Chapter 283
In the mirror, Khloe could still see Nick on the phone screen behind her.
He was seated at a desk in a hotel room, documents spread neatly in front of him. His brows were slightly drawn as he read, the focused stillness in him giving off a rare sense of calm—controlled, composed, almost distant.
Yet somehow, he wasn’t distant at all.
He was there.
Watching.
Nick finished a page and finally lifted his gaze at the exact moment Khloe applied serum in front of the mirror.
Her head tilted slightly as she worked it into her skin. Damp strands of hair clung to her neck, sliding down her collarbone and disappearing into the neckline of her sleepwear.
Nick’s eyes darkened subtly.
His Adam’s apple moved once.
“All done?” he asked after a beat, closing the file in front of him. His voice had turned slightly rough from the long silence.
“Mm.” Khloe smiled faintly at the reflection. “Are you?”
“Almost.”
He pushed the documents aside, now fully focused on her.
“Dry your hair,” he added. “You’ll get a headache if you don’t.”
“Got it.”
But she didn’t move immediately. Instead, she continued gently patting her face, unhurried, as if the moment itself was something worth prolonging.
Nick didn’t press her.
He leaned back slightly, watching.
The small, ordinary actions—her fingers brushing under her eyes, her hair shifting over one shoulder, the quiet concentration on her face—looked different when he watched them like this.
Slower.
Sharper.
Too easy to look at.
“What are you staring at?” Khloe finally asked, catching his gaze in the mirror. A faint blush crept up her cheeks despite her tone.
“You,” Nick said simply.
No hesitation.
No embellishment.
“You look good from every angle.”
That made her pause for half a second longer than she intended.
Compliments weren’t new to her.
But his were different—steady, unfiltered, like a fact rather than praise. It made it harder to dismiss.
She shot him a sideways glance, half shy, half annoyed at how easily he affected her.
“I’m going to blow-dry my hair. It’ll be loud—you should mute it.”
“Mm.”
He didn’t mute it.
And he didn’t look away either.
As the dryer started, Khloe lifted her hands, running her fingers through her hair. Strands slipped between her fingers, scattering softly under warm air.
Nick watched without interruption.
It should have been mundane.
But to him, it wasn’t.
The woman who could stand alone in a boardroom and dismantle a family empire without blinking—now stood there in soft light, barefaced, quietly tending to herself.
And somehow… that version of her felt even more dangerous.
Or maybe more precious.
Nick’s grip on the phone tightened slightly.
Was this softness something only he got to see?
That thought settled in him deeper than he expected.
Eventually, the dryer stopped.
Khloe shook out her semi-dry hair and looked back at the screen.
“All done.” Her gaze softened as she studied him. “You should rest too. You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.
Then, after a pause, he glanced at the time.
It really was late.
“Mm,” he finally said. His eyes lingered on her face. “You go to bed first. I’ll hang up after.”
Khloe hesitated, then complied without argument.
She climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up.
“Good night, Nick,” she said softly.
“Good night, Khloe,” he replied.
A beat.
“Wait for me.”
The screen went dark.
Silence filled the room.
Khloe lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Then she exhaled slowly and turned to her side, pulling the blanket closer as if it could substitute for something missing.
It wasn’t warmth.
It wasn’t comfort.
It was just… absence.
Elsewhere, Nick remained seated in the dim hotel room long after the call ended.
Then he stood.
The bathroom light came on, and cold water poured down over him—but it did nothing to cool what lingered beneath.
Instead, it sharpened it.
His mind kept returning to her voice.
Her face.
That quiet “good night.”
Nick closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, there was a subtle change in his expression—something decisive.
He turned off the water.
It looked like he would not be waiting for the original schedule to return.