Chapter 22: Him or Nothing Else

When I finally made it to my room, I slammed the door shut behind me and leaned against it, trying to steady my breathing. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t even know if it was from exhaustion, fear, or just the weight of everything that had happened that night pressing down on me like a thousand bricks.

I moved toward my desk, the quiet hum of the house filling the space around me. My mind wouldn’t rest—it couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of things I didn’t understand. The trail of blood on the stairs. Catherine’s door. Nina’s calm face. That smile that wasn’t really a smile.

Before I knew it, I was sitting down and flipping my laptop open, the blue light of the screen hitting my face like a slap. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds before I finally typed in her name. Nina Stone.

The search results popped up almost instantly—magazine covers, business articles, charity appearances. Everything clean, polished, curated. She looked radiant in every photo, like the kind of woman who had her whole life lined up neatly in her hands. No controversies, no gossip, no hidden scandals lurking behind clickbait headlines. Just perfection. Too perfect.

The deeper I scrolled, the stranger it felt. Because the more I read, the more I realized how flat it all was. As though her life had been wiped clean of anything remotely personal. No past relationships. No extended family. No social media presence except for a few professional posts and interviews.

And then something hit me hard enough to make my breath hitch—there wasn’t a single picture of her with Kevin.

Not one.

There were no family portraits, no mother-and-son pictures, nothing to prove their connection beyond words. I frowned at the screen, scrolling faster this time, checking news articles, archived posts, even charity galas Kevin had attended. He’d been photographed plenty of times, but Nina was never in the same frame.

Why?

It didn’t make sense. Even if she was private, someone as well-connected as Nina couldn’t have avoided being pictured with her own son at least once. The more I thought about it, the more unsettling it felt, like there was a whole part of her life deliberately erased from existence.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, feeling a dull ache pulse behind my eyes. My mind replayed her face from earlier that night—the subtle tension in her expression, the calm way she closed Catherine’s door, how she said, “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant it as reassurance or warning.

I pressed my palms against my temples, trying to ease the pressure building there. The longer I sat, the heavier my eyelids became. I told myself I’d stay up, that I’d dig deeper into Nina Stone until I found something that made sense. But my body had other plans.

Somewhere between one search and the next, I must have drifted off.

When I woke up, the pale glow of dawn was spilling through my curtains, turning the room a muted gold. My laptop was still open, the same page frozen on the screen. My head was pounding like I’d been hit over the skull.

I groaned and sat up slowly, stretching my stiff neck. My phone buzzed beside me, vibrating endlessly on the desk. I blinked at the screen, my heart sinking when I saw Sarah’s name flood my notifications.

Dozens of messages.

I hesitated before opening them. My thumb hovered over the screen for a long time, but curiosity got the better of me.

The first few messages were frantic—half-apologies, half-explanations.

“Abby, please, I swear I didn’t plan to sleep with Kevin.”

“It just happened, I found him drunk and he… he came on to me.”

“You know I’ve had feelings for him for a while, but I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Please don’t hate me.”

I exhaled sharply, my chest tightening with disbelief and something bitter—anger, maybe. Or disappointment.

I snorted out loud and shook my head, tossing the phone back onto the desk. I didn’t believe a single word.

If she really found him drunk, then why was she even there in the first place? How did she know which room he was in? That club had dozens of private rooms—some hidden, some locked off. Unless… she’d followed me.

The thought made my stomach turn.

Had Sarah tailed me all the way there? Had she known all along where I was going and why? The memory of her face—half-naked, startled, scrambling for the sheets—flashed through my mind again, and my hands curled into fists before I could stop them.

I pressed my lips together, trying to calm the storm inside me. No. She couldn’t know. Sarah didn’t know about Kevin and me. She couldn’t. No one did.

But even as I told myself that, doubt crept in quietly, whispering beneath the noise in my head.

Maybe I’d been wrong to trust her. Maybe I’d been wrong about a lot of things.

The ache behind my eyes deepened, and I slumped back in my chair, rubbing at them with the heel of my palm.

Outside, the morning had fully come alive—the faint hum of cars, the low rustle of wind through the trees. A new day, the start of what was supposed to be my first day at the company. The thought of walking into that building, pretending like everything was fine when my life was falling apart, made my stomach twist.

I glanced at my laptop one more time, at Nina’s perfect, unblemished smile staring back at me from the search results.

Somehow, it made me shiver.

Because now I wasn’t just thinking about Kevin or Sarah anymore.

Now I was thinking about what I saw on those stairs, about Catherine’s door, and about Nina’s calm voice saying there was “nothing to worry about.”

And I knew deep down that was a lie.

The morning sunlight slanted through the windows, painting soft gold over the dining table and the freshly served breakfast. I was still trying to shake off the restlessness from last night, but everything around me felt faintly unreal — like I was living through a fog I couldn’t clear no matter how much I blinked. I’d gone downstairs hoping that maybe food would help ground me, or that Catherine’s calm presence might do what coffee couldn’t.

She stood by the counter, arranging plates with that quiet grace she always carried, and I greeted her with a tired smile. But then the memory of the blood trail flashed through my mind again, sharp and intrusive. The way those dark red drops had marked the stairs, leading straight to her room — it hadn’t looked like anything that could be easily dismissed.

So, before I could even stop myself, the question slipped out.

“Catherine,” I said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “About last night… I saw blood on the stairs. It led to your room. Were you hurt or something?”

She froze. Just for a second, but it was enough. Her shoulders stiffened slightly before she turned toward me with a polite, shaky smile. “Oh, that—” she stuttered, her tone too light, too rehearsed. “I just obtained a minor cut, nothing to worry about.”

I frowned, scanning her face for honesty, but then my eyes caught sight of her arm. The cut was visible — raw and ugly against her skin, the edges of it still red. I gasped softly.

“That isn’t a minor cut,” I said, my voice rising without permission. “You should really go get it treated at the hospital.”

For a fleeting moment, something flickered across her face — a mix of fear and resignation. Then she smiled again, that same strange, too-gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and nodded without saying another word. I didn’t push it further, though I probably should have. There was a tension in the air I couldn’t name, something that told me there was more to her silence than pain.

“Please, be more careful,” I whispered after a moment, softer this time.

“I will,” she murmured, and for a moment, I thought I saw her eyes glisten — not with tears, but something heavier.

Then, as if shaking herself out of whatever she was feeling, she straightened and asked, “Abby… Have you seen my son? Have you seen Stephen?”

The sudden desperation in her voice caught me off guard. I looked up, meeting her eyes — there was panic in them, veiled beneath politeness. “I’ve looked everywhere for him…” she said, voice cracking just slightly.

My lips parted, but I hesitated. I could tell her the truth — that I’d seen Stephen at the club last night, looking out of place and tense, followed by men who didn’t exactly look friendly. But something inside me said not to. Not yet.

“No,” I lied quietly. “But when I do, I’ll make sure to tell him you’re worried about him.”

Her relief was immediate but fragile, like thin glass. “Please do,” she said, her smile trembling.

The room fell quiet after that, and the smell of toast and coffee filled the air. I could almost hear the tick of the old clock above the counter.

Then footsteps echoed from the stairs — firm, measured — and my father appeared, followed by Nina. They both looked perfectly put together as always, their presence seeming to pull the atmosphere back into its usual morning rhythm. I greeted them with a small smile, though my mind was still looping through Catherine’s cut, her anxious eyes, the missing son.

I half-expected Kevin to follow right after them, but he didn’t. My heart gave a little twist at his absence, though I tried to hide it. I told myself I didn’t care — that I was done caring — but my body betrayed me. Every part of me still ached for him, even when I wished it didn’t.

My father asked how prepared I was for my first day at the company, his tone proud but probing. I swallowed hard, my anxiety suddenly crawling up my throat. His question made it feel real — the office, the responsibilities, the pressure of working under the same roof as Kevin.

I opened my mouth to respond, but then the air shifted — almost imperceptibly at first — before it grew heavier.

He walked in.

Kevin.

Looking infuriatingly handsome in a half-buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his arms, his hair slightly tousled like he hadn’t slept much — or maybe hadn’t cared to. The sight of him hit me like a wave I wasn’t ready for.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. My pulse stuttered and then quickened in a way I couldn’t control.

He didn’t look at anyone else. His gaze went straight to me — unwavering, piercing. And I felt it. The heat of it. It was like being touched without him moving a single muscle.

My lips parted slightly, and my throat went dry. I could practically feel the blood rushing to my face. I hated it — how my body reacted to him even when my mind screamed that I should stay angry, that I should keep my distance.

But Kevin had that effect on me. He always had.

The corner of his mouth lifted into that infuriatingly confident smirk, as though he knew exactly what he was doing to me — as though he could see every thought running wild in my head.

And just like that, every ounce of resolve I’d been holding onto since last night began to crumble.