Dinner was served. I noticed it again. The staff who served us seemed to share secret smiles and easy chatter with Kaira. She laughed, thanked them warmly, and even joked about the impeccable presentation of the dishes. They were charmed by her. Everyone was charmed by her.
Everyone except me at that moment.
I couldn’t pinpoint why it irritated me so much. Maybe it was the way she so effortlessly connected with people, how she made my staff— my staff—feel more at ease than I ever had. Or maybe it was the nagging sense that this was no longer my house. It was hers, somehow.
The thought burrowed into my chest like a thorn. I took another bite of the beef that I technically knew tasted great, but in my mood, it tasted like betrayal.
“I had some of my things brought over,” Kaira said, breaking the silence.
“I noticed.”
“I’ve taken the bags and boxes to my room.”
“Good. You could have had your buddies do it.”
“My buddies?”
I waved a hand. “My staff that you seem to have befriended.”
Kaira tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable for a moment before a soft smile played on her lips. “Roman, they’re not my buddies. They work here, yes, but they are people too. Friendly conversation doesn’t cost anything.”
“I’m aware,” I replied curtly. “But this is my home, not a social club.”
Her smile faded and she looked down at her plate, her fork playing idly with the food. “I understand this is what you’re used to. However, loosening up a bit wouldn’t hurt. They seem happier.”
“Happier doesn’t necessarily mean more productive,” I countered.
She shook her head and went back to her meal.
By the time dinner was over, I had enough.
“Can you get the staff in here?” I demanded of Jessica.
“Yes, sir.”
They filed into the dining room.
“Your work today was less than impressive,” I said curtly. “I will not tolerate mediocrity and inefficiency.”
The atmosphere shifted immediately. Kaira’s smile faded, replaced by a look of confusion and maybe a touch of disappointment. And anger.
“Don’t let it happen again.” I stood and tossed my napkin on my plate. I didn’t stay to explain myself. I headed back upstairs to change into my workout clothes. I needed to get rid of the frustration without trashing my house.
The gym was my refuge.
I went for the punching bag again. I wrapped my hands and started throwing jabs at the heavy bag. My mind replayed the scene over and over. The looks on their faces—the mixed expressions of surprise and hurt, the sudden drop of morale. I punched harder, each blow a futile attempt to shut out the guilt gnawing at me.
Kaira had been right; they were people, not just cogs in my meticulously maintained machine. But acknowledging that felt like loosening a grip I wasn’t sure I was ready to release. The sound of my fists against the bag was the best music I’d ever heard.
I finished with the bag and moved to the weights, letting the familiar rhythm of lifting and lowering distract me from the storm brewing in my mind. The clink of the dumbbells and the rush of blood in my ears were grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos I had been feeling.
“Did you have a bad day?” Kaira’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. I lowered the weights and turned to see her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her ample chest.
“No,” I said, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from my face. “It was fine until I came home to find you getting chummy with my staff.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Chummy? Seriously?”
“They’re employees, Kaira. Not friends or family. They have work to do, and you can’t be distracting them.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re people, not furniture.”
“What?” I snapped.
“You’d rather your staff spend their time shining your already shiny marble floors again instead of letting them enjoy themselves for half an hour?” she asked, her voice dripping with disbelief. “This place is cleaner than a hospital. It’s not like they were sitting around watching soap operas. Do you want them to clean what’s already clean?”
“Yes,” I said automatically. “That’s what I pay them to do.”
Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, I thought I had finally managed to silence her. But then her eyes narrowed, and I saw the anger flash in them. She took a step closer, fists clenched at her sides.
“I don’t understand you,” she said, her tone low and biting.
“That makes two of us,” I shot back.
Her defiance only seemed to grow with each word I threw at her. Most people would have backed down by now, but not Kaira. Her determination was infuriating—and, annoyingly, a little admirable.
“You live in this beautiful house,” she said, gesturing around us, “but it feels like a tomb. Cold, lifeless. Your staff are good people. They deserve to enjoy their work, Roman. And if you can’t see that, then I don’t know how to help you. Spend five seconds getting to know them and you’ll have their loyalty forever.”
Her words hit harder than I cared to admit.
“This is my house,” I said, my voice hard. “I don’t need their loyalty. I pay them. They signed NDAs. Period.”
She met my gaze head on, her eyes blazing. “And you’re the one making it miserable.”
I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my temper in check. “You don’t know anything about me or this house.”
“I know enough,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “I know you’re unhappy here. And I think that’s the real problem.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. She shook her head and turned on her heel.
“I’m going to the library,” she said over her shoulder. “At least that room doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating me.”
I watched her go. Part of me wanted to call her back, to argue, to prove her wrong. But another part—the quieter, more vulnerable part—knew she wasn’t entirely wrong.
The gym wasn’t a refuge anymore. She’d ruined that.
I sat on the bench, staring at the floor, my mind racing. Kaira’s words replayed in my head.
She was right about one thing: I was unhappy here. This house, with all its grandeur and memories, was a prison of my own making. The ghosts of my parents lingered in every room, their laughter and warmth haunting me but always just out of reach. I had spent years trying to fill the void they left behind, but nothing ever seemed to fit.
Kaira had brought something new to this house—life, warmth, laughter. And I was ruining it. For her, for the staff, for myself.
I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. What would my mother think if she saw me now? If she heard the way I spoke to Kaira, the way I let my anger and insecurities consume me? And the staff?
She would be disappointed. And that thought hurt more than anything else.
For years, I had worked to prove I was worthy of my mother’s pride, her love. But somewhere along the way, I’d lost sight of what really mattered. And now, with Kaira here, I had a chance to bring something good back into this house.
If only I didn’t keep getting in my own way.