By night, she stood near the center table, her hands on her hips, surveying everything. The room looked vibrant yet warm, glowing under the soft golden light that spilled from the ceiling fixtures.
Her phone buzzed with updates from the logistics team, but for a brief moment, she allowed herself to breathe to look around, and feel proud of what she was creating. The faint scent of his cologne still lingered on her shirt, mixing with the fragrance of lilies and perfume. She smiled to herself, brushing off an invisible crease from her sleeve.
He wouldn't know she wore his shirt. But somehow, it felt like he was right there watching, silently approving the effort she poured into every detail.
The following days slipped by in a blur, a rhythm Alina had grown used to. From the café's warm morning rush straight to the company's bright halls, her life revolved around checklists, coordination, and endless planning.
And now… it was the day. The last day before the grand exhibition. Alina stood in the middle of the hall, her clipboard pressed to her chest, scanning every corner with hawk-like precision. Workers moved around her, adjusting lights, polishing glass displays, and arranging flowers under her careful supervision.
"Are the perfume samples aligned properly?" she asked one of the staff.
"Yes, ma'am!" came the reply.
She moved briskly between sections, eyes sharp and mind alert. Every small imperfection tugged at her attention: a slightly tilted frame, an uneven ribbon, a petal out of place.
Tomorrow. He's coming back tomorrow. The thought made her stomach twist with both excitement and nerves. Evelyn had confirmed it herself that Mr. Kai Arden would return to the company by morning.
Her first major project, her first time managing something of this scale… and he'd see it all.
Her work. Her ideas. Every small touch she had left behind.
She turned to the group of staff, nearly thirty people who had worked with her for the past week. "Is everything looking okay? Should I change anything?" she asked, half anxious, half hopeful.
One of them laughed softly. "Alina, everything looks perfect. You've done more than enough."
Another added, "Seriously, this place looks stunning. You made it come alive."
Her heart warmed at their words. She smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice soft but full of relief.
As the day came to an end, everyone began packing up, laughter echoing across the hall as they shared their gratitude.
"Thank you for your help, Alina." "You made the work so much easier."
"I've never seen the team this organized before." Each word felt like a quiet pat on the back, a gentle reassurance that her efforts had been worth it.
When the last few workers left, Alina stood alone in the middle of the exhibition floor. The soft glow of the ceiling lights reflected against the polished tiles, bathing the room in a warm hue. She took a slow breath, looking around one last time, the white lilies perfectly arranged, the gift tables aligned, the faint scent of perfume blending into the air.
Tomorrow, he'd be here. The thought sent a rush of warmth through her chest, a nervous kind of anticipation she couldn't name.
Clutching her bag, she whispered under her breath, "Please… let everything go right."
And with that, she turned off the lights, the soft click echoing behind her as she stepped out of the hall, glowing faintly behind the glass, waiting for its star to return. Tomorrow was the day. He was coming back.
Kai sank into the back seat of the car, the low hum of the AC filling the quiet space. The city lights flickered faintly through the tinted windows, casting shifting shadows over his face as he scrolled through his tablet. Headlines flashed before his eyes: economic reports, industry updates, entertainment gossip, the kind of things he always read when traveling. It was a habit, something to keep his mind busy when silence threatened to feel too heavy.
Ryan, seated at the wheel, broke the silence. "Where do you want to go? Freshen up first or straight to work?"
Kai leaned his head back against the seat, thinking for a moment, eyes still fixed on the screen, though he wasn't really reading anymore. "Freshen up," he finally said, his voice low, almost distant.
Ryan nodded, taking the next turn. Outside, the city unfolded in a flood of colors: massive billboards, bus stop posters, and glowing LED screens all bearing the same face. His face. Kai Arden.
Everywhere he looked, there he was. Smiling in one poster, serious in another, heroic in the next. It was surreal even after all these years. Ten years, to be exact. A decade since he'd first stepped into this blinding world of cameras and scripts and fame.
He should've felt something pride, maybe gratitude. Or joy. But the emotion that stirred inside him was... confusing. Heavy. Undefined. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe something quieter, something that came from realizing how much the world adored Kai Arden, yet how few really knew Kai.
As the car turned into his driveway, the familiarity hit him like a breath of fresh air. The soft street lights, the silence that wrapped around his house, it was all the same.
He stepped out, inhaling deeply. House. He'd missed this. Missed it more than he cared to admit. The warmth, the stillness, the way everything here smelled faintly of peace.
Inside, the air was cool and untouched. His footsteps echoed softly as he wandered through the house. Every corner was exactly as he'd left it, the cushions slightly misplaced, the books stacked neatly, the faint scent of coffee still lingering near the kitchen.
And then his gaze fell on the door at the end of the hallway. Alina's door. The yellow sticky note was still there, slightly curled at the edges, clinging stubbornly to the wood. The same note he'd left before leaving for the shoot.
He smiled faintly, a small, involuntary curve of his lips. She hadn't taken it down. His hand lingered near the note, fingers brushing against it softly. For a reason he couldn't quite name, his chest tightened. He wondered if she'd missed him. The quiet mornings, the shared silences, the unspoken routine they'd built together.
Did she ever pause by his door, just like he was standing here now? The thoughts came rushing unexpectedly, uninvited.
He continued walking, trailing through each room like he was rediscovering fragments of a memory. The house felt alive, yet hollow at the same time. Just like him. He didn't head to his room. He didn't freshen up. He just stood there, in the middle of the living room, breathing in the faint traces of their shared space.
For some reason, this being here felt more grounding than anything else in the world. Even the fame. Even the applause. Because here, behind the fame and lights and billboards screaming Kai Arden, he was simply Kai. And for tonight, that was enough.
Kai stood there for a moment, his eyes wandering across the quiet house, tracing over every familiar detail. Something felt… off.
He walked into the kitchen first. The recipe book he'd left on the counter was still there, untouched. A thin layer of dust clung to the edges of the pages, and the pen beside it had rolled slightly out of place. He frowned softly. Looks like she hasn't cooked in days.
Pulling open the fridge door, the cold air brushed against his face. Inside, an empty fruit bucket sat on the middle shelf. He remembered it clearly, the bright oranges, the apples, the grapes he'd ordered during the shoot. Now it was just a hollow container.
Did she only survive on fruits all this time? He thought, his brows knitting together. He let out a quiet sigh, closing the fridge door gently. Looks like she's been so busy she didn't even get the chance.
Kai leaned against the counter for a moment, his gaze drifting around the small kitchen. The air still carried a faint trace of her. It made the emptiness feel louder.
When he finally stepped into the living room, he rolled his sleeves up, as if preparing himself to fix what little he could. His eyes fell on the neatly arranged line of shoes by the door. He hadn't done this to be noticed. He never did.
He crouched, straightening one that had tilted sideways. It was instinct, now quiet acts, unseen gestures. The small ways he cared. Every time he tidied her mess, charged her phone when she forgot, or rescued another one of her burnt dinners, something inside him softened.
Why do I care this much? The thought came like a whisper, one he didn't want to hear.
No words. No acknowledgment. Just action. That was how he'd always worked silently, in the background. Because she shouldn't have to struggle through the little things. Not when he could fix them before she even noticed.
And yet, as he straightened the shoes again, he caught himself smiling just barely. I like seeing her comfortable, he admitted silently. I like it when she notices these things… even if she doesn't realize it's me.
Then he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to chase the thought away. No. Focus. He had rules. He couldn't admit feelings, especially not now. For now, he would just keep doing what he always did, quietly caring from the shadows.