Chapter 18

Kayna’s POV

The hotel room felt strangely quiet once Ava and Julian left for the night, their laughter fading down the hallway. I sat on the edge of the bed with my suitcase half open, folding blouses with serious precision. Tomorrow I would leave for Boston. Just the thought of it made my chest feel heavy.

I’d told Damian earlier about my mom, and I’d expected him to brush it off with a clipped “do what you must.” Instead, he’d surprised me. He’d listened. He’d understood. That alone had made the tension of the day more bearable.

But when the knock came at nearly ten p.m., I wasn’t prepared for more.

I opened the door and froze. Damian stood there in his usual immaculate suit, though his tie was loosened and the shadows under his eyes betrayed the late hour. In his hand, a small envelope.

“Mr. Marshall?” I asked cautiously.

“Damian,” he corrected softly. His voice carried none of its usual steel, only something quieter, harder to define. He held the envelope out to me. “These are for you.”

Confused, I took it and slid my finger along the flap. Inside were two flight tickets—round trip, Los Angeles to Boston, first class. My breath caught.

“I… I already booked—”

“They weren’t good enough,” he said, cutting me off. “This way you won’t have to worry about delays or layovers. You’ll be back in New York by midweek. I can’t have my assistant running herself ragged before our next project.”

His tone was cool, but beneath it was something else. Care, disguised as practicality.

“There’s more,” he added. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. A check. I saw the number and nearly dropped it.

“Damian,” I whispered, horrified. “I can’t accept this.”

“It’s not charity,” he said, his eyes locking on mine. “It’s an advance. You told me about your mother’s bills. Use it. When you’re back, we’ll work it into payroll.”

My throat closed. I wanted to argue, to insist I could manage on my own, but the truth was I couldn’t. Not with hospital costs, not with rent, not with everything. He knew it. And the way he said it—without judgment, without pity—made my defenses crumble.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

The words weren’t enough. Gratitude and relief swelled inside me until they broke past all the walls I’d built. Without thinking, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

For a second, he went still. Then slowly, deliberately, his hand came up to my back, warm through the thin fabric of my blouse. His other hand brushed my arm, lingering just long enough to make my breath hitch.

When I tilted my face up to thank him again, I realized how close we were. Inches. His gaze dropped to my lips, and for one dangerous heartbeat, the world narrowed to just this: the scent of him, the steady thrum of his chest beneath my cheek, the heat of his hand.

He leaned in, just barely.

I pulled back, my pulse racing, the air suddenly sharp between us. “Thank you,” I said again, but firmer this time, wrapping myself in professionalism like armor.

Damian’s expression shuttered, though something flickered in his eyes before he gave a single, silent nod.

“Get some rest, Kayna,” he said finally. His voice was back to that cool neutrality, but I heard the faintest strain beneath it. He turned and left, the door clicking softly shut.

I pressed my back against it, my hands trembling. I had almost let myself forget. Forget the rules I’d drawn. Forget the line I couldn’t afford to cross.

But his touch lingered on my skin long after he was gone.

……..

The next morning came in a blur of packing and polite goodbyes. Ava hugged me tight in the lobby, promising to cover whatever she could until I was back. Julian smirked in his usual way but gave me a rare, “Take care of yourself, Kayna,” that made me blink. And Damian? He simply handed me my boarding pass himself, his fingers brushing mine just long enough to remind me of last night.

“Call if you need anything,” he said. Simple. Final.

I nodded, but the weight of his gaze followed me all the way through security.

Boston smelled of sea salt and old brick, a sharp contrast to Los Angeles’s polished sunshine. The taxi ride to my mother’s neighborhood pulled memories out of me like loose threads—childhood games on the cracked sidewalk, winters wrapped in thrift-store coats, evenings waiting for Mom to come home from her second job.

My brother Mateo met me outside the building. He was taller than I remembered, his hair cropped short now, his frame wiry but strong from construction work. His grin wavered when he saw me.

“Kayna.” He pulled me into a hug, then stepped back, his hands tightening on my shoulders. “I’m glad you came. Mom didn’t tell you everything.”

Ice slid down my spine. “What do you mean?”

“She’s… worse than she said.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “You’ll see.”

I swallowed hard, following him up the narrow stairwell. The apartment smelled faintly of chamomile tea and medicine. The TV murmured softly in the background.

And then I saw her.

My mother sat propped on the couch, a blanket over her knees. She smiled when she saw me, but it was faint, tired, her face paler than I had ever seen it. Her hand trembled as she reached for me.

“Kayna, sweetheart.”

I dropped to my knees beside her, taking her hand. It was too thin, her skin cool against mine.

“You said it was nothing,” I whispered, my chest aching.

Her smile faltered. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

I looked at Mateo, whose jaw was clenched, eyes dark with frustration and fear.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He hesitated. “The doctors think… it might be her heart.”

The words slammed into me like a blow, the room tilting. I clutched her hand tighter, unable to breathe.

And for the first time in years, I felt utterly helpless.