~ 42 ~

~ 42 ~
LILA

Friday was a storm.

The kind that swept you off your feet the second you stepped through the doors. From the moment I walked into Novoux that morning, the energy was electric—bustling, loud, chaotic, and strangely exhilarating.
It was the final day of our month-long sales event, and it felt like the entire city had decided that today, right now, was the best time to shop.

The store floor was packed wall to wall. I could barely take two steps without brushing shoulders with someone—a customer eagerly grabbing at a display item, a staff member rushing past with arms full of folded clothes, or another trying to calm a panicked client who wanted a sold-out piece. Voices layered over voices. The electronic register pings blended into the thrum of hurried footsteps and the low buzz of music overhead.

And somehow, in all that madness, there was a rhythm to it.

I moved through it like a conductor, giving short instructions to Ethan and Catherine, helping rearrange stock when shelves emptied faster than we could refill them. Smiling at customers who stopped me for questions. Helping an elderly woman find her way to the accessories section. My heels clicked against the floor with practiced ease, my hands moving instinctively, my mind half on work and half on the time ticking toward my evening flight.

Louisiana.
The memorial.
Dad.

The thought made my stomach twist painfully for a second, but I swallowed it down. There was too much to do before then.

At about noon, I finally found a spare breath to check my messages. Olivia had sent a text, saying she was trying her best to make it in by tomorrow. I smiled faintly and tucked my phone away.

Then Ethan came jogging over, clipboard in hand. "Hey, boss," he called over the noise, grinning. "Thought you might want to know, the numbers are officially through the roof. We just broke the record for best sales week this year."

I felt a real, genuine laugh bubble up from my chest. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious. Mr Harris is probably doing a victory lap upstairs."

I shook my head, half in disbelief. I wanted to savor the win—God knew we deserved it—but first, I needed my leave signed before I missed my flight.

"I’ll be back," I said, already weaving through the crowd toward the elevators.

The upper floors were quieter, the noise fading into a dull hum behind me. I reached Mr. Harris's office and knocked once before stepping in.

He was on a call but motioned for me to enter. I waited, trying not to tap my foot impatiently as he finished. Finally, he hung up and gave me a tired, but satisfied smile.

"Lila," he said, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. "Come in, come in. Sit."

I did, handing him the form for my travel leave. He skimmed through it quickly, then looked up at me.

"You’re leaving today?" he asked, signing at the bottom without hesitation.

"Yes, sir. Evening flight."

He handed it back to me, his gaze lingering for a second longer. "The board at headquarters spoke highly of you, you know," he said, tone almost casual. "They mentioned the project they gave you. Seems you're very close to completing it."

My heart beat faster in my chest, but I kept my face composed. "I'm trying my best, sir."

He chuckled softly. "Your best is more than enough. You’re a credit to this store, Lila. And to KAI as a whole. Go handle your personal business. When you come back, finish strong. You're almost there."

For a second, warmth flooded my chest—pride, gratitude, a little disbelief. I nodded, my voice thick when I said, "Thank you, Mr. Harris. I won’t let you down."

"I know you won’t." He leaned back, dismissing me with a wave. "Now go, before you get caught up in the madness downstairs again."

I left his office with a lighter heart, my heels echoing through the polished hallway. As the elevator doors slid open, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls—messy hair from the chaos, a faint sheen of sweat on my forehead, but a small, determined smile tugging at my lips.

The descent back to Novoux was like plunging into a sea.

The crowd had only gotten thicker. Now, customers were practically hanging off displays, the lines to the register winding halfway around the store. My team worked tirelessly—Ethan manning the stockrooms, Catherine directing customers to fitting rooms, Sophie helping with gift wrapping.

As I stepped back onto the floor, a little pocket of calm opened around me. Several customers turned when they saw me, their faces lighting up in recognition—regulars who trusted me to help them pick the right pieces. I jumped right back in, assisting, managing, laughing when a woman joked that the crowd reminded her of Black Friday gone rogue.

It was crazy, exhausting, beautiful.

This store wasn’t just a place I worked. It was a piece of me. A place I had bled and sweated and grown in. I had found a version of myself here that my eighteen-year-old self wouldn’t even recognize—someone strong, independent, capable.

And somehow, despite everything swirling around me—Damien, my father, Lucas—I felt anchored right here, in this madness.

For the next few hours, I didn’t think about anything else.
Not about the weekend.
Not about Louisiana.
Not about the man whose green eyes still haunted my dreams.

Just work.
Just now.

Just the steady beat of my heart, the rush of the crowd, the knowledge that no matter what came next—I was still standing.

And stronger than ever.

\-----

Las Vegas Airport was always a place buzzing with lives in transit—people going, arriving, waiting, searching. But that evening, it felt especially loud, especially full. Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was the noise inside my head that made everything around me feel so loud.

I sat in one of the blue-backed chairs lined neatly in a row facing Gate 47, hands resting on my duffel bag, and legs crossed at the ankles. Around me, a blur of humanity moved—families dragging kids in matching backpacks, flight attendants striding past with practiced ease, lovers saying goodbye with kisses that lingered, and solo travelers tucked into themselves, scrolling through phones or pretending to read. The constant crackle of the overhead speaker fed out boarding announcements, warnings to not leave baggage unattended, and reminders about prohibited items in both English and Spanish. The floor beneath me, speckled with flecks of white and navy, stretched endlessly down the terminal, and the scent in the air was a muddle of fast food, jet fuel, and the sterile pang of recycled air.

It should’ve been ordinary. But it wasn’t. Not to me.

Because every second I sat there waiting to be called, the closer I was getting to home.

Not just in the physical sense. But emotionally.

And I wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t afraid of flying—I had done this dozens of times, maybe even loved the quiet solitude of it. It wasn’t the hours in the air that had my stomach fluttering and my palms damp. It was the moment my feet would touch Louisiana soil. The moment I’d have to walk into that house and pretend I was okay. The moment I’d have to see his eyes—my father’s—and wonder if we’d still look through each other, or finally look at each other for once.

I knew how things had been left the last time. The slammed doors. The shouting. The weeks of silence. The emails that came from Olivia instead of him. The echo of grief that made us both prickly, both cruel in ways we didn’t want to admit.

And yet here I was, going back. For her.

For my mother.

I exhaled slowly and tilted my head back against the seat.

My thoughts wandered back to just a few hours ago, when things still felt like they were in my control. After I’d returned from Mr. Harris’s office, I didn’t allow myself the luxury of coasting through the rest of the day. I threw myself into work with even more purpose, more determination. Helping with last-minute arrangements, final restocks, confirming logistics with suppliers, running interference when a customer caused a scene because she couldn’t find her size. It was the kind of storm I could command, unlike the emotional one waiting for me back home.

At around four, I had gathered my team in the staff lounge. Ethan leaned against the doorway, still holding a stack of receipts. Mia sat cross-legged on the bench, sipping on iced coffee. Catherine was half-listening while scanning something on her tablet.The rest of them, Jordan, Anne and Sophie giving me their rapt attention.

“I’m handing everything over to you guys until Monday,” I told them, arms crossed but tone light. “Don’t burn the place down.”

“You’re not even going to give us a dramatic farewell speech?” Ethan asked with a grin.

I smirked. “I was going to write a poem. But then I remembered you’re terrible with metaphors.”

Catherine laughed. “She’s not wrong.”

Mia got to her feet and gave me a mock salute. “We’ll hold it down, Captain.”

And I believed them. I really did. I saw the way they’d grown—how each of them had taken ownership of the space. They didn’t need me to babysit anymore. If this all worked out, then by the time I returned, I wouldn’t just be overseeing Novoux. I’d be managing both VEER and Novoux, fully and officially. The task the board had given me was within reach.

So I whispered a silent prayer, right there in the middle of the staff lounge, a quiet hope tucked inside my chest. That this would work. That everything I had given wouldn’t be for nothing. That the store would run smoothly in my absence. And most of all, that going back home wouldn’t ruin me.

Now, sitting in that airport, I wrapped my arms tighter around my bag and tried not to let the fear crawl all the way up my throat.

My phone buzzed in my lap. A message from Olivia.

"Call me when you land. I’ll check in with Tessa too. We’ve got you, okay?"

I typed out a quick “Okay. Thank you.” and stared at the screen a few seconds longer than necessary.

The boarding announcement echoed over the speakers, clear and calm despite the energy of the space.

“Flight 292 to New Orleans now boarding at Gate 47. Passengers in Group A may proceed to the gate.”

That was me.

I stood slowly, sliding my phone into my back pocket and adjusting the strap of my duffel bag across my shoulder. My chest felt tight. My limbs, heavy. But I moved.

One step, then another.

Toward the gate. Toward home. Toward everything I wasn’t ready to face.

But I would.
Because I had to.
Because the girl I was before might’ve run.
But the woman I’d become knew how to keep walking—even when her heart was trembling.