Five minutes. Exactly five full minutes have passed. Alina stood near the entrance of the underground parking lot, arms folded tightly across her chest, one heel tapping against the concrete in a rhythm that screamed impatience.
The echo of engines starting, doors slamming, and tires screeching was nothing like that at all, the person she had specifically summoned with very clear instructions? Nowhere in sight. Her jaw tightened. Her patience had officially crossed the clouds and was now orbiting somewhere near Mars. She inhaled sharply through her nose. "That's it."
She turned and marched deeper inside, the sound of her steps crisp and purposeful—only to stop abruptly when she spotted him. There he was. Leaning against a thick concrete pillar like he owned the entire structure, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. His expression was calm. Too calm. His voice was low and composed, like he was discussing stock markets instead of being five minutes late to a girl who was seconds away from committing a non-violent crime. He hadn't noticed her yet. That was his first mistake.
Alina stormed toward him without hesitation and, before he could even register her presence in his peripheral vision, she snatched the phone straight from his ear.
"What the—?!" Kai jerked upright, startled, his eyes widening as they landed on her furious face.
"What did I tell you? Come to the entrance. Simple instruction. Four words. And what are you doing here?"
"I was coming," he said quickly, reaching for the phone. "Suddenly, I got an important call."
"I don't want to hear your nonsense," she cut him off, already walking away. "Come with me."
"Where?" he asked, confused and mildly irritated now.
"I am not repeating myself."
"I'm not going anywhere," he replied firmly, crossing his arms this time as if that would magically restore control to the situation.
"Fine," she said instantly, voice sweet. "Let's go home then."
"Good. It's late anyway," he muttered, pulling out his car keys and unlocking the vehicle. He slid into the driver's seat smoothly, adjusting himself like a man who believed he had won. He left the door open and gestured lazily. "Come."
"Of course," she replied softly. Too softly.
As he fastened his seatbelt, completely distracted for half a second, her fingers moved faster than logic. The keys disappeared from his hand like a magician's trick. He reached toward the ignition confidently—only for his fingers to meet empty air. There was a pause. A slow blink. Then he turned his head.
Alina stood outside the car, twirling the keys around her finger. Click. The doors locked with him inside.
"What on earth are you doing?!" he demanded, disbelief painted across his face. The window was slightly open—just enough for conversation and humiliation to pass through.
"You were very eager to go home, right?" she said calmly. "Now go."
"Alina, open the door."
"Are you coming with me or not?"
"And if I say no?" he challenged, narrowing his eyes.
"Then stay here. Sleep inside. Tomorrow morning, when the municipal workers see you and the media finds out that the great Kai Arden spent the night locked inside his own car, please give a press statement. I'll watch from home."
He froze. The image hit him far too realistically. At that moment, he deeply regretted dismissing the bodyguards earlier. Ryan's face flashed in his mind like a moral lesson.
"Fine. Go," he said coolly, pretending indifference. He subtly reached for his phone in his pocket.
"If you're thinking about your phone," she said sweetly, holding it up between her fingers, "wrong move."
His eyes dropped to the device in her hand. His shoulders slumped. "I'm trapped."
"I'll come," he finally exhaled. "Clearly, I don't have options."
"Exactly."
"What do you want?" he asked cautiously.
"First, promise me you'll do whatever I say."
"Is that necessary?"
"You're too clever to be trusted."
"That, I am," he smirked.
She tilted her head. "Before saying that, kindly analyze who is currently locked inside a vehicle."
Silence. She extended her little finger toward the narrow gap in the window. "Pinky promise."
He stared at her finger like she had offered him a corporate merger agreement. "You're serious?"
"Completely."
Reluctantly, he extended his own little finger through the gap. Their fingers hooked awkwardly.
"Tighten it," she instructed. "Now press your thumb on top. Seal it."
He followed, feeling ridiculous.
"This," she declared dramatically, "is legally and morally binding."
"More binding than my film contracts?" he asked dryly.
"More dangerous."
"Say it," she insisted.
He closed his eyes briefly. "I will listen to you."
"And?"
"And do whatever you say."
"Good."
She released him and unlocked the car. He stepped out slowly, adjusting his jacket with wounded pride.
"Now what?" he asked.
She smiled, a mischievous spark lighting her eyes. "Now we walk."
"Walk? At this hour?"
"You promised."
He sighed deeply. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Immensely."
They began walking toward the exit of the parking lot, their footsteps echoing side by side. The night air outside was cooler, calmer. The chaos of the party felt distant now. For a moment, neither spoke. Then he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"You're unbelievable," he muttered.
"And yet, here you are," she replied smoothly.
As they stepped out of the parking lot and into the quiet night air, Alina finally spoke, her tone losing its earlier sharpness. She told him everything in quick but clear detail — about the little girl sitting alone with a banner, about the father trying helplessly to convince her to go home, about how the child refused to leave without meeting him. Kai listened silently, his expression shifting with every word. The teasing arrogance from minutes ago dissolved into something serious, something attentive. By the time she finished, he was already scanning the area ahead.
They were now fully outside the venue gates. The crowd that had once screamed his name was gone. Only a few dim streetlights flickered against the pavement. "There," Alina said softly, pointing to her left.
Kai followed her finger. He couldn't see the child clearly because her father stood in front of her, slightly bent down, speaking gently, probably trying once again to persuade her to go home. The little silhouette behind him looked small. Fragile. Kai's steps slowed.
"Wait here," Alina whispered.
He stopped exactly where she left him, his heartbeat suddenly uneven without understanding why. She moved quietly around the father and reached the girl from behind. Bending slightly, she covered the child's eyes with both her hands.
"Guess who's here?" Alina asked playfully.
There was a tiny pause. "Kai…?" the little girl said in a soft, hopeful whisper — the kind of whisper that carried more prayer than certainty.
The father turned at the sound. He stepped aside. And that was the moment Kai saw her. His breath left him.
"It's her…" he murmured unconsciously.
He didn't even realize when his knees bent, when he lowered himself down to sit on his heels so he could meet her at eye level. The world around him blurred for a second. It was her.
Alina slowly removed her hands from the girl's eyes. "Surprise," she whispered.
The little girl blinked once, adjusting to the light. "Kai…" she breathed.
He swallowed hard. Before he could say anything more, she stepped forward and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly — carefully, as if he were the fragile one and she was afraid he might break if she held him too hard. Her small fingers clutched the back of his jacket, bunching the fabric in her fists.
For one suspended second, Kai didn't move. The world around him went silent. Then instinct took over. His arms came around her slowly at first, then firmly, holding her as though she might dissolve into air if he loosened his grip. His palm rested protectively at the back of her head, fingers trembling slightly against her soft hair.
This was the same girl. The same child he had met for the first time in a hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and quiet fear. He remembered that phone call so clearly. His former classmate — now a cardiac surgeon — had called him late at night. Not as a fan. Not as a professional contact. But as a friend.
He still remembered walking into that hospital room. All white sheets. An IV line was taped carefully to her tiny hand. Machines beeping in mechanical rhythm beside her fragile body. She had looked so small against that large bed, her skin pale, eyes dull with exhaustion that no child should ever carry. His friend had stepped aside and spoken quietly.
"She's losing hope," he had admitted. "She keeps asking me… what's the point of fighting?"
Kai had stood there, his throat tightening. He had played superheroes on screen. He had fought fictional villains. He had delivered heroic monologues under dramatic background scores. But that day, standing beside that hospital bed, he had felt completely powerless. Until he sat beside her.
He had introduced himself casually, as if they were meeting in a park instead of a hospital room. He had exaggerated his expressions, pretended to be offended that she didn't smile at his jokes. Slowly — painfully slowly — her eyes had begun to change.
He had made her a promise that day. "If you fight this battle the way I fight villains in my movies," he had said, leaning closer with mock seriousness, "then every Sunday, we'll go to the amusement park. You, me, roller coasters, cotton candy. Deal?"
He had sat with her even after the operation, when she was drowsy and stitched and weak. He had told her stories. Made silly faces. Complained dramatically about how he hated roller coasters and would scream louder than her. And then one day — she was gone.