Chapter 13 – Enya
The key is heavier than I remember.
It sits uselessly in the center of my palm. I haven’t used it in over a week, not since the night of the gala. Not since everything started to feel wrong in places I used to feel safe. But here I am anyway, standing on the steps of Kai’s brownstone, staring at a door I don’t know if I want to walk through.
The sky is overcast, all bruised greys and silvers. My coat clings to my arms, and the wind cuts at my cheeks as if daring me to turn around. I don’t. I can’t.
I slide the key into the lock.
The click echoes.
The door opens.
Kai’s apartment is the same as always. Sleek lines, sharp angles, expensive furniture that looks like no one actually uses it. Not a picture frame out of place. Not a pillow out of line. It smells like the same citrus cleaner the maid uses every Friday. Clean. Too clean.
He’s here. I hear the low sound of music from the kitchen. Soft jazz. His favorite. I walk toward it, footsteps muffled on polished hardwood.
Kai turns when I step into the room.
He’s in a fitted grey button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, slacks perfectly creased. His hair is slicked back as always, not a strand out of place. He smiles when he sees me, the kind of smile that once made my stomach flutter.
Now, I feel nothing but the soft rustle of dread.
“Hey,” he says, closing the fridge. He steps forward, wrapping an arm around me. Kisses my temple, then my lips. It’s warm, but not deep. A routine. “Wasn’t expecting you. Everything okay?”
I shake my head. “We haven’t talked in forever.”
He sighs like he knows, like he expected this. “I know. I’m sorry, sunshine. I’ve just been…. Things are piling up. Work’s been brutal. But I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” His hand slips down my back, settling at my waist. “Starting tonight. You and me. Anything you want.”
It’s the same smile. The one that convinced me to say yes to a second date, to leave clothes in his closet. But now, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Or maybe I’ve just stopped believing it.
I step back slightly. “Why were you at the gala, Kai?”
His brow furrows. “The gala? That was days ago.”
“You never told me you’d be there.”
“Didn’t think it mattered.” He shrugs, voice light. “One of my clients invited me. Big fish. I couldn’t say no.”
“I told you I was working that night.”
“I didn’t think I needed to make a big announcement,” he says, chuckling softly. “Come on, Enya. It was a party. Cyril Carfano walks around like he owns the city, but he’s just another guy with a gun and a wallet. Not exactly impressive.”
I force a smile. It doesn’t fit.
He catches my discomfort before I can hide it. His face softens. He steps forward, lifts a hand to my face.
“Sunshine,” he murmurs, brushing hair from my cheek. “I was there to meet someone. One of my clients. I might be closing a huge deal because of that night. There’s nothing to worry about.”
His thumb grazes my temple. He kisses my forehead, soft and reassuring.
But I’m not reassured. I want to ask about the email Cyril showed me. About how my name ended up in his system. But the words jam in my throat. I’m not ready for that conversation.
Does he even think about me anymore? Does he even care we haven’t had sex in more than two months?
“Want some coffee?” he asks.
I nod.
We drink it without talking, sitting at the island while the city stretches out behind the frosted windows. It’s a beautiful apartment. It should feel like home. But the walls feel taller than they did a week ago, the space between us thicker. It echoes when we breathe.
Eventually, we both stand. He grabs his coat and keys, flashing me that same polished smile he always does, automatic, charming, unbothered. “You sure you don’t want a ride to the train?”
I zip my coat and nod. “Yeah. I feel like walking.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek, fingers brushing my neck. The contact is soft and familiar, but it does nothing for me.
We head down together in the elevator. The lobby smells like polished marble and eucalyptus. Outside, the wind bites. Kai tugs open the door for me, shielding me from the worst of it with a casual arm.
He unlocks his sleek black Audi parked at the curb and slides into the driver’s seat. Before pulling off, he waves from behind the window, giving me a smile.
I return it, but it’s delayed. Fragile.
“Have fun,” he says with a smile, and heads to his car.
I watch him drive off.
Then I stop.
Fun?
The second his car turns the corner and disappears into traffic, my smile drops.
My feet root to the pavement, holding me in place.
And then, slowly, I turn around.
Back toward the apartment that no longer feels like it’s mine.
I’m standing in the center of Kai’s living room, not moving. Just…breathing. Listening to the faint ticking of the minimalist wall clock he bought last spring. Watching the light shift across the marble countertops. This apartment used to feel like the finish line. Now, it feels like a hotel room. Everything is too tidy. Too curated. Like it was decorated to be photographed, not lived in.
I move, slowly, toward the hallway. Not snooping. Not yet. Just…looking. I tell myself this is just curiosity. That’s all. The hallway console table is where he keeps paperwork, spare keys, and business receipts. The drawer opens with a soft click.
Inside, there are folders—neatly stacked and all color-coded—the way he always does. His handwriting lines the tabs in perfect Sharpie block letters: LLC Docs, Investor Reports, Transfer Agreements. I flip one open, almost absently.
The first page reads: Redline Management Group.
The next: Newpoint Logistics.
Then one labeled: Crimson Dockworks.
My stomach drops.
Crimson Dockworks. I’ve heard that name before. Ren mentioned it one morning. Said his papa yelled about it during a meeting. I didn’t think much of it at the time. But here it is. Right in front of me, tied to Kai’s name.
These aren’t just shell companies. These are syndicate fronts. Laundering streams. Territory control.
What the hell is Kai doing with paperwork connected to Cyril’s world?
I blink, close the folder gently, and slide it back into place. My fingers are trembling. I press them against my thigh until the shaking stops.
Hours pass, and I sit there reading the documents. They don’t make much sense to me, but I need to take in as much information as I can. My only question is, if Kai does everything digitally, then why does he have physical folders stacked in the apartment?
This is crazy.
I’m being crazy.
But I can’t stop.
My feet carry me down the hallway, toward the door of his home office. It’s slightly ajar. The room smells faintly like cedar and sharp ink. I step in.
His desk is spotless. Of course, it is. Not a pen out of line.
I start opening the drawers. Cabinets. Everything. When I reach the bottom right drawer of the desk, it’s locked. I tug once. No give.
Below it, though, tucked beside a half-hidden storage bin, is a shoebox. Old, scuffed on one side. It’s covered in old, tattered tape, like it’s been opened one too many times.
I slide it out, sit on my heels.
And I peel the tape back.
Inside…is a photograph.
It’s old. Maybe a decade old. The edges are worn. But the faces are unmistakable.
Kai. Younger. Clean-shaven. Smiling.
His arm is around a woman with long dark hair, her head thrown back in laughter. Her dress is crimson. Her hand rests on his chest like she belongs there.
My heart drops. I know her. Not personally. But from portraits in Cyril’s study. From the framed photo on Ren’s nightstand.
Sora Carfano.
My mouth goes dry.
This is not a coincidence.
I sit there, staring at the photo for I don’t even know how long, but I’m pulled back to reality when I hear the click of the front door unlocking.
Panic slams through me.
I shove the photo back into the box, push it under the shelf, and scramble out of the room. I just move, without thinking, and my eyes settle on the only spot close enough for me to hide in. The hallway closet is the only space.
In a hurry, I duck in, shutting the door behind me. My heart is pounding so loudly that I’m sure the walls can hear it. I crouch low behind the coats, pulling one down to muffle the sound of my breath.
The front door creaks open and then clicks shut.
Footsteps. Steady. Slow.
Then, I hear his voice.
Low. Controlled.
“No, she doesn’t suspect anything yet. She’s too loyal.”
My lungs freeze.
A pause.
“The Don’s suspicious, though. He’s looking into me. If he starts digging faster, we’ll have to pivot.”
Another pause. A soft sigh, then:
“We’re already in the house. That’s the only leverage we need….”
My heart stops, and I freeze in place.
“She was just the easiest route in.”
A sound escapes me. Half-sob, half-breath.
I clamp a hand over my mouth.
Kai moves through the hallway. I hear him drop his gym bag, unzip it. He whistles as he walks toward the bedroom. A few minutes later, the front door clicks shut again.
My body refuses to move at first. Not until the room has settled, and I’m sure he’s left.
Then, I slide down to the floor, legs shaking, hands curled into fists.
I don’t know how long I sit there.
Eventually, I crawl out of the closet and stand on shaky legs.
I walk back to the office, take the photo out again.
Sora. Smiling.
Kai beside her like she was his world.
And suddenly, I understand. I was never the first choice. I was just the doorway to revenge.
The sob that tears out of me is guttural. I stagger to the couch, clutching the photo in one hand, the other gripping the armrest like it’s the only thing holding me together.
Tears come hot. Angry. Endless.
This isn’t heartbreak.
This is annihilation.
Every soft thing he ever said, every smile, every quiet morning, it was a fucking lie. I was a pawn. A goddamn puppet in a play I didn’t even audition for.
I curl into myself, sobbing into the cushions. My chest aches, and my ribs hurt. I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes swell shut.
I don’t know how long I sit there.
Eventually, my phone buzzes.
I pick it up with numb fingers.
Kai: “Just finished up. Want to grab dinner later, gorgeous? I miss you.”
I stare at the screen. I don’t reply.
I just turn the phone face down.
Outside, snow begins to fall. Soft at first, then steady, it taps rhythmically against the windows as if the city is mourning with me.