KIAN’S POV Morning came faster than expected. Mr. Alcante’s fever hadn’t broken overnight, and by the time the sun spilled across the hardwood floor, his breathing had grown heavier, labored. I didn’t wait any longer. I helped him dress slowly, layered him in a coat, and loaded him gently into the truck. The local hospital was tucked at the edge of the city, modest but competent. A nurse met us at the door with a wheelchair, and I handed over the paperwork and insurance details while they wheeled him off to be assessed. Hours passed. Blood work. Scans. A barrage of questions about history neither of us could fully answer. I stayed in the waiting area, watching the large wall-mounted television flicker with muted news and hospital alerts. The sterile scent of antiseptic made my stomach churn. It reminded me of something I couldn’t quite place. And then something disrupted the quiet hum. A voice. Loud. Sharp. Unapologetically entitled. I turned. Two large bodyguar
KIAN'S POV The following morning felt heavier than most. I was up before the sun, staring at the gray ceiling, my thoughts consumed by two things: Mr. Alcante and what I was about to do next. He had improved slightly overnight—the fever had gone down a notch, and his breathing was less labored. But there was still a fragility about him that unsettled me. I left a note and made sure he had water, his medicine, and a way to reach me if things worsened. Then I got dressed, straightened my tie, and stepped into my plan. Today, I was walking into Whitmore Enterprises. Not as a guest. But as an employee. The corporate building stood tall and glossy in the morning light. The receptionist, now familiar, directed me to the upper floor where HR conducted interviews. I waited in a sleek white lobby with three other applicants—all younger, all nervous. When my name was called, I walked into the interview room with the practiced calm of someone who had been through far worse. Three
LENA'S POV There are moments when the entire world halts—not in chaos, but in silence. When I turned toward the corner of the office and my eyes landed on him, I knew instantly. My throat closed. My heart missed a beat, then another. Time didn’t slow—it slammed to a stop. Kian. Standing there like a stranger dressed in something that didn’t belong to him, yet fit too well. Confident. Composed. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t shattered me. And yet, his eyes held no flicker of recognition. None. I stood frozen, the weight of my presence anchoring the room. The chatter died. Even the buzzing fluorescent lights seemed to dim. Staff members glanced from him to me, then back again, unsure whether they were witnessing an accident or a miracle. But no one dared to speak. I swallowed hard, locking my spine straight, painting calm on my face like war paint. “Who,” I said slowly, carefully, “approved the hire of this gentleman?” My voice didn’t tremble. It sliced
LENA'S POV Lunch hour crept in quietly. I didn’t usually eat in the office—not because I didn’t want to, but because eating meant slowing down. And slowing down meant thinking. Remembering. Feeling. But today, I made an exception. Kian sat across from me at the small meeting table in the corner of my office, quietly unpacking the lunch boxes the kitchen staff had dropped off. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was... strange. Heavy, yet soft. Like the air before a storm. He handed me my container, his fingers brushing mine briefly. I didn’t flinch, but I felt the shiver run up my arm. We ate in silence for the first few minutes, the occasional clink of cutlery the only sound between us. Outside, the buzz of company life continued. Phones ringing. Keys clicking. The low hum of ambition. Inside, it was just us. The way it used to be. I let my eyes linger on him longer than I should have. The light from the blinds cut across his face, and when he smiled—just slightly,
KIAN'S POV I trailed behind Lena as she walked with brisk purpose, every stride sharp and steady, her heels echoing off the glassy tile of the company building. Whatever awaited us outside, I could feel it humming at the edge of tension. Lena hadn’t said much—she didn’t have to. The urgency in the assistant's voice had already spelled enough. We reached the ground floor, and through the glass doors, I saw the crowd. Dozens of people loitered outside the building. Some held signs. Others gripped sticks. And in front of them, like a wall, stood three men with arms folded and expressions carved from stone. Tattoos curled up their arms and peeked from the collars of stained work shirts. They didn’t just look angry. They looked ready. Lena stepped through the doors first. I followed. One of the tattooed men stepped forward. “We were working on your East Wing extension. The structure collapsed two days ago. We lost equipment. Nearly lost men. And no one from your side’s reached out
KIAN'S POV The final hour of the workday slid past in a blur of paperwork, handshakes, and murmured congratulations from employees still riding the high of the afternoon’s drama. I kept my head down, mindful of every careful glance thrown my way, every speculative whisper I pretended not to hear. By the time the office began to empty out, the sky outside had bled into a deep orange. Evening was slipping its fingers across the city. I shut down my workstation in Lena’s office, slipping the files into the drawer she had assigned me earlier that day. The corner she gave me was small, cramped even—but somehow, it felt like the center of the world. I felt her presence before I heard her voice. “Heading out?” Lena asked, leaning lightly against the doorframe. I turned to face her. She looked tired, but her features remained composed, refined, powerful. There was an ease about her now—a quiet acceptance—that hadn't been there earlier. “Yeah,” I said. “I should get going.” She
KIAN'S POV I hovered over Mr. Alcante, my hand pressed against his shoulder, feeling the faint tremor of his body as he struggled to stay conscious. His breathing was shallow, rattling, and every second that ticked by gnawed at my composure. “Mr. Alcante, can you hear me?” I said, voice low but urgent. His eyelids fluttered open. Bloodshot eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, they sharpened recognition, pain, and a kind of stubborn defiance all rolled into one. “Thought... you weren't... coming back,” he rasped out, his voice no more than a breath. “I got your medicine,” I said quickly, holding up the brown paper bag like it was proof that everything would be fine. He chuckled briefly, before he tried to sit up. “Don’t move,” I ordered, pressing him gently back to the floor. “I’m calling an ambulance.” “No!” His hand shot up, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. His skin was dry and thin, the bones underneath sharp as stone. “No hospital... not yet.” I stared
LENA'S POVI found him slumped on a cracked hospital bench, his jacket bundled under his head, the exhaustion carved deep into the lines of his face. Kian slept like someone who hadn’t rested in weeks, his body still, his mouth slightly parted as he breathed shallowly.My chest tightened.I stood there for a long moment, the breakfast bag in my hands crinkling softly, forgotten. Watching him.Last night I had seen his truck speeding through the city. At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, a mirage created by missing him too much. But the way he drove, fast and desperate, had torn something primal inside me. Without thinking, I followed.I trailed him across intersections, side streets, down to the waterfront, heart pounding the whole time. I saw him pull into the hospital.And then I drove back home half out of fear, half because I didn't want to smother him.I cooked. I packed his favorite breakfast, the one he used to steal bites from when he thought I wasn't looking.
KIAN'S POV The air was thick with the scent of salt and worn wood. Dusk had wrapped the coastline in a shade of burnt gold, the last fingers of sunlight trailing across the edge of the porch. Mr. Alcante sat where he always did around this hour—a chair that looked like it had been built before I was born, his back hunched slightly, a half-carved piece of driftwood in his hand. I stood in the doorway, watching him. For weeks, maybe months now, questions had twisted inside me like old ropes, frayed and knotted. But tonight, they felt like they might finally come undone. "Can I sit?" I asked. He didn’t look up, just nodded toward the empty chair beside him. I crossed the wooden floor slowly, the boards creaking beneath my steps. When I sat, I could feel the silence between us pressing in. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just heavy. "Where did you find me, Mr. Alcante?" He paused, the small knife in his hand freezing mid-whittle. "You know where," he said without looking at me. "I
LENA'S POVThe tension in my chest didn’t fade after Kian walked off with Tara for their little discussion. If anything, it deepened, settling in the pit of my stomach like a stone I couldn’t digest. I returned to my office and dropped into my chair, mentally composing a hundred different messages I wouldn’t send.Then, without knocking, Clara entered.She was carrying two coffees and wearing that amused expression that said she was about to ruin me with honesty and caffeine."I saw your face from the elevators," she said, placing one of the cups in front of me and sliding into the chair across the desk. "Something’s up. And if I had to guess, it’s tall, charming, and temporarily memory-wiped."I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Tara.""The one with the kid and the silky voice?""That’s her."Clara took a slow sip. "What did she do?""Nothing technically," I muttered. "Kian bumped into her last week. Helped her son cross the road. Today, she’s talking about real estate partnerships and wa
LENA'S POVIt had only been a week since Kian and I defined our relationship again, but the truth was, the ghosts of his past were still trailing us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if we didn’t start pulling some of those pieces back together, we’d never feel solid.So I did what any self-respecting, curious woman would do.I brought in Clara.Clara had always had a talent for sniffing out truth, and she’d known Kian back then—before everything fell apart. If anyone could draw something out of him, intentionally or not, it would be her.The bar was dim but elegant, lit by rows of pendant lights and the flicker of tea candles in glass jars. Clara sat in the back corner booth like a queen surveying her domain, her eyes instantly narrowing on Kian the second we entered.We slid into the booth, Clara opposite Kian. She didn’t speak for the first ten seconds, just studied him."You look the same," she said finally. "Except... softer. Less guarded."Kian gave a slow nod, the corners of h
LENA'S POVThe weekend air was warm and sweet, touched with the scent of blooming grass and the distant murmur of bees. The clearing we picked for our picnic was wrapped in soft sunlight, the kind of light that made everything feel a little less heavy. Kian and I had barely been official for a week, but there was something about being with him today that made the world feel whole.We set up the blanket beneath an oak tree that leaned ever so slightly, like it was bending to listen. The basket between us was filled with lemonade, strawberries, a couple of sandwiches we haphazardly threw together that morning, and a container of fresh mango slices Kian insisted on adding, claiming, "They taste like joy."He stretched beside me on the blanket, one hand propping his head up, the other absentmindedly toying with the edge of my dress. His fingers moved like he was trying to remember something tactile, something he couldn’t quite name."You’ve been awfully quiet," I said, brushing a strand o
LENA'S POVThe water was still, glass-like, except for the gentle ripple trailing behind my fingers.I leaned back, submerged to my shoulders in the heated pool, the pale moonlight splintering on the surface. Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between my fingers, mixing with the rising steam in ghostly patterns.It was quiet here.No meetings. No calls. No sharp voices disguised as guidance. Just silence… and truth.And it hurt.My robe was discarded somewhere on the stone ledge. The cigarette pack lay open beside a half-full glass of scotch. I hadn’t planned to come out here tonight. I hadn’t planned to think. But some truths don’t wait for permission.They claw their way up through the fog, demanding to be heard.I closed my eyes and let myself sink a little deeper, the warm water hugging my collarbones. My other hand, free of the cigarette, drifted in slow arcs beneath the surface—aimless, like me.The truth wouldn’t stop whispering.They were working together.Grandfather and
LENA’S POVIt was nearly midnight when my phone rang.I stared at the screen, the contact glowing like a pulse in the dark: Grandfather.My chest tightened. He rarely called—messages, yes; a carefully chosen word dropped through Harlin now and then, definitely. But not a call. Not this late. And not directly.I picked it up on the fourth ring.“Lena.”His voice hadn’t aged a day. Still sharp, low, authoritative. A voice that could cut marble if it wanted to.“Grandfather,” I said, trying to mask the hesitation in my tone. “It’s late.”“I didn’t call to chat about the weather.”Of course not.My hand tightened around the phone. I was already walking toward the windows of my office, the city glittering below in sterile silence. I had stayed late tonight, clearing reports and re-reading old data. But the moment I heard his voice, every spreadsheet and deal felt miles away.“There’s been a noise in the wind,” he continued, slowly. “About a man. A ghost. They’re saying Kiander is alive.”I
KIAN’S POV“Where did you find me, Mr. Alcante?”My voice hung in the air, sharp and unwavering.He stood by the window now, his back to me. The moonlight fell across his frame, catching the silver in his hair. For a man who always spoke in steady tones and gave answers like puzzle pieces, he suddenly looked… uncertain.I took a step forward.“You heard me,” I said, softer this time. “No riddles. No delays. Just the truth.”He didn’t move.Instead, he said, “In time, Kian. You’ll remember. That’s how the mind works. It doesn’t take orders—it reveals things when it’s ready.”“That’s not an answer,” I snapped. “You’re not even trying to lie. You’re just hiding it.”Still, he didn’t turn.The room was dim and quiet, except for the faint ticking of the old brass clock on the wall. My breath had calmed, but my heart hadn't. The dream still pulsed behind my eyes—Lena’s face, her father’s gaze, the feeling of falling. The cold that didn’t belong to sleep, but to something real. Something bu
KIAN'S POV It started with light.Warm and golden, spilling through the trees like honey. I was standing on soft earth, surrounded by whispering leaves. Birds chirped somewhere above, their songs woven into the breeze. It felt familiar, like a place I should’ve known.Then I saw them—Lena and a man.Her father.I knew him before he even turned around. Not from memory—no, my mind still wore its cracks like broken glass—but from the way her shoulders eased when he spoke, the way his hand brushed hers in reassurance. The same shade of fire danced in their eyes, and the bond between them hummed in the air like a current. Father and daughter.She smiled at him. Not the crooked smirk she gave me when she was teasing. No—this one was soft. Grateful. It made my chest ache.I wanted to reach them. Say her name. Ask the questions that clung to the edge of my mind like ivy on stone. But when I moved, my feet stayed rooted. I tried again—nothing.They hadn’t noticed me. The wind picked up, scatt
KIAN'S POV The late afternoon sun was warm, bathing the street in amber. I’d just left the barbershop, my head lighter, my face cleaner, and my thoughts still echoing Mr. Alcante’s teasing from last night about Lena. It didn’t help that I caught myself grinning like a fool whenever she popped into my mind.I walked down the street, enjoying the hum of life around me, when I saw a little boy hesitating by the edge of the curb. Traffic wasn’t heavy, but enough to worry someone his size."Hey, little man," I called gently. He looked up. Brown curls, oversized jacket, and the kind of wide eyes that held no guile. I knelt a little. "You trying to cross?"He nodded slowly.I extended a hand, helped him cross when the path cleared, and dug into my jacket pocket. By some miracle, I found a wrapped piece of candy—probably something Lena stuffed in there on one of our working lunches."Here you go," I said, handing it to him with a smile. "Sweet for the brave."He beamed, muttered a shy thanks