KASI
I can’t stop shaking.
Alaric’s arms are still around me, my face pressed against his chest where his shirt is damp with my tears. His heart beats steadily and strongly beneath my cheek, and I focus on that rhythm to ground myself.
“Better?” he asks quietly.
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice yet. The storm of crying has left me drained but strangely clearer. Like lancing a wound that’s been festering for years.
“He’s never coming back,” Alaric says. It’s not a question.
“Good.” My voice comes out hoarse. “I don’t want to see him again.”
“You won’t.”
The certainty in his voice makes me pull back to look at him. There’s steel in his green eyes, the kind of resolve that built this empire and keeps it running.
Alaric’s thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away the last traces of tears. The gesture is so gentle, it makes my chest ache in a completely different way.
“You should rest,” he says.
“I’m tired of resting.”
“What do you want to do?”
The question surprises me.
“I want to work, feel useful. Forget that my father exists.”
Something flickers across his face. “You sure you’re up for it?”
“Try me.”
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods. “Come on. There’s always something that needs handling.”
We walk to his office together, and I’m grateful for the normalcy of it. Files on his desk. Coffee that’s growing cold.
He hands me a folder thick with documents. “Contracts from the German deal. They need translation and review before Klaus signs anything.”
I settle into the chair across from his desk and pull the first contract toward me. Klaus’s revisions are written in that methodical German style—no wasted words, no ambiguity. Each sentence builds on the last one like a well-constructed argument.
“This section about liability needs clarification,” I say after twenty minutes. “Klaus won’t sign anything this vague.”
Alaric looks up from his own paperwork. “What would you suggest?”
“Specific monetary limits. Germans hate open-ended risk.”
“Can you draft the language?”
I’m already reaching for a pen. The work feels good, purposeful. Like I’m building something instead of just surviving.
When the clock chimes eight, I realize we’ve been working for three hours without a break.
“Hungry?” Alaric asks.
My stomach answers before I can, growling loudly enough to make him smile. It’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him all day.
“I’ll have Maria bring something up.”
