Kasien （Age 18）
Kasien
I straighten my tie in the sun visor mirror just as Sylvia finally reaches the car. She wants me as her companion at another business meeting. Nothing shady this time, just an investment.
At least I think so.
The driver drops us off in front of the Sunrise Hotel, one of the best in the city.
We head inside and take the elevator to the fifth floor, where the hostess seats us at a table with a view of the skyline.
I have to fight a smile the whole time so Sylvia doesn’t realize I have something to smile about. Last night with Kiara is still wired into my system.
We sit down and order drinks while waiting for our partners to arrive.
“Where were you last night?” she asks lightly, like this is family time. But my throat tightens.
Why does she care? Is she fucking watching me?
“I told you dating is out of the question, Kasien. There’s no time for that,” she adds, trying to sound motherly as she sips her drink.
Once again, I find myself daydreaming about grabbing her neck and breaking it.
“I went to the Velvet club. Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, already looking down at the menu so she can’t push further.
She lifts her eyebrows and lets it go, just as I thought.
The restaurant is full of people like her—polished, empty. I grip my tie, suffocating in it. She’s getting on a flight after this meeting and she’ll be gone for almost a week, together with her dearest spineless husband. That thought alone gets me through this.
Natalya’s birthday party is tonight and Kiara will probably be there.
My neck warms up as I fight away the smile.
Our partners finally arrive, a couple, around Sylvia’s age. We make polite small talk and then get to the papers for the big investment the Varners will handle for them. I just check all the legal details in the papers since I have a good eye for that.
Then the waitress approaches the table and my heart stops before I even look up.
No. Please no.
I can feel her.
I lift my eyes just enough to confirm it. Kiara stands right in front of me, setting down the drinks for our partners.
Fuck.
She smiles at me and I take my eyes off immediately, my heart in my throat. I nervously dart my eyes all over the papers when I hear the sweetest voice.
“Hi.”
Why is this happening to me?
I don’t answer.
I ignore her and keep my eyes on the papers.
My heart kicks against my ribs so hard it hurts, sharp, stabbing, like a wire tightening around my chest. My fingers tremble, so I grip the papers harder until the edges crumple under my thumbs.
If Sylvia looks at me right now, she’ll see everything. She’ll see her and she’ll see what she does to me.
I can’t let her see that. She’s fucking psychotic.
Kiara stays there, waiting, longer than she should. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my face. When she finally turns around, the air in my lungs collapses.
Fuck.
My insides actually burn.
Maybe I could excuse myself, pull her aside and explain.
Maybe. But I don’t know what to say. The thought hits me so violently my leg starts jerking under the table, completely out of my control.
I glance up for half a second—there she is, standing by the bar, staring straight at me, confusion and hurt mixing on her face.
I look away instantly, grabbing my drink just to have something to do, but my hand still trembles against the glass.
Sylvia just finished hers.
Fuck.
She’s coming back.
I can sense her before I see her, like static crawling under my skin.
She’s here again, taking Sylvia’s empty glass while Sylvia orders another one.
“Can I get anything for you?” she pauses, letting the silence stretch, then adds extra emphasis on the next word, “sir?”
Fuck. That lands.
I still feel her gaze on me.
A painful sting sinks into my gut—deep, mean, personal. I give her the quickest glance and shake my head.
Pathetic. Even for me.
Her jaw tightens and for a split second I feel her disappointment like a slap. She turns around sharply, her posture stiff, shoulders tense. She marches away from the table and drops the tray onto the bar with a loud metallic clatter. The bartender startles, but she doesn’t care.
Without slowing down, Kiara pushes through the kitchen doors, slamming them open so hard they rattle before disappearing inside.
And I just sit there, staring at the papers I can’t read anymore, feeling that sharp ache dig deeper and deeper until it’s all I can focus on.
How the fuck am I going to explain this?
This meeting is never-ending.
We go through the conditions for another hour and Kiara never leaves the kitchen. I’m being weird for the rest of the meeting, but Sylvia fortunately doesn’t notice since I’m always a little weird anyway.
When it’s finally over, we shake hands and take all the papers, leaving the restaurant. I stop by the bar to leave the check, but Kiara is not there anymore.
Not that I could do anything if she was.
But the empty space where she should be makes me question it. A stupid, dull ache settles under my ribs. The kind that feels like punishment.
She’s somewhere behind those kitchen doors, probably furious, probably done with me, or confused. And I don’t know what she’s thinking.
?
As soon as the car stops in front of the house, I get out and head straight to my room, ripping off that stupid tie and shirt.
I can’t fucking breathe in this thing.
It’s like I have two personalities. The polished asshole son playing businessman, and the other one. Just me. Fucked up and unstable.
My hands shake as I yank the buttons so hard one of them flies off. I hiss under my breath, pacing like a caged animal.
Calm the fuck down.
But the more I tell myself, the worse it gets. Everything in me feels too tight, too loud. I want to punch something.
“This can’t be happening,” I mutter, already dialing her number.
Voicemail.
The sound makes my stomach twist.
I call again.
Same.
The third time, my jaw locks so tight I have to clench my fist to keep from throwing the phone across the room.
“Unbelievable,” I breathe out, voice low, shaking.
I’m going to lose my mind if I just ruined this. I open the messages and text her instead.
Me: Please pick up, I’m really sorry. I’ll explain.
I don’t even know how to explain it. What can I say? I can say Varners are strict and I can’t date but that would make me a bitch and wouldn’t explain why I was acting like I didn’t even know her.
Fucking fuck.
I should’ve at least said hi back. Just be normal. Later tell Sylvia I just know her from—
No. I don’t want Sylvia even looking in her direction. Ever.
I sit on the bed, elbows on my knees, fisting my hair. It’s like someone reached inside me and twisted something vital on purpose.
Breathe in, breathe out.
I get up and head straight for Natalya’s room, knocking aggressively.
“Yeah,” she yells through the door and I get in.
“When is the party?” I grit out.
“It’s starting in two hours.” She peeks up at me through her fingers as she’s doing her makeup. “What’s wrong? You look off.”
“Is Kiara coming?” I ask as I pace around her room.
She is so damn messy. Her clothes and makeup are everywhere. My head is about to burst open just from looking at it.
“She promised she’d come,” she tells me while styling her hair, and I get out of that room before I get a heart attack and clean it myself.
She’ll be here. I’ll fix it.
I get back to my room when my phone dings.
K.: Can’t talk. It’s really okay.
Me: Can I pick you up?
K.: I already have a ride.
Okay, she talks to me, that’s good. But whatever she’s thinking, it’s bad.
I take a cold shower because I don’t know what to do for two fucking hours. Varners are gone, the house is almost empty, only Bryan’s guarding the place.
A couple of days ago I wouldn’t have believed I’d actually be attending my little sister’s stupid birthday party for any reason other than keeping an eye on her.
?
People start filling the pool house behind the mansion, where the party is happening. The sun sinks behind the woods, the garden washed in gold. The pool house is open, it’s mostly glass, so I can see everything inside.
Some girls came earlier to set everything up with Natalya. Now it’s filled with LED lights, one table covered in jello shots. The other table is stacked with liquor, and unease creeps in.
Where the hell is Adrien?
I don’t have time to watch my sister tonight. I need to grab Kiara the second she shows up.
Then I finally see him outside in the swimming pool that stretches out in front of the pool house, lit up by underwater LED lights. He’s resting his hands on the edge of the pool while the rest of his body is in the water.
He’s alone, looking pissed, but I don’t have time for his mood swings tonight either. He’s here, that’s good. I walk to the pool and squat beside him, while he’s entirely zoned out.
“Could you make sure my sister isn’t gonna die of alcohol poisoning tonight?”
“Yeah, fine,” he mumbles, but he keeps staring at the pool house.
“You drunk already? Or high?”
He huffs and gets out of the water, rubbing his wet hair.
“I’ll watch her, calm down,” he mutters and takes a cigarette pack from my pocket while not answering my question.
I study him—his pupils look normal, he looks normal, just really tired maybe. He continues when I keep staring.
“I’m not high, Jesus. Stop taking such care of me,” he snaps at me with a cigarette between his lips. “I’m not your brother, Kas. And I’m definitely not Natalya’s brother either.”
“The fuck?”
He doesn’t let me answer, only slips the pack back into my pocket and rolls his eyes while heading toward the pool house, grabbing a whole bottle of liquor from the table.
That fucking hurt my feelings, by the way. Why the fuck would he say that? The asshole means everything to me.
However, I shake the feeling off. I don’t have time for this tonight.