“Ready to go back?” I ask.
“Not really.” He squeezes my hand. “But yeah. Let's go home.”
Home. He says it like it includes both of us.
I don't correct him.
CHAPTER 35
THE UNRAVELING
KAIDEN
I hearthem before I see them. Emma's laugh, bright and unguarded, followed by another voice I don't recognize. Female. Animated.
The elevator doors open. Emma steps out with a woman about her age, dark hair piled in a messy bun, eyes wide as she takes in the penthouse.
“Holy shit,” the woman says. “Emma. Holy shit.”
“I know.”
“This is where you've been staying? This is what you meant by his apartment?” She turns in a slow circle, mouth open. “I thought you meant like, a nice place. Maybe two bedrooms. A doorman. This is... Em, this is a palace.”
“Zee... it's his home.”
“There's art on the walls that probably costs more than my student loans!”
I step out from the hallway. The woman freezes mid-sentence.
“You must be Zoe,” I say, offering my hand. “Emma says you're her best friend.”
She recovers quickly, shakes my hand with a firm grip. “Ride or die since college.”
I like her immediately. Same spontaneous energy I noticed in Emma the first time we met. The kind of person who says what she thinks and doesn't apologize for taking up space.
Emma is watching us, biting her lower lip. Introducing two worlds that might not mix. I catch her eye, give her a small nod. She stops torturing her lip.
“I'll give you the tour,” Emma says, taking Zoe's arm. “Kai, we'll be on the terrace if you need us.”
“Take your time. I have some calls to make.”
I watch them disappear through the living room, Zoe's voice carrying back to me. “Oh my god, is that a real Rothko? Emmaaaa, is that a real Rothko?”
I retreat to the study but leave the door cracked. Not to eavesdrop, just to hear the sounds of life filling the apartment.
This is what's been missing.
Logan and Ethan have been here countless times. We've had dinners, watched games, stayed up too late talking about nothing important. But at the end of every night, they left. The elevator doors closed and I was alone again with the view and the quiet and the space that never quite felt like mine.
Growing up, I lived in houses that were more museum than home. Rooms designed to impress, not to comfort. My mother's voice echoing off marble floors, always performing even when no one was watching. I learned early that beautiful spaces could still feel empty. That you could be surrounded by expensive things and still be lonely.
Now there are art supplies scattered across the dining table. A sweater thrown over the back of the couch that isn't mine. The smell of coffee I didn't make. Evidence of another person living here, staying here.
Someone who doesn't leave when the evening ends.
I focus on work for a while, enjoying for once that I can work from home and spend more time with Emma.
A call comes through. My office line.
