CHAPTER 12
The Truth She Wasn't Meant to See
Kathy — POV
It started like any other morning.
Or at least, that's what Kathy told herself while unlocking the flower shop.
Same routine. Same quiet street. Same soft sound of metal turning in the lock.
But something felt slightly off.
She couldn't explain it.
Just a feeling.
Like the air was waiting for something she hadn't been told about yet.
She pushed it aside.
Work first. Always work first.
By midday, the shop had picked up a little. A few customers came in, bought small bouquets, left with polite smiles. Normal things. Safe things.
Kathy stayed busy arranging fresh lilies near the front window when her phone buzzed on the counter.
She didn't look at it right away.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
That was unusual.
She frowned slightly, wiping her hands on her apron before picking it up.
A message from her cousin.
"Kathy... turn on the TV. Now."
Kathy stared at the message for a second.
Then another buzz came.
A second message.
"Isn't that the guy from your shop??"
Her stomach tightened slightly.
Slowly, she turned toward the small TV mounted in the corner of the shop. She rarely used it. Mostly just for background noise when things were slow.
She reached for the remote.
Her hand was steady. That surprised her.
She turned it on.
And everything changed.
A news broadcast filled the screen.
Bright studio lights. Serious tone. Headlines flashing at the bottom.
At first, she almost didn't process it.
Until she saw the image.
A familiar face.
Brad.
But not the Brad she knew.
Not the quiet man who stood awkwardly in her flower shop on Merrow Street, asking for simple arrangements.
This man was on a stage in downtown Portland.
Surrounded by reporters.
Flanked by executives.
The caption beneath him read:
"Brad Hawkins — CEO of Hawkins Systems, Portland's AI visionary — announces global expansion."
Kathy blinked.
Once.
Twice.
No.
That can't be right.
She stepped closer to the screen without realizing it. Her hip bumped the counter. She didn't feel it.
The reporter's voice continued.
"Brad Hawkins, one of the most influential figures in AI technology today, is known for revolutionizing global automation systems from his Portland headquarters, leading Hawkins Systems to record-breaking valuation growth..."
Her grip on the counter tightened. Her knuckles went white.
Her mind tried to reject it.
But the image stayed.
Different angles. Press flashes. Security. A polished world she didn't recognize.
And there he was.
Standing calmly.
Same posture.
Same face.
But everything around him screamed something else entirely.
Billionaire.
Founder.
CEO.
Important.
Powerful.
The words didn't fit together with the person she knew.
Her throat felt tight.
She turned the volume up without thinking.
"...Mr. Hawkins, how do you respond to concerns about AI control systems replacing human jobs globally?"
Brad on screen paused.
Just a fraction.
Then answered smoothly.
Controlled.
Precise.
Not the Brad she knew.
Not even close.
Kathy felt something twist inside her chest — a physical ache, like a string pulling too tight.
Because she realized something at the same time the world was being told who he was.
She didn't know him.
Not really.
The bell above the shop door rang behind her.
But she didn't turn.
Not yet.
She couldn't.
Her eyes stayed locked on the screen as the reporter asked another question.
And Brad responded again.
Calm.
Professional.
Untouchable.
Like the man she knew in her shop had never existed.
The broadcast shifted to footage of corporate buildings, servers, global offices, charts rising sharply across screens.
His empire.
His world.
Everything she wasn't part of.
Everything she never was meant to see.
Kathy slowly lowered the remote. Her fingers felt numb.
Her hand was shaking slightly.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Then came the second thing.
Breathing felt wrong.
Too shallow.
Too fast.
The door chimed again behind her.
This time, she turned.
And there he was.
Brad.
Standing in the doorway of her flower shop.
Same coat.
Same quiet presence.
Same eyes.
But now —
everything felt different.
Because her brain couldn't separate the two versions anymore.
The man in front of her...
and the man on the screen.
Brad noticed her expression immediately.
Something shifted in his face.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Like he already knew.
"Kathy," he said softly.
Her name didn't sound the same anymore.
Not from him.
Not after everything she just saw.
She swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper.
"You..." she started.
Her voice cracked slightly, so she stopped.
Brad took a careful step forward.
"I can explain," he said.
That word.
Explain.
It made something inside her snap sharper.
"Explain?" she repeated.
Her voice was quieter now.
But colder.
Brad paused.
The silence between them stretched.
Longer than it ever had before.
Kathy turned slightly and pointed at the TV without looking away from him.
"That," she said.
Her hand shook again — a visible tremor, undeniable.
"That is you?"
Brad didn't deny it.
He didn't correct it.
He didn't soften it.
He just stood there.
And that silence —
that silence was the answer.
Kathy felt her chest tighten again.
Because now everything made sense.
The coat.
The watch.
The careful answers.
The way he never fully explained anything.
The way he always stopped halfway through truths.
She laughed once.
But it wasn't humor.
It was disbelief — a hollow, broken sound.
"You're... a billionaire?" she said slowly.
Brad didn't respond immediately.
Then he said, "Yes."
One word.
Simple.
Heavy.
Real.
Kathy stared at him like she was trying to find the version of him she knew behind the one she just saw on screen.
But it wasn't lining up anymore.
"You let me think..." she stopped.
Her voice broke slightly.
She tried again.
"You let me think you were just —"
She couldn't finish it.
Brad's jaw tightened.
"I didn't want things to change," he said.
Kathy shook her head slowly.
That didn't help.
That made it worse.
Because now she understood.
Everything.
Or at least she thought she did.
"You lied," she said quietly.
Brad flinched slightly at the word.
But didn't deny it.
And that —
that hurt more than anything else.