99
The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak from the old floorboards. The sun had already dipped behind the buildings, casting her space in a moody, amber glow.
Katherine sat on the edge of her bed, arms folded around her knees. Her café apron was still draped over the back of a chair. She hadn’t had the energy to put it away. It felt like a ghost of something that might no longer exist.
Her phone was on the nightstand, screen lit up, showing a text from Jordan:
“Keep your head up, Kat. They don’t know the real you.”
She smiled faintly—grateful, but hollow. That smile didn’t reach her heart.
With a shaky breath, she picked up the phone and pressed Kingsley’s contact.
It rang once. Twice. Then—
“Hey, beautiful.”
His voice. Warm, velvet, and immediate. She hadn’t realized until that moment how badly she needed to hear it.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing fine,” he replied gently. “Better now. You okay?”
She hesitated, then said, “I went to the café this morning.”
A pause. “Yeah?”
“I saw everything,” she said, her voice softening. “The windows… the flowers… even the note. You didn’t just fix it. You made it better. It was beautiful.”
Kingsley stayed silent, letting her speak
“I just… thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for protecting what I built. For fighting for me even when I didn’t ask.”
“You don’t ever have to ask me to protect you,” he said, voice low and sure. “That’s what love is, Katherine. I’ll fight for you before the war even starts.”
She closed her eyes for a second, his words washing over her like a balm. Then her throat tightened.
“You did so much. You fixed the damage. You rearranged everything like it was your own heart being rebuilt. But now… it all just has to go.”
Kingsley sat up straighter on his end. “Wait—what do you mean by that?”
She bit her lip. “I’m going to lock the café. Shut it down.”
His voice dropped. “What? Katherine, no. Why?”
“I don’t think I’ll be having customers anymore,” she said quietly. “I went there today… and it was empty. I had maybe two people all day. And it wasn’t just the silence—it was the way people looked at me. Or didn’t look at me at all.”
A pause.
“Kingsley…” Her voice wavered. “The incident went viral. People are calling me things. A gold digger. A homewrecker. There are rumors everywhere… that you bought me a Lamborghini. That I seduced you away from your wife. That I broke a home.”
Kingsley’s breath caught. “Katherine—”
“It’s everywhere,” she whispered. “The pictures. The writing. The gossip. It’s all over the neighborhood. Most of my customers are women, and now they think I’m the enemy. No one wants to associate with me.”
“I had no idea it got that bad,” Kingsley said, guilt threading through every word. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known this would explode like that… if I’d known it would affect you this deeply—”
“It’s not your fault,” she murmured. “It’s just… all so much.”
He was quiet for a moment, then spoke gently. “If closing the café will bring you peace—even if just for a little while—I understand. For your safety and well-being, maybe it’s the right choice.”
She blinked. “You’re not upset?”
“I’m heartbroken,” he said honestly. “But not with you. Never with you.”
A beat.
“Katherine… what if we started over?” he said, cautiously. “What if I bought you a space here in Manhattan? A brand new building. You could start a fresh café. No rumors. No ghosts. Just a clean slate. I’ll settle you down here, close to me. We’ll build something untouchable.”
Her breath caught. “Kingsley…”
“I mean it,” he said. “I don’t care what it costs. I just want you happy again.”
“I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think I just need time to process everything. This all happened so fast. I’m still hurting.”
His voice was soft but firm. “Take your time. As much as you need. I’ll be here—every step, every pause, every breath you need to take.”
She nodded slowly, tears slipping down her cheek. “Okay.”
A silence settled between them—but it was gentle, shared. Not empty. It felt like a hand resting quietly in hers.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said,
“Thank you… for being my peace when everything else is chaos.”
Katherine was still curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a forgotten mug of tea cooling on the table when she heard a knock on the door—two quick taps followed by one long one.
She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Katherine didn’t move at first.
The knock came again, this time followed by a familiar voice.
“Katherine, it’s me. Open up.”
Carolina.
Katherine sighed, rose slowly, and unlocked the door.
Carolina stepped in immediately, no need for an invitation. Her hair was still up in a tight bun from work, and she had her tote bag slung over her shoulder. But her face—her face was all worry and fire.
“Jordan told me everything,” she said, setting her bag down. “He saw me on my way back from work and filled me in. Katherine… what the hell is going on?”
Katherine gave a small, exhausted shrug and sank back onto the couch. “What isn’t going on?”
Carolina looked around, noticing the dim lighting, the silence, the untouched food on the counter. She didn’t sit. She paced.
“I hate seeing you like this,” she said. “I hate it. You’re in here sad, alone, while people out there are saying trash about you like they know your story. You built that café with your bare hands. You’ve been through enough.”
Katherine rubbed her eyes. “It’s just… too much, Caro. The café’s dying. People are avoiding me. And I’m so tired of trying to explain myself to people who already decided who I am.”
Carolina stopped pacing and dropped beside her. “You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Not to them. Not anymore. But you do need to live, Katherine. You need to breathe. Recharge. You can’t let them win by shrinking yourself.”
Katherine gave her a weak glance. “And how do you suggest I do that?”
Carolina smirked. “Simple. We go out. Just the two of us. Let’s go see a movie. A romcom. Or horror. Or anything ridiculous. I don’t care. I just need to get you off this couch and out of your head.”
Katherine chuckled, barely. “I’m not in the mood to laugh.”
“You don’t have to laugh,” Carolina said. “You just have to put on something comfy, step into the world for a couple of hours, and let your soul breathe. That’s it.”
“I really don’t feel like—”
“I’m not asking, I’m telling,” Carolina interrupted, raising a brow. “I’ve watched you fight for everyone else. Let me fight for you tonight.”
Katherine looked at her best friend—sassy, relentless, loyal to the bone—and felt the smallest warmth bloom in her chest. Carolina always knew how to push without pushing too far.
After a pause, she sighed. “Fine. One movie. Then straight back.”
Carolina clapped. “Yes! That’s my girl. Go put on your cutest sad-girl hoodie and some sneakers. We’re hitting the cinema like two queens who don’t give a damn.”
Katherine cracked a real smile for the first time all day. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“And you love me for it.”
As Katherine went to freshen up, Carolina stood in the living room, arms crossed, nodding to herself. Step one: get her out. Step two: remind her who the hell she is.
The scent of buttery popcorn filled the air, laughter, and chatter echoing through the packed lobby of the downtown movie theater. Bright posters lined the walls, and the glow of the ticket counter screens cast a colorful haze over the crowd.
Katherine and Carolina stood in line, finally starting to feel like normal girls on a normal night. Katherine even laughed as she pointed at a cheesy action movie poster. “Remember when you forced me to watch Explosive Vengeance 3 and I walked out ten minutes in?”
“You’re still dramatic for that,” Carolina said, rolling her eyes fondly. “That movie was gold.”
“I needed therapy after it.”
They both laughed.
As they reached the ticket counter, Katherine shifted. “I need to go use the restroom. Can you get the tickets?”
“Yeah, sure,” Carolina said, stepping forward. “I’ll be right here.”
Katherine nodded, brushed her hair behind her ear, and walked off toward the women’s restroom.
Inside, the theater bathroom was quiet, with just the faint hum of overhead lights and the occasional drip from a leaky faucet. Katherine slipped into a stall, and after a few minutes, she came out, washed her hands slowly, and then turned toward the mirror, adjusting her sweater.
That’s when she heard the door creak open.
She glanced in the mirror, and the mirror caught a flicker of movement. A shadow behind her. Too late.
The first blow struck her across the back of the head, a heavy object—metallic. She collapsed against the sink, gasping. Blood trickled down her scalp. Her knees buckled.
She tried to crawl, nails dragging across the tile, but the figure grabbed her by the collar of her coat and slammed her head against the cold floor tiles. Once. Twice. The air left her lungs. Her vision spun.
Boots crushed her side. Ribs cracked. She let out a whimper, barely audible, before a final, merciless blow—another strike to the head.
Silence.
She lay still, eyes open but unfocused, blood spreading like ink around her temple. Her breathing grew shallow. The attacker stepped back, heart pounding, hands shaking—then disappeared, slipping out the way they came, vanishing into the intermission crowd.
Meanwhile, The movie theater hallway was nearly silent now, the bustle of the crowd lost behind the thick carpeted walls. Carolina stood with the tickets in her hand, glancing at the women’s restroom sign again. Her fingers tapped nervously against the counter.
Katherine should’ve been back by now.
A chill ran down her spine.
She started walking toward the restroom—slow at first, then faster, her heart quickening with each step. She pushed the door open.
“Katherine?”
No answer.
She took one step inside. Then another.
Her heart stopped.
“Katherine?!”
There—by the sinks—was her friend.
Crumbled.
Unmoving.
Blood.
It was everywhere—seeping from Katherine’s temple, smeared in streaks across the white tile floor. Her coat was ripped. Her face is barely recognizable under swelling and dark bruises. Her eyes were open but vacant, staring at nothing.
Carolina screamed.
The tickets dropped to the floor.
She rushed forward, slipping on the blood as she dropped to her knees beside her friend. “Katherine—Katherine! No, no, no—please wake up—oh God—someone help! PLEASE!”
The door burst open behind her as several people came running—drawn by the scream. Gasps. A woman shouted to call 911. Someone rushed back to alert the manager.
Carolina’s hands were trembling violently as she pulled Katherine’s head into her lap. “Katherine, stay with me, please—oh my God, I’m so sorry—I should’ve checked sooner—please just stay with me.”
Katherine’s breath came in weak, shallow bursts.
One eye flickered, barely responsive. Then closed again.
Carolina’s voice cracked. “No, no—keep your eyes open, don’t sleep—don’t sleep!”
The wail of sirens cut through the theater buzz ten minutes later.
The paramedics came crashing in—two of them kneeling beside Carolina, asking questions she could barely hear over her own heartbeat. They gently pulled her away as they lifted Katherine’s limp body onto a stretcher. Her blood was on Carolina’s jeans. Her sweatshirt. Her hands.
Carolina tried to follow them through the hallway, but the EMT stopped her. “You can’t ride with us. Go to Lenox Hill. We’ll take her straight there. She’s still breathing, but she’s in critical shape.”
“Critical?” Carolina’s voice broke. “W–Will she survive?”
“We’re doing everything we can.”
Then they were gone—doors swinging closed behind the stretcher, wheels rattling across the floor.