Chapter Twelve The Visit
The email arrived on a Tuesday.
Annual CEO Visit – Golden Thread Pictures – Thursday, 10:00 AM. Attendance mandatory.
Miu read it, yawned, and deleted it. She had been at Golden Thread for two years.
Every year, some executive from the parent company came down, walked around, shook hands with people who mattered, and left.
The writers were usually told to stay at their desks and look productive.
Miu was very good at looking productive while doing absolutely nothing.
She mentioned it to Colin at lunch.
"Who's the CEO this year?" she asked, picking at her sad sandwich.
"Same as always. Thomson."
"Thomson who?"
Colin stared at her. "Thomson. As in Thomson Group. As in the company that owns our building, and approximately half of Canada."
Miu shrugged. "I don't pay attention to rich people."
"You work for one."
"I work for Gerald. Gerald works for someone. That someone works for someone else. It's turtles all the way down."
Colin shook his head. "You're impossible."
"I'm efficient. There's a difference."
Her phone buzzed. Lena: How's the nausea today?
Miu typed back: Manageable. Did you put honey in my tea this morning?
Yes.
You're still doing too much.
You're still complaining about it.
It's called gratitude.
No, it's called complaining.
Miu smiled. Colin watched her. "Your landlord again?"
"My very attentive landlord."
"You're smiling at your phone like it's a person."
"It's a phone. It has no feelings."
"Neither do you, apparently."
Miu put the phone away. "Shut up, Colin."
---
Thursday arrived gray and wet, which was every day in Vancouver.
Miu wore her usual uniform—hoodie, unbuttoned jeans, boots with the scuffed toes. She had not dressed for the CEO visit. She had forgotten about the CEO visit entirely until she walked into the office and saw people in blazers.
Jen was wearing heels. Priya had curled her hair. Even Colin had put on a button-down shirt that looked like it had been ironed.
"What's happening?" Miu asked.
"The CEO visit," Colin hissed. "I told you on Tuesday."
"I deleted that email."
"You deleted an email from corporate?"
"I delete all emails from corporate. It's called self-care."
Colin grabbed her arm. "Just... stay at your desk. Don't say anything weird. Don't mention the cat script. Don't—"
"I can't promise anything."
"You're going to get us both fired."
"Probably."
Miu sat down at her desk. The cursor blinked. The script was still not written. She opened a new document and typed CAT REVOLUTION – SCENE 23 just to make it look like she was working.
The office buzzed with nervous energy. People straightened their nameplates. Someone sprayed air freshener in the break room. Gerald walked past looking like he had swallowed a live bee.
"They're here," someone whispered.
Miu didn't look up. She was trying to remember where she had left off in the script. Something about the cat and a protest sign. She had written MEOW in all caps and then fallen asleep.
The elevator dinged.
Footsteps. Polite clapping.
Miu kept typing. MEOW MEOW MEOW. Productive.
Then she heard a voice. Familiar. Professional. The kind of voice that said I have a spreadsheet for everything.
"I appreciate the warm welcome. We'll keep this brief."
Miu's fingers stopped moving.
She knew that voice.
She looked up.
Adrian Park was standing near the entrance, holding a tablet and scanning the room with the expression of a man who had seen everything and was mildly unimpressed.
He was wearing a dark suit. His tie was perfectly knotted.
He looked exactly like he looked in Lena's apartment when he brought documents—except now he was in her office.
What is he doing here? Miu thought.
Then she saw Lena.
Lena walked in behind Adrian, and the room shifted. Not dramatically—no music, no spotlights—but the energy changed. People straightened. Gerald's face went pale. Someone in the back whispered "that's her."
Lena was wearing a charcoal blazer, tailored trousers, and heels that Miu had never seen before. Her hair was pulled back. Her expression was neutral, controlled, exactly the way she looked when she was in a boardroom.
Except Miu had never seen her in a boardroom. She had seen her in sweatpants, making soup. She had seen her in the hallway, holding tea. She had seen her on the couch, scratching a cat behind the ears.
This was a different Lena.
This was Lena Thomson. CEO of Thomson Group. Owner of Golden Thread Pictures. Owner of the fertility clinic. Owner of the building Miu lived in.
The woman who had been making her breakfast for three weeks.
Miu's brain made the connection slowly, like a car engine turning over in cold weather. Lena. Thomson. Lena Thomson. The email said CEO Thomson. Lena is the CEO. Lena owns my company. Lena owns the clinic. Lena owns—
"Everything," Miu whispered.
Colin looked at her. "What?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I've seen something worse. I've seen my landlord in a blazer."
Colin frowned. "Your landlord is here?"
Miu didn't answer. She was staring at Lena, who was now shaking Gerald's hand and saying something about "creative output" and "synergy." Gerald was nodding like his life depended on it.
Lena's gaze moved across the room.
Found Miu.
Stopped.
For a fraction of a second, Lena's mask slipped. Something flickered across her face—surprise, maybe, or concern. Then the mask was back, and she looked away, continuing her conversation with Gerald.
But Miu had seen it.
She knew I work here, Miu thought. She knew the whole time.
---
The tour took twenty minutes.
Lena walked through the office, stopping at desks, asking questions that sounded genuine but probably weren't. Adrian followed behind her, taking notes on his tablet. The employees smiled and nodded and tried to look important.
Miu stayed at her desk. She did not smile. She did not nod. She stared at her screen and typed MEOW MEOW MEOW with increasing aggression.
Lena's group approached.
"Ms. Srisuwan," Gerald said, appearing at her elbow. "This is Ms. Thomson, our CEO."
Miu looked up. Lena looked down. Their eyes met.
"We've met," Miu said.
The room went quiet.
Gerald's smile froze. "You've... met?"
"She's my landlord," Miu said.
Someone coughed. Someone else dropped a pen.
Lena's expression didn't change. "Ms. Srisuwan rents the apartment below mine. It's a coincidence."
"Is it?" Miu asked.
Lena's jaw tightened. "We can discuss this later."
"Yes," Miu said. "We can. At home."
The word home landed like a stone in still water. Adrian raised an eyebrow. Gerald looked like he needed a drink. Colin was staring at Miu with his mouth open.
Lena nodded once. "I'll see you tonight."
She walked away. Adrian followed. The tour continued.
Miu sat at her desk, heart pounding, and tried to remember how to breathe.
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
People looked at her differently. Not with gossip—with curiosity.
The CEO's tenant. The woman who said 'at home' to Lena Thomson.
Miu ignored them. She stared at her screen and thought about all the mornings Lena had brought her tea.
All the nights Lena had made her soup. All the texts checking in, asking how she felt, reminding her to eat.
She knew, Miu thought. She knew I worked for her. She knew she could pull strings. She knew—
But had she pulled strings? Miu thought about her deadlines moving. Gerald's uncharacteristic kindness. The lighter workload that had appeared out of nowhere.
She did. She absolutely did.
Miu pulled out her phone.
We need to talk, she texted Lena.
I know, Lena replied.
You're buying dinner.
I was going to cook.
You're buying dinner. Somewhere expensive. You owe me.
A pause. Then: Anywhere you want.
Good.
Miu put the phone away. Her hands were shaking. She wasn't sure if she was angry or impressed or both.
---
Lena's car was waiting outside at 5:30 PM.
Miu got in. Did not say hello. Did not buckle her seatbelt immediately. Just sat there, staring at the dashboard.
Lena started the engine. "There's a restaurant on West Fourth. Italian. Very expensive."
"I don't care where we go."
"You said somewhere expensive."
"I was being sarcastic."
"I don't understand sarcasm."
"I know." Miu finally looked at her. Lena's hands were on the steering wheel at ten and two. Her knuckles were white. "You're nervous."
"I'm concerned."
"Same thing."
"I'm not good at... this."
"At what? Being honest?"
Lena was quiet for a moment. Then: "At being seen. Really seen. Most people see the company. The name. The money. They don't see me."
Miu studied her. The sharp jaw. The careful posture. The woman who made soup and washed dishes and remembered that Miu didn't like her vegetables cut too big.
"I thought you were just a business owner," Miu said. "A rich one, sure. Nice clothes, fancy car. But I didn't know you owned... everything."
"I don't own everything."
"You own my company. You own my building. You probably own the coffee shop where we had our first real conversation."
Lena's mouth twitched. "I don't own the coffee shop. The coffee shop is independently operated."
"That's not the point."
"Then what's the point?"
Miu took a breath. "The point is, you didn't tell me. You let me think you were just... Lena. The woman upstairs. The one who makes soup."
"I am that woman."
"You're also the CEO of a conglomerate."
"I can be both."
"Can you?" Miu's voice cracked. "Because I've been relying on you. I've been letting you take care of me. And now I find out you're the reason my deadlines moved. The reason Gerald stopped yelling at me. The reason—"
Lena's silence confirmed it.
"You didn't even deny it," Miu said.
"No."
"You're the reason my workload is lighter."
Lena said nothing. That was an answer.
Miu leaned back in her seat. The rain tapped on the roof. The windshield wipers clicked.
"I thought I was just getting better at my job," Miu said quietly. "I thought Gerald finally respected me. I thought—" She laughed, but it wasn't funny. "I thought I was earning it."
"You are earning it. You're a talented writer. The deadlines moved because you were exhausted and pregnant and I didn't want you to burn out. That's not charity. That's... being human."
"You've never been human a day in your life."
"That's not fair."
"Neither was keeping this from me."
Lena turned off the engine. The restaurant could wait. She faced Miu fully—the first time she had turned her body toward her in the car.
"You're right," Lena said. "I should have told you. But every time I tried, you called me a robot or made fun of my sweatpants. And I liked that. I liked being someone you made fun of. Not someone you were intimidated by."
Miu stared at her. "You liked being made fun of?"
"I liked being normal. With you." Lena's voice dropped. "No one treats me like I'm normal. Not since I was a child. You treat me like I'm just... a person. Someone who burns rice sometimes. Someone who buys the wrong brand of tea. Someone who—"
"Who leaves the cabinet doors open?"
"Yes."
Miu was quiet. The rain was louder now.
"I'm not going to stop making fun of you," Miu said.
"I know."
"I'm going to be angry for a while. Maybe a day. Maybe two."
"That's fair."
"And you're going to answer every question I have. No more secrets."
Lena nodded. "No more secrets."
"And you're going to buy me the most expensive pasta on the menu."
"I was planning to."
"Good." Miu opened the car door. The rain hit her face. She didn't care. "Let's go. I'm hungry."
---
The restaurant was warm and loud and full of people who looked like they had never worn unbuttoned jeans in their lives. The hostess recognized Lena. Seated them at a corner table with candles and a view of the kitchen.
Miu ordered the most expensive pasta. Lena ordered the same.
"So," Miu said, twirling her fork. "How much of my life do you own?"
"I don't own your life."
"My building. My job. My fertility clinic."
"I own the clinic. I don't own your job. You're employed by a subsidiary. There's a difference."
"That's the same thing."
"It's legally distinct."
Miu pointed her fork at Lena. "You're impossible."
"I've been told."
They ate in silence for a while. The pasta was good. Miu hated that it was good. She wanted to be angry, but the food was warm and the candles were flickering and Lena was sitting across from her looking like a child who had been caught stealing cookies.
"Why didn't you tell me at the coffee shop?" Miu asked. "When your mother showed up. You could have said something."
"I was going to. But then you called my mother terrifying, and I forgot."
"You forgot?"
"I was distracted."
"By what?"
Lena set down her fork. "By you. By the way you don't back down. By the way you told my mother that your uterus wasn't her business." She paused. "No one talks to my mother like that."
"Someone should."
"I agree. But it's usually me. And I'm not as funny as you."
Miu's anger softened. Just a little. "You're not funny at all."
"I'm working on it."
They finished dinner. Lena paid. The bill was large enough that Miu felt faint.
"I'm going to have nightmares about that number," Miu said.
"I'll make you tea when we get home."
"You're not getting out of this that easily."
"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to take care of you. That's different."
Miu looked at her. The restaurant lights were low. Lena's face was half in shadow. She looked softer than she did in the office. More like the woman who made soup.
"Okay," Miu said. "Let's go home."
---
Adrian was waiting in Lena's apartment when they got back.
He was sitting on the couch, laptop open, cat on his lap. The cat, who hated everyone, was purring.
"The cat likes you," Miu said.
"The cat has good instincts."
"You're both weird."
Adrian looked up. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were watching—observing the way Miu walked in first, the way Lena followed, the way they moved around each other like people who had done this a hundred times.
"How was dinner?" Adrian asked.
"Expensive," Miu said.
"Enlightening," Lena said.
Adrian closed his laptop. The cat jumped off his lap and padded over to Miu, rubbing against her ankles.
"I'll leave you two to talk," Adrian said. He stood, gathered his things, and walked to the door. Before leaving, he paused.
"Lena."
"Yes."
"She's good for you." He glanced at Miu. "Don't screw it up."
Then he left.
Miu stared at the closed door. "Does he always talk to you like that?"
"Yes."
"And you let him?"
"He's been with me for eight years. He's earned the right."
Miu sat down on the couch. The cat jumped into her lap. "Okay. Talk. No more secrets."
Lena sat across from her, in the armchair. The same positions they always took. The same distance between them.
"I'm the CEO of Thomson Group," Lena said. "I own the company you work for. I own the clinic where the accident happened. I bought the building we live in. I am, as you put it, 'rich rich.'"
Miu nodded. "And you didn't tell me because...?"
"Because I wanted you to see me as a person. Not a corporation. Not a problem to be solved. Just... Lena."
"The one who burns rice."
"The one who burns rice."
Miu was quiet for a long moment. The cat purred. The rain tapped against the window.
"I'm still angry," Miu said.
"I know."
"But I'm also grateful. For the deadlines. For Gerald being less of a troll. For the soup." She paused. "For showing up."
Lena's shoulders relaxed. Just slightly. "I'm not going to stop showing up."
"You better not. I'm growing a human. I need help."
"You have it."
Miu leaned back into the couch. The anger was still there, but it was smaller now. Quiet. Like a cat that had curled up and gone to sleep.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked.
"Same time tomorrow."
Miu stood. The cat protested. She walked to the door, then paused.
"Lena."
"Yes."
"Next time you buy a building, warn me."
Lena's mouth twitched. "I'll add it to my list."
"You have a list for everything."
"I have a list for things that matter."
Miu looked at her. The apartment was too clean, but Lena was sitting in the armchair with her hair falling out of its ponytail, and somewhere in the kitchen, there was soup on the stove for tomorrow.
"Goodnight, Lena."
"Goodnight, Miu."
Miu walked downstairs. The cat followed. She didn't remember picking him up, but he was in her arms when she opened her door.
---
Adrian sat in his car outside the building.
He had waited. Not because he needed to—because he wanted to see. Lena had been different lately. Softer. More human. He had watched her make soup and buy gummy bears and text a woman who called her creepy.
Tonight, he had watched Lena Thomson—the woman who had never apologized for anything in her life—explain herself to a screenwriter in a cat hoodie.
And he had watched Miu listen. Not with anger. With patience. With something that looked like the beginning of trust.
Adrian started the engine.
"She's powerless," he said to himself. "Completely powerless."
He smiled.
Then he drove home.