Chapter 42: He Knew The Details

Wednesday morning arrived crisp and clean, sunlight streaking through the bay windows of the café. By noon, Kai had already burned through two meetings, a dozen emails, and half a pot of coffee. She wore efficiency like armor—her smile sharp, her voice calm, her mind ticking through tasks with machine-like precision.

Her weekly call with Susan from D.A.R.E.—wrapped. The VCafe winter packaging mock-ups—approved. Next month’s vendor contract—confirmed and filed. On the surface, everything hummed along, the rhythm of her empire keeping her upright.

But beneath the grind, a pressure had been building all week, silent and suffocating. The warehouse repairs had stalled again, thanks to yet another “random” inspection. Insurance had confirmed arson, but that only left her more exposed, every delay tightening the noose. Supplies were dwindling. The cafes were restless. And she… she couldn’t shake the sense that the fire had been more than bad luck.

By one o’clock, her nerves were drawn tight, though no one else would have seen it. Her heels clicked steadily across the polished floors of her downtown office as her assistant intercepted her at the door.

“This was dropped off for you earlier.” A plain brown parcel was set in her hands. “No courier log. No signature.”

Kai’s brows knit, but she kept her tone even. “Thank you.”

Inside her office, she shut the door and leaned against it for half a second, the package heavy in her arms. Heavier than it should be. She crossed to her desk, set it down, and stared. Ordinary cardboard. Crisp tape. But something in her stomach twisted, pulling taut.

She slit the seam with her letter opener.

The lid lifted.

Black silk. Red lace.

Her breath hitched—just enough to make her chest ache.

Her fingers hovered over the fabric, trembling before she forced them steady. She told herself not to touch it, but she did anyway. The silk was cool, liquid between her fingertips. The lace scraped rough against her skin, achingly familiar.

Memory crashed over her in fragments she didn’t want: a champagne flute pressed into her hand, the weight of Beast’s palm against the small of her back, the hotel room too lavish, too gilded, her reflection in a mirror she’d hated.

Her throat constricted.

A folded note sat atop the garment. Just four words:

You never looked better than you did in this.

Her heart pounded, a sickening thud against her ribs. She folded the note carefully, deliberately, because her hands wanted to shake. Then she dropped it back into the box, shut the lid, and slid the whole thing into her bottom desk drawer with a metallic snap of the lock.

Out of sight. But not gone.

She stood there for a long moment, palms pressed flat to the edge of her desk, grounding herself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Pretend control.

When she finally straightened, her mask slipped seamlessly back into place. The storm inside her would stay buried, at least until she was alone.

Emails. Vendor updates. A call with the city inspector that made her clench her jaw so hard it ached. Another with Susan, her voice carefully casual as she asked if Kai had seen the police reports.

The world didn’t stop for her panic. It never had.

But every time she caught the faintest whiff of silk, imagined that note burning in her drawer, she felt the edges of herself start to fray.

Thursday morning, the world looked deceptively ordinary. Crisp air. A to-do list already stacking high. But when Kai walked into her office, a chill slithered down her spine.

Another parcel waited on her desk.

Same brown box. Same neat tape. No courier slip.

Her pulse roared in her ears. She closed the door with a deliberate click, the sound loud in the quiet room. The box sat there, patient, daring her.

Her fingers were clumsy this time, betraying her. She ripped the tape too fast, cardboard tearing as she opened it.

Inside lay a small black satin cushion, nestled with care. And on it—a pristine box of chocolates. The brand name gleamed in gold foil: Montreal’s finest. Imported. Hand-selected.

Her breath stuttered. She knew them instantly. Beast had once had them flown in overnight, smug with the power of it, watching her unwrap each piece like she was the gift. Every birthday. Every performance. Every time he wanted to remind her that she belonged to him.

The scent of cocoa rose faint and sweet, cloying. She snapped the lid shut and shoved the entire box away from her, but it was too late—the memory had already crawled under her skin.

He wasn’t guessing. He remembered. He knew the details.

Her throat closed.

No note this time. Just silence. Which was worse. The first package had been a statement. This one was a whisper in her ear.

I see you.

Her phone buzzed violently against her desk, making her jump. She fumbled for it, desperate for anything to anchor her. Anita’s name lit the screen.

Kai pressed it to her ear, forcing her voice steady. “Hey.”

“Someone’s been calling the café,” Anita said immediately. “Asking for you. No name, no message. Just… breathing. And then hanging up. It’s weird, Kai. I thought you should know.”

Kai pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut until stars sparked behind her lids. The room seemed too small, the walls pressing in.

“Thanks for telling me,” she managed. “Let me know if it happens again.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kai lied smoothly. “We’re just slammed. I’ll check in later.”

She ended the call before Anita could press further.

The box still sat on the far corner of her desk, gold lettering catching the light. Waiting. Watching.

Kai straightened her spine and reached for her laptop, hands steadier than she felt. Outwardly, she was flawless. Inside, her mind spiraled—calculating exits, rehearsing lies, counting the beats of her own heart.

To everyone else, she was the same woman: sharp, composed, unstoppable.

But under the surface, the past she had buried was clawing its way back up, one package at a time.

And she was terrified she wouldn’t be able to hold it off. She just had to hold it together until she got to the dojo. Then she could pound it out on a bag.

By the time James arrived, the place already hummed with the quiet discipline of warmups. Kai walked in just before class began.

And something in her was… off.

He noticed it immediately. Normally she carried herself with that effortless confidence—shoulders straight, chin up, eyes sharp. Today, though, the set of her body was different. Tighter. Guarded. Like she’d locked herself behind glass and dared anyone to break through.

“Hey,” she greeted him, polite, clipped. No softness, no spark.

His chest tightened.

Scotty clocked it too, his brow knitting as his gaze flicked between them. Even Marty, usually the loudest presence in the room, went quiet, as if instinctively sensing something was wrong.

They moved into drills, but Kai’s rhythm was mechanical. Her strikes landed with precision, but none of her usual fire. Every time James paired with her, he felt the tension coiled in her muscles—not focus, but something else. Fear disguised as control.

He swallowed the urge to demand answers right there on the mat. He wanted to shake her, to force her to meet his eyes. But she kept looking just past him, never quite at him, like if she did, something inside her might splinter.

So he matched her pace. Gave her space. And silently vowed not to leave it at that.

After class, when water bottles cracked open and chatter filled the room, James tried again.

“Want to grab a bite before you head home?” His tone was gentle, careful.

Kai shook her head too quickly. “Thanks, but I’ve got emails to finish. Just going to crash.”

Her eyes slid away. He searched her expression, but she gave him nothing—her mask flawless, her tone even.

Still, her knuckles were white around her water bottle.

James let her go. For now.

But the unease curdled in his gut. Her replies to his texts stayed clipped. Polished.

Just slammed. Will call later.

She didn’t call. James stared at his phone long after the last message, jaw tight. This wasn’t just work stress. He knew her rhythms now, her tells. This was her shutting him out—walls slamming down fast, higher than before.

He hated it. Hated not knowing what monster had clawed its way back into her orbit.

Finally, he called Sara.

She picked up on the second ring. “James?”

“She’s not okay.” His voice came out harsher than he meant, threaded with the frustration of watching Kai unravel and not being able to stop it.

“I know,” Sara said quietly. There was no hesitation, no surprise. Only a heaviness that made his chest clench.

“You know what’s going on?”

“Not exactly.” A pause. “But I’ve seen this before. When she gets like this… it means she’s already bleeding inside. If you show up before class tomorrow? That’ll help. But don’t let her push you away. She will try.”

James dragged a hand down his face. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.” Sara’s voice softened, but the warning in it stayed sharp. “Because if you wait too long, she won’t let you back in.”

The line clicked dead.

James sat there in silence, his phone still in his hand, pulse thundering in his ears.

Whatever ghost from Kai’s past had found its way back into her life—it was real, it was close, and it was hurting her.

Friday was coming.

And James had already decided: whoever was haunting her wasn’t going to have her. Not now. Not ever.