𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 58: 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞… 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝?”

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

“Sorry, ma’am. Mr. Hunt is still in a meeting,” the secretary apologized.

Nevena’s fingers tightened around the strap of her small purse.

“Okay,” she murmured, stepping back to sit again.

“Ma’am… I’d advise otherwise,” the woman added carefully.

Nevena looked up. “Are you sending me away?”

A faint crinkle formed around her eyes.

“No—just that this meeting will last another for at least two hours,” the secretary explained.

“By then, office hours will be over.”

Nevena’s shoulders sagged. What the secretary said was not less than the truth.

“Can I get a reschedule?" She managed after some wrenching seconds.

“Yes, of course.”

The woman tapped a few times on her tablet. “Tomorrow at 9:00am —lucky enough, you happened to be the first on his schedule”

Nevena nodded and turned toward the glass elevator that carried her up that afternoon—eyes tired, steps slow.

One reschedule turned into two, then into a week-long rescheduling, and somehow, she became a familiar sight in Celestial Height Hotel.

That evening, as she stepped out through the glass doors for the seventh time, she paused and looked up at the towering structure.

> Was he avoiding her? Or was his schedule truly that tight?

With no clean insight of what was truly going on, she headed for the gates and left.

Meanwhile, far above, the topmost floor of Celestial Heights looked more like a private lounge than an office.

Antonio stood by the window, coat draped over one arm, a single glass of scotch breathing on his desk.

The window had become his favourite spot ever since Nevena started visiting.

He watched her every morning on the lobby camera.

And when she finally gave up and decided to leave, he would take position by this very window.

The door clicked behind him and Grinch entered, suit pressed, small earpiece glinting.

He set a thin envelope on the table and waited.

“Cesar Maté’s letter came through,” he said quietly. “He’s declaring lifelong enmity because of Cardoza.”

“I counted on that.” A corner of Antonio’s mouth lifted, but he didn’t turn from the window.

Grinch nodded and prepared to leave, but paused—his gaze lifting to the glass, following Antonio’s line of sight.

He walked over behind Antonio, and right down on the pavement below, Nevena walked away, shoulders hunched, steps hesitant.

Grinch let out a quiet exhale.

“You sure do owe yourself some honesty.”

Antonio shot him a look that could silence thunder.

“Let’s go home.”

Grinch picked up Antonio's briefcase, and both men walked toward the private elevator.

Nevena continued her visits throughout the new week, each time disappointment and resolve weighing heavier.

But then, on Saturday, she took a break and packed her bags. She was taking Junior out to the sea.

Her rescheduling couldn’t continue being a hindrance to what she promised the little boy.

When she knocked at Breanna’s door that morning, the woman was home.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Nevena greeted lightly, but Breanna snubbed her.

The judge’s verdict was still bobbing inside her; after Nevena’s unanimous release, the judge went ahead to grant her unrestrained access to Junior.

Breanna herself was given a stern warning, but her superiors wouldn’t hear of the face slapping, so they gave her a two-week suspension.

So when she read Nevena’s message the night before, about the planned picnic, she couldn’t help but hiss.

Now holding open the door, she could’ve slammed it in Nevena’s face — but hell no.

Breanna simply turned and walked back to her room.

Nevena stepped inside quietly and then paused. She didn’t know where Junior’s room was.

But then she heard a soft groan and followed it.

The boy sat at the dining table, struggling with his homework — all alone.

“Morning, Junior,” she exhaled softly.

“Bestie!” Junior’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “You’re… here!”

Nevena gave him a small smile and leaned over his books. “Looks pretty tough.”

“Yeah… I’ve been struggling with it since last night.”

“That’s bad,” she remarked teasingly. “Pack up, I’ll help you with it at the lighthouse.”

“Thanks, bestie!” Junior beamed and ran to his room to dress up.

Thirty minutes later, they stepped out of their cab.

The docks ahead were loud that morning, ship horns blaring, sailors shouting, traders arguing at the top of their lungs.

Instead of heading to the deck, they took the narrow path toward the old lighthouse.

“What did Mr. Hunt later say?” Junior asked, gliding with outstretched arms like an airplane.

“Bruh — he doesn’t even want to see me.”

“Really?” Junior hummed faintly, still flapping his arms.

“Yeah,” she buzzed “Could you believe I got rescheduled eleven times?”

“You ghat to be kidding me.” Junior stopped walking, now standing at the foot of the lighthouse.

“No, I’m serious,” Nevena pulled her thin cardigan tighter. “He’s always in a meeting.”

“That’s weird.”

“Same as I thought,” she muttered as they approached the door.

Without hesitation Junior pushed open the lighthouse door. The rusted hinges groaned, protesting the intrusion.

Nevena deadpanned at the sight of the single spiral staircase wrapped upward along the cylindrical wall. “You sure about this, Junior?"

"Oh yes" Junior ran ahead with boyish excitement, his footsteps clanging on the metal steps. “We’ll see the whole city from up there!”

Nevena nodded, but however remained frozen at the base.

The steps are narrow, steep, and inside was lit only by thin vertical slits that posed as windows.

And right above her, the staircase seemed to twist into a tight tunnel of height she’d rather not face.

“Bestie, come on!” Junior called from halfway up, leaning over the railing.

“Yes, coming" She took one step and the stairs creaked.

She took another, and the slits opened to a view of churning water crashing against the rocks below.

Her hand slammed against the cold wall instantly. “Lord,” she whispered, steadying her breath.

“You okay?” Junior asked, noticing her gasp.

“I’m… fine,” she managed, forcing a shaky step upward.

Junior blinked at her pace. “Bestie… are you scared?”

“What?” she scoffed, trying for a laugh that didn’t quite land. “No. I’m just—this staircase is old. I don’t trust it. Your weight and mine together might be too much.”

“Bestie, I weigh twenty-eight kilos.”

“Exactly,” she swallowed.

Junior burst into laughter.

“Come on! Come on, I’ll help you.”

He trotted down two steps and stretched out a hand dramatically, like a gentleman escorting a princess.