Chapter 12

Killian

I needed to know what she was doing. She’d mentioned her mother’s clinic schedules earlier, but now she was poring over something that looked like serious work. Spreadsheets, complex documents. Yet, I knew she wasn't currently employed. She was here, tied up in this mess, supposedly for a year.

I couldn’t hold the curiosity back any longer. It was a weakness, but she was like an unsolved equation sitting in my living room, and it was driving me mad. I shut my tablet with a quiet snap and broke the silence.

"You don't work," I stated flatly, not as a question, but as a fact.

She didn't jump. Didn't even flinch. She just kept typing for another full minute, saving whatever she was working on, before finally lifting her head slowly. She looked at me with those guarded, hazel eyes, and there was no heat in them, just a tired sort of honesty.

"No, Killian, I don't work at the moment," she replied, her voice cool and measured.

"But you seem occupied," I countered. "What is it? Personal finances?" I expected her to admit she was tracking the money being spent on her mother’s treatment or, worse, researching ways to get more out of the arrangement. That's what people did.

She shook her head, leaning back in her chair, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I was a university student. Business and economics. I was due to graduate last year."

I just stared at her. "Was?"

She gave a small, humorless shrug. "Yeah. Was. I had to stop my studies when my mother's illness got worse. The costs, the appointments, the time... I couldn't focus on the coursework anymore. She needed me."

She said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly. Like she was telling me the time. There was no whining, no attempt to gain sympathy, and no dramatic tale of sacrifice. Just a simple, blunt statement of a choice made out of necessity.

I felt a sudden, sharp jolt of something I couldn't name. It was completely unexpected. Every other story I'd ever heard about struggle was wrapped in emotional blackmail or pathetic pleading. But she just laid out the truth: she sacrificed her education, her future, and her career to care for her mother. And she wasn't asking for a medal for it.

"And now?" I asked, pushing the words out.

"Now I'm sorting through what I missed," she said, tapping her laptop. "I plan to go back and finish the degree once I can. I'm keeping my notes current and catching up on the course loads. I'm not going to let three years of study go to waste just because life went to shit."

She looked straight at me then, her gaze unwavering. "I’ll graduate. I'm determined. I always finish what I start."

The strength in that statement hit me like a frozen wave. Most of the people I dealt with—the executives, the investors, the socialites—were chasing money they didn't earn or status they didn't deserve. And here she was, who had willingly walked away from everything she had earned just to stand by her mother. She wasn't after my money; she was after the life-saving services that my family's wealth could provide. And the moment the contract was over, she had a clear plan to go back and get what was hers.

She wasn't a problem. She was a goal-oriented fighter. That was a kind of strength I actually understood. It was a strength I hadn't expected to find in this forced arrangement. It genuinely baffled me.

I opened my mouth to say something when the heavy library door was flung open with unnecessary force.

"Killian! There you are! I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, her voice soft. She walked straight over to me, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she spoke.

 "Pascal just called me on the house line. There's an urgent issue with the foundation's annual report, and he needs your immediate clearance before the ten o'clock meeting. He said he couldn't get through to your private line."

She was being helpful, doing what a good friend would do. Tanya glanced briefly toward Nova, who was still at the desk, completely ignoring the interruption. There was no shift in Tanya’s expression, no change in her tone. She was just relaying the message and ensuring I was on track.

"Right," I replied, my voice short and focused entirely on the business matter. I didn't waste words on thanks or pleasantries; she didn't expect them. "I'll take the call in the office. Tell Pascal I'm on my way."

"Of course," she said simply, nodding once. She didn't question the urgency or ask for details. She just accepted my word.

I stood up, grabbing my tablet, my thoughts instantly shifting from Nova’s determined face to the reports I needed to authorize. Tanya had provided the necessary push for me to move on, for which I was grateful.

As I walked toward the door, I passed Nova's desk. I didn't say anything; I didn't need to. I didn't look at her, either. I didn't want to get pulled back into that quiet conversation that had unsettled me so thoroughly.

Tanya followed me out, pulling the door closed behind us.

"Everything alright, Killian?" she asked softly as we walked down the hall.

"Fine. Work," I stated, keeping my voice clipped.

"Good," she replied. "You should eat something before you take that call. You didn't finish your breakfast."

She was looking out for me in her quiet, sisterly way. She was reliable, predictable, and simple. Everything Nova was not.

But even as I focused on the foundation report and the urgency of my work, my mind kept dragging me back to the image of Nova sitting alone in the library, determined to return to her books. She was an absolute anomaly, and that utter bewilderment was slowly but surely eroding the walls of my perfectly controlled life. I couldn't understand her motives, and that made her a threat to my focus. I needed to figure her out.

Tanya

I walked out of that massive library, pulling the heavy door shut behind me, and I swear I had to fight the urge to kick the fucking thing. My smile felt frozen on my face, and the second I was out of Killian's sight, I let it drop. My teeth were actually grinding.

Interrupt your focus time, Nova? Please. I’d walked in there to break up that little tête-à-tête, and I didn't care who knew it. The nerve of that woman, sitting at the main desk in her faded T-shirt, acting like she was running the world while my Killian was tucked away in a corner. She was an infection I needed to clear out of this house.

I walked down the hall and headed straight for the guest suite, which was now my territory. It was temporary, yeah, but it was miles better than my own apartment, and it kept me close to him.

I went straight into the bathroom and stared at my reflection. My makeup was perfect, my hair was perfect, and I had the perfect look of a slightly concerned friend. No one, especially Killian, who was about as observant as a brick when it came to feelings, would ever guess I was actually seething on the inside.