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Chapter 9 — What Kindness Looks Lik
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2025-12-09 17:48:14🌿 Layla's Point of View
The house felt wrong without him.
Not because I missed him. God, not that, but because of the echo. Nearly five years of routines left a shape behind, like a body pressed into the mattress, like fingerprints on glass. You wipe and scrub, but something always remains.
Every corner of the house held muscle memory, the cupboard he always left open, the dent his keys made on the counter. I could clean, redecorate, and repaint, but I couldn't erase the rhythm of him.
Once, I'd loved those small habits, the hum under his breath when he shaved, the way he always left the cupboard half-open after making toast. They were proof, I'd thought, of comfort. Now they felt like evidence: tiny rebellions against care, hints I'd cho
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Rider's Point of View The day had been long, but productive. Meetings stacked on top of each other, ending with a board call that dragged past its usefulness. When I finally stepped into my office, all I wanted was quiet. The corridors were dim, lit by the low hum of emergency lights. Most of the staff had gone home hours ago, leaving only the faint scent of cleaning polish and burnt coffee. The city stretched beyond the glass, a restless grid of light and motion; alive in the way I wasn't. There was something oddly intimate about being the last man in a skyscraper, like standing inside a beast that had finally stopped breathing. For a moment, I closed my eyes and let the stillness settle. No voices, no noise, just the soft pulse of my heartbeat reminding me that beneath all the titles and deals, I was still a person trying to catch up to his own life. I thought of Layla; her lau
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Layla's Point of ViewIt started with a single photograph.We'd gone for a walk along the harbour the day after I said yes. The sun was low, painting the water in streaks of copper and gold, the ring still strange and new on my finger. Rider reached for my hand as we paused by the rail, a quiet, unremarkable gesture.The camera shutter snapped from somewhere behind us. I hadn't even noticed.By morning, the photo was everywhere.I didn't breathe at first. Just sat there in bed with the screen glowing against my knees, the image of us repeating on every site like a reflection I couldn't escape. The photo was almost gentle with Rider's hand around mine, and the sunlight on the water. The captions turned it into a theatre.My phone kept buzzing on the nightstand. Someone tagged me in a post, then another. The comment sections bled together.He's tra
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Rider's Point of ViewSome moments don't need an audience.I'd built an empire on spectacle with press releases, galas, and launches. I'd asked my ex-wife to marry me under a chandelier, with cameras. The champagne had cost more than my first car. She'd smiled for the photographers before she'd smiled at me.Back then, I thought love needed proof. Now, I knew better. Love didn't need an audience, only presence. The right question asked in quiet meant more than any diamond paraded before a crowd.I used to mistake admiration for affection. Julia had loved the way I fit into her world. I was polished, predictable, and profitable.We'd looked perfect on paper. Two careers, two smiles, one headline-worthy marriage. But behind closed doors, our conversations were measured in transactions; in who hosted what, who impressed whom, and who was owed for each sacrifice.With Layla, s
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Rider's Point of ViewBusiness had always been about strategy. Timing, precision, patience. Push too hard, and you risk losing the deal; wait too long, and the opportunity will slip away.It turned out the same was true with people. With Layla.It had been nearly three weeks since that night at her kitchen table. Enough time for the bruises beneath her calm to fade from purple to pale.According to the members of my security department whom I had assigned to watch Layla, she'd returned to work, answered calls, and even smiled in meetings. It wasn't genuine; instead, it was the kind of smile people wear when they're learning how to just be again.I told myself it was precautionary. Mason called it due diligence; I called it peace of mind.It had taken a feat of mental gymnastics to persuade Layla to accept a bodyguard or three, following her everywhere she went.
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