Chapter 24 Between Two Worlds
Darcy's POV
By the time I step out of the Ashford building the next morning, the city already feels like it belongs to someone else.
The air is warmer, louder, filled with movement that doesn’t pause for anything not for illness, not for quiet tension in penthouses, not for the weight of conversations left unfinished. Cars pass in quick succession, voices overlap on the sidewalk, and for a moment, I simply stand there, letting it all settle around me.
It feels… distant.
Not unfamiliar. Just different from where I’ve been.
“Darcy!”
I turn at the sound of my name, surprised.
Amaka is already crossing the street toward me, her expression somewhere between relief and accusation.
“There you are,” she says, pulling me into a quick hug before stepping back to look at me properly. “You vanished. No calls, no messages, what happened to you?”
I exhale lightly. “It’s been… a lot.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“I know.”
She studies me for a second longer, her gaze softening slightly. “You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“Clearly.”
There’s a pause before she adds, more gently this time, “Is everything okay?”
I nod, though the motion feels incomplete. “The baby was sick. She’s better now.”
“That’s good,” Amaka says, though her eyes narrow slightly. “But that still doesn’t explain why you look like you’ve been carrying the entire situation on your shoulders.”
I don’t answer that.
Because I wouldn’t know where to start.
Instead, I shift the conversation. “How’s work?”
She sighs immediately. “Busy. Understaffed. The usual. You disappearing didn’t help, by the way.”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“You kind of did.”
I can’t argue with that.
We start walking together, falling into step naturally as the city moves around us. The familiarity of it, the noise, the uneven sidewalks, the casual conversations drifting from nearby stalls grounds me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
This is my world.
Or at least… it was.
“So,” Amaka says after a moment, her tone shifting into something more curious, “are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”
“There’s nothing dramatic,” I reply.
She stops walking.
I don’t.
So she grabs my arm lightly, forcing me to pause and look at her.
“You’re working for a billionaire now,” she says flatly. “There is no version of that story that isn’t dramatic.”
I try not to smile.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. You walked into a receptionist interview and somehow ended up living in a penthouse with a CEO and his baby. That is not normal, Darcy.”
When she says it like that, it doesn’t sound normal.
It sounds like something that doesn’t belong to me.
“It’s just a job,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “And you believe that?”
I hold her gaze for a moment.
Then I look away.
“It’s supposed to be.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I exhale quietly, pulling my arm free, not out of irritation but because I don’t have the energy to explain something I haven’t fully figured out myself.
We start walking again.
“He’s not what people think,” I say after a moment.
Amaka glances at me sideways. “That sounds personal.”
“It’s not.”
“Darcy—”
“He’s… different with his daughter,” I continue, ignoring the look she’s giving me. “You can tell he’s trying. He just doesn’t always know how to show it.”
“And you do?” she asks.
I hesitate.
“I know what she needs,” I say instead.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I don’t respond.
Because I don’t want to answer that question.
We walk in silence for a few steps before she speaks again.
“Just be careful,” she says, her voice softer now. “People like him… their lives are complicated. It’s not just about the job. There’s always something else.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I glance at her.
“I’m not getting involved,” I say firmly.
She watches me for a second longer, then nods slowly.
“Alright,” she says. “Just don’t lose yourself trying to fit into a life that wasn’t built for you.”
The words stay with me longer than I expect.
Later that afternoon, I sat in the small office of the daycare center Amaka mentioned weeks ago.
It’s nothing like the Ashford penthouse.
The walls are painted in soft, cheerful colors, small chairs arranged neatly around low tables, children’s drawings pinned up in uneven lines. It feels lived-in. Real. Familiar in a way that doesn’t require adjustment.
“So you’ve worked with infants before?” the woman across from me asks.
“Yes,” I replied. “Mostly privately.”
“And you’re looking for something more stable?”
I hesitate.
“Yes,” I say.
The answer comes easily.
Too easily.
She nods, making a note on the paper in front of her. “We could use someone with your experience. The hours are consistent, and it’s a good environment.”
It is.
I can see that.
No complications.
No headlines.
No questions about where I came from or whether I belong.
“So when would you be available to start?” she asks.
The question settles in front of me.
Simple.
Direct.
And suddenly not as easy to answer as it should be.
“I… need a little time,” I say.
“Of course,” she replies. “Just let us know.”
I nod, thanking her before standing.
As I step outside again, the late afternoon sun sits lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the street.
This is what I wanted.
Something steady.
Something simple.
Something that makes sense.
So why doesn’t it feel like enough anymore?
Across the city, in a glass-walled office high above the noise, Adrian stands at the head of a conference table, his attention fixed on the figures displayed across multiple screens.
“…if we move forward with the acquisition now, we can secure the majority stake before the next quarter,” Daniel is saying.
Adrian nods once, his expression composed, controlled exactly as it always is in this setting.
“Proceed with the negotiations,” he says. “But keep it quiet for now.”
“Understood.”
The meeting continues.
Numbers.
Strategies.
Decisions.
Everything is precise.
Everything within his control.
But even as he speaks, as he listens, as he directs
his focus slips.
Just slightly.
Unnoticed by anyone else.
He glances at his phone once.
Then again.
No messages.
No updates.
Nothing.
“She said she’d call if something changed.”
The thought comes uninvited.
Unnecessary.
He forces his attention back to the room.
“Finalize the reports by tomorrow,” he says. “I want everything reviewed before we move forward.”
The team nods.
The meeting ends.
People file out.
Daniel lingers.
“You’re distracted,” he says.
“I’m not.”
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “You checked your phone five times in the last ten minutes.”
Adrian doesn’t respond immediately.
Then, calmly, “Hazel’s recovering.”
“And?”
“And I want to make sure that continues.”
Daniel studies him for a moment.
“That’s not the only reason.”
Adrian meets his gaze.
“Be careful,” Daniel adds quietly. “Your mother isn’t going to drop this.”
“I’m aware.”
“And the nanny?”
There’s a pause.
Short.
Controlled.
“She’s doing her job.”
Daniel nods slowly.
But the look in his eyes says he doesn’t fully believe that.
That evening, as I step back into the penthouse, the quiet greets me again.
Familiar now.
But not distant anymore.
I set my bag down, my gaze drifting instinctively toward Hazel’s room.
And then
to his office.
The door is slightly open.
Light spilling through.
He’s back.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Because something about being here again feels different than it did this morning.
Like I’ve stepped between two versions of my life
and I haven’t decided which one is real yet.