3
KAI
The day had been relentless—a whirlwind of deadlines, presentations, and back-to-back meetings that seemed to stretch into infinity. The sleek, glass-walled conference room where I sat was bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through the towering skyscrapers outside. The city hummed with energy beyond the windows: a constant, pulsing heartbeat of ambition and power. Inside, the atmosphere was more measured but no less intense.
Around the polished mahogany table, my team of sharp-eyed executives and managers leaned in, their expressions focused and determined. Charts and graphs flickered on the large screen at the front of the room, illustrating the company's quarterly performance and upcoming strategies. The air was heavy with anticipation and the low murmur of calculated discussion.
I sat at the head of the table, my posture straight, fingers steepled as I absorbed the proposals and analyses. The room was cool but charged with the electric thrill of business in motion. My tailored navy suit was impeccably pressed, the gold cufflinks catching the light with every subtle movement. Around me, the employees—each handpicked for their expertise and drive—juggled laptops, tablets, and notebooks, their eyes sharp and alert.
Amid the focused energy, the shrill ring of my phone cut sharply through the air, momentarily silencing the room. Heads turned, some with surprise, others with quiet amusement. Interruptions were rare, and I was known for my ironclad discipline and dedication to the task at hand.
The screen flashed my sister's name.
I hesitated only briefly. There was no one else whose call I would answer without question, no matter the timing or circumstance. Family was a line I never crossed lightly.
I swiped to accept, bringing the phone to my ear as the meeting continued around me, voices dipping into a hushed undertone.
"Hi, princess," I said warmly, my voice a gentle contrast to the corporate intensity. It was a nickname I reserved just for her, a playful term of endearment she claimed to despise but secretly cherished. "How's your day going?"
On the other end, her voice was soft but edged with typical teenage annoyance. "Fine. How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me princess."
I chuckled softly, the sound a brief respite from the relentless pace of the day. "What happened, princess? I'm in the middle of a meeting—if this is important, spit it out."
I could almost hear her rolling her eyes, a familiar gesture that made me smile despite the tight grip of responsibility that weighed on me.
"Ugh, you're always busy," she complained. "But it's my best friend's birthday tonight. I want to celebrate. Can you send a driver to pick me and her up and take us to a nice restaurant?"
Normally, this would be a straightforward request. I had drivers on call, a fleet of cars ready to whisk her away at a moment's notice. But this time, hesitation crept into my mind. Last summer's incident still lingered in my thoughts—the shadows of a night I preferred not to revisit. Trust was a fragile thing, especially when it came to her safety.
"No," I said firmly, the decision made before the weight of doubt could settle fully. "Wait for me, princess. I'll come get you."
There was a pause, then relief flooding her voice. "Okay. I'll wait."
The call ended, leaving a silence that felt almost too heavy in the room. I gathered my documents swiftly, the sharp rustle of paper punctuating the quiet. Heads swivelled in surprise—no one expected me to leave a meeting midstream, especially not me.
But family came first. Always.
I stood, straightening my jacket, my mind already shifting gears. This wasn't just another errand; it was a promise. One I intended to keep.
....
I made my way towards my office from the boardroom and went in. My assistant Noah was still sitting there working. I trusted that man. After all he had work so much for my family.
I grabbed my coat and briefcase from the coat rack, securing the essential documents within. My assistant, Noah, looked up from his station—a man in his early forties with a calm demeanor and sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Leaving early?" he asked, eyebrow raised in mild surprise.
"For family," I replied simply. "I can't leave her waiting."
He nodded, accustomed to the occasional unpredictability that came with balancing business and blood ties. "I'll handle anything urgent that comes up."
"Thank you, Noah," I said, already heading toward the elevator.
The elevator doors slid shut behind me with a gentle, reassuring ding, sealing off the outside world. The soft, steady hum of the descent filled the confined space, offering a fleeting moment of tranquility amidst the day's relentless pace. Beyond the glass walls, the city was awakening to the enchanting spell of twilight—streets shimmering with a tapestry of golden streetlights, neon signs flickering to life, and the steady flow of cars weaving like glowing threads through the urban maze. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, their footsteps and murmurs blending into the vibrant symphony of the evening, as the skyline glittered with the first stars of the night, promising both mystery and opportunity beneath the dusk-lit sky.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft, almost inaudible chime, revealing the gleaming marble floor of the building's lobby bathed in the muted glow of recessed lighting. I stepped out, my polished black shoes clicking sharply against the smooth surface as I made my way through the spacious entrance hall. The air inside was cool and carried a faint scent of leather and fresh polish—a stark contrast to the humid city air waiting just beyond the doors.
Normally, as the heir to a sprawling family business, I wouldn't bother with the mundane task of driving myself. A personal driver was always on call, ready to ferry me wherever I needed to go with silent efficiency and precise punctuality. But tonight was different. Tonight, I didn't want anyone else behind the wheel.
Not now.
I was headed to my sister's apartment, a place I rarely visited but where she was waiting with her best friend. My grip tightened around the strap of my briefcase as I thought of her, my baby sister. Though she was already nineteen, barely a year younger than me, she would forever remain my little sister in my eyes. The fierce protectiveness I felt toward her made me wary of letting anyone else take charge of her safety, even someone as trusted as a driver. There were things I didn't say aloud, fears I kept locked away behind my stern exterior, but the truth was simple: I did not trust anyone else with her.
Not even a driver.
Sliding into the leather seat of my sleek black BMW, the familiar scent of leather and new car interiors greeted me like an old friend. The dashboard's soft glow illuminated the controls as I adjusted the mirrors and settled into the driver's seat. The engine's low hum filled the cabin, a comforting presence as I pulled away from the building and into the slick city streets. The night was cool, the streetlights casting pools of amber on the wet pavement from an earlier rain. Cars and people moved past in a blur, but my focus was narrow and sharp—destination set, mind guarded.
My sister's best friend. I had never met her, and truth be told, I never wanted to. The thought of encountering her sent a cold wave of distaste coursing through me. I was a man who kept his business to himself, a man of few words and fewer attachments. Friends were a luxury I had never afforded myself, and relatives beyond family were a complication I preferred to avoid. My world was neat, controlled, and predictable except for one thing—my sister.
I had no friends. No relatives except my sister and her.
I didn't want to talk about that women. I hated her. Hated her to an extent.