Determination
Determination
~ KAIA’S POV ~
I reach my room… the guest room, and to my surprise, my bags are already standing beside the wardrobe, neatly arranged like they’ve been waiting for me.
For a second I just stare. My shoulders drop a little. Paolo must have brought them in while I was having dinner.
“Hello, ma’am.”
A voice says behind me. It's soft, polite, and feminine. I turn around quickly. My eyes meet hers……calm, respectful eyes belonging to a young woman in a black dress with a tiny white apron tied neatly at the waist. A housekeeper.
“Yes, dear,” I reply quietly.
“I’m here to help you arrange your clothes in the wardrobe,” she says gently, her hands folded in front of her.
“Oh, thank you. Please, come in.”
She walks in, graceful and quiet, and immediately starts unboxing my clothes. I sit down because honestly, my left arm still hurts and definitely can't lift anything. The pain is deep and dull, and any small movement makes it worse. So I just sit and watch her move around my room like she’s been doing this her whole life.
She folds and hangs each outfit carefully. Dresses on one side, blouses and trousers on the other. I can tell she has an eye for detail. She doesn’t rush; she just moves smoothly, focused.
When she’s done with my clothes, she takes my skincare products and places them neatly in the bathroom. My shower gel goes right beside the sink. My hair dryer and coiler — she finds a drawer under the dresser and places them there carefully. Then she arranges my perfumes on the dresser, aligning them perfectly.
The whole time I’m just sitting here, watching her. The quiet hum of the air conditioner fills the space. It’s the first calm moment I’ve had all day.
When she finishes, she bows her head slightly and turns to leave, but not before adjusting the temperature just like I asked earlier.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
She gives a polite nod and steps out, closing the door behind her.
The room instantly feels different, cooler, organized, peaceful. I take a deep breath, letting that comfort sink in. For a short moment, it feels like I’m home… even though I’m not.
I pull out my pajamas and head to the bathroom to shower.
The bathroom looks like it belongs in a luxury hotel, its cream tiles, golden fixtures, soft white towels folded in a perfect stack. Everything smells faintly of lavender. For a moment, I just stand there staring. It almost feels wrong to touch anything.
But I do. I step into the shower, sighing as the warm water runs down my skin. I move slowly, careful not to let the water touch my left arm. The wound still stings, and I don’t want it to reopen.
The water relaxes me. My muscles ease, the tension in my neck fades a little. I close my eyes and let the steam rise around me, blocking out the world for a few precious minutes.
When I’m done, I wrap myself in a towel, tie my hair up into a bun, and slip into my pajamas. My body feels lighter, but my chest… still heavy.
Then, my phone bings.
The sound snaps me out of the moment. I freeze. My heart jumps. I rush out of the bathroom, almost slipping on the floor.
It must be Rodriguez.
I grab my phone from the bed and unlock it with shaking hands.
Yes. It’s him. From a private line.
A short video starts playing. My heart nearly stops.
It’s Kai.
My son.
He’s sleeping, his little chest rising and falling softly, his hair sticking up in that messy way I’ve always loved. He looks peaceful. No tears, no fear on his face this time. Just… calm.
My throat tightens. I can barely breathe.
At the bottom of the video, there’s a short message:
“Keep up the good work and he’ll get more attention and care.”
I feel my knees weaken. My vision blurs. I clutch the phone against my chest, pressing it so tightly I can almost hear my heartbeat echo through it.
“Please keep my son safe,” I whisper, voice trembling.
Tears spill before I can stop them. Hot, uncontrollable tears that I’ve been holding back for too long. I sit on the edge of the bed and let them fall freely. My body shakes. The sound that comes out of me isn’t even a sob — it’s something softer, heavier.
I replay the video again. And again. And again.
Each time I watch him sleep, a little piece of me breaks and heals at the same time. I want to reach through the screen and touch his face, run my fingers through his hair, whisper that I’m coming for him, that this won’t last forever.
I can’t stop staring. Every second of that short clip feels like gold. Proof that he’s alive. Proof that he’s safe… for now.
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, sniff, and stare at the ceiling.
“I have to make this work,” I whisper. “I have to finish this task sooner.”
My voice is quiet, but firm. And determined.
The pain in my arm doesn’t matter anymore. The sleepless nights, the confusion, the endless pretending — all of it fades behind one single truth: I need to get my son back.
I sit still for a while, letting my breathing calm down. My heart still aches, but beneath the ache, something sharper begins to grow — focus.
It’s a good thing Elena is his daughter. That changes everything. It means I’m closer than I thought. It means the next move is already within reach.
I stand and walk slowly toward the dresser. My reflection looks tired though dark circles don't under my eyes, but I feel pale.
I touch the edge of the mirror with my fingertips. “Hang in there, baby,” I whisper, imagining Kai’s little face lighting up when he hears my voice.
The room is silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioner. My clothes are neatly arranged, the bed perfectly made, my perfumes standing like tiny glass soldiers on the dresser. Everything looks calm, but inside me, it’s anything but.
I take one last look at the phone on the bed, at the paused video of Kai. My heart aches again, but this time the pain fuels me instead of breaking me.
I sit down slowly, holding my arm gently as the night deepens.
Tomorrow, I’ll start moving again. Carefully, and quietly. No mistakes.
Because every second that passes is one more second he’s away from me, and I can’t let that continue.
Not when I’ve come this far.
Not when I finally know where to strike next.