Chapter 5
Aurelia
The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, soft and deceptive in its warmth. My hands trembled faintly as I buttoned my linen blouse, the memory of last night lingering. I shook it off. This was work. A new day.
Victor had sent a message earlier: “The team is expected at the construction site by ten. Mr. Krogen will meet you there to discuss the event hall interiors.”
Mr. Krogen. The words looked strange on the screen after last night.
I exhaled, tied my hair into a low bun, slipped on my flats, and met the others outside.
Theo was nursing a cup of coffee like it had wronged him.
Vanya looked sharp as ever, tablet in hand, and even Riley was there, sunglasses perched on her head, pretending the morning sun was offensive.
Victor greeted us at the entrance of the golf cart path. “Mr. Krogen is already on site,” he informed, voice steady, precise as always. “He’s expecting you.” Something about that made my pulse jump.
The ride to the construction site was brief. A blur of sunlight, cranes, and the rhythmic clatter of tools. The half-built event hall rose ahead, its steel skeleton glinting under the tropical light. Workers moved across scaffolding, their shouts and laughter echoing through the open space.
Keith stood near the central framework, sleeves rolled up, speaking to the foreman.
He looked every bit the man in charge. Calm, composed, commanding.
When his gaze flicked toward us, I smiled instinctively.
He didn’t smile back. Not even a flicker.
Just a polite nod. Professional, detached.
It was enough to knock the air from my lungs.
He wasn’t cold… just strangely indifferent, almost deliberately so.
I pushed the thought away, forcing focus as Victor led us closer.
“The event hall will host private galas, weddings, and conferences,” Victor explained. “Mr. Krogen would like the interiors finalized before the next inspection.”
Keith’s voice cut in smooth, measured. “I want something that lasts. Understated elegance. This hall isn’t for excess. It’s for legacy.”
I nodded, trying to match his composure. “Muted tones, natural textures. Maybe marble with brass accents? Something timeless but not sterile.”
He met my eyes briefly. “Exactly.” Then turned to the others, already moving on to technical details.
I tried to listen, I really did. But there was something off about the air. It was thick, tense. The sun glared against the beams, the sound of grinding metal too sharp.
Then. A crack.
A sound that didn’t belong.
Heads turned. One of the steel beams above shifted with a shriek of strained bolts. My stomach dropped. Before I could even move, the world blurred. The groan of metal, a shout, and then—
A jolt.
Strong arms hit me square in the chest, shoving me backward. The air rushed from my lungs as I stumbled and fell to the ground. The beam crashed down where I’d been standing, the impact sending dust and sparks into the air.
The noise stopped. Everything stopped.
I blinked, dazed. Then saw him. Keith, standing between me and the wreckage, his right hand cradled against his side, blood seeping through his palm.
“Mr. Krogen!” My voice cracked. I scrambled up, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “Oh my God— your hand—”
He didn’t flinch, just flexed his fingers once, inspecting the cut with quiet detachment. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” My chest constricted. “You-. You pushed me out of the way! You—” My throat closed. The words came out in gasps, uneven, frantic. I could feel the panic rising. That old, suffocating dread, the kind that never really left.
Keith reached out with his uninjured hand, steady and grounding. “Aurelia,” he said softly. “Breathe.”
I did. Barely. His calm cut through the noise, through the fear clawing at my ribs.
He turned to Victor, voice level again. “Get the medic ready.”
Victor was already on his phone, issuing orders as workers scrambled.
Within minutes, we were in a small utility cart, the island’s medic center a short drive away. I sat beside Keith, watching the faint streak of blood down his wrist, every jolt of the cart making my heart twist tighter. He didn’t complain once. He just stared ahead, his expression unreadable.
At the clinic, the doctor ushered him inside. The scent of antiseptic hit me, sharp and clean. Keith sat on the exam table, his shirt sleeve rolled up, the injury revealed a deep scrape across his palm, angry red but mercifully shallow.
Still, seeing it made my stomach turn.
When the doctor began cleaning the wound, I had to grip the edge of the counter to steady myself. My throat burned. “This is my fault,” I said, voice trembling. “If I hadn’t been standing there—”
Keith glanced up, his tone quiet but firm. “Stop.”
Tears stung my eyes. “You could’ve been seriously hurt. Because of me.”
He shook his head once, eyes steady on mine. “I made a choice. I’d make it again.”
Something in his voice, simple, sure, without hesitation undid me. The tears came before I could stop them.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face with his uninjured hand. The touch was light but it felt like gravity. “Aurelia,” he said softly. “I’m fine. You should get some rest. It must’ve been a shock.”
“I can stay,” I whispered.
“You shouldn’t,” he said gently. “Go rest. That’s an order.”
Despite the faint smile on his lips, his tone left no room for argument.
I hesitated, the air between us thick with everything I couldn’t say. Then I nodded. “Okay.”
As I stepped outside, the door closing softly behind me, I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the ache there. The sound of the beam hitting the ground still echoed in my ears — but louder still was his voice, low and steady, saying my name like it meant something.