Chapter 9 I Know
"Uhm, that's...."
Mrs. Carla looked at me with a steady, serious gaze — like a pen poised to record every word that came out of my mouth. What was she thinking, after everything she'd seen at Media Day? Probably that I was an opportunist. Some shameless girl making a move on her own son.
"It was a misunderstanding," I said.
"A misunderstanding that was settled with a kiss?"
I paused, eyes closing, lips parting as if I had an answer somewhere. My mind went blank. I needed to find the safest possible response—but what was it?
"Hm?"
Mrs. Carla cleared her throat softly. Still waiting. I forced down a swallow, my mind still drawing a complete blank.
"He...."
"He what?"
"Uhm—he was trying to help me."
"Help you?"
Mrs Carla blinked. I had nothing else to add. But it was the best I had.
"Helping—yes, he tried to help me. I was being swarmed by reporters and he stepped in. You know how impulsive he can be. N-not that it was his fault—it was purely the situation. It was his way of cutting through all the noise."
This was the first time I'd ever seen Mrs. Carla genuinely lost for words. Had my answer actually been that unconvincing?
I looked down, fingers finding the hem of my shirt. I understood why she was asking. Wasn't it a conflict of interest—someone she employed ending up tangled in some messy situation with her own son?
"Oh." Mrs. Carla nodded slowly. "Alright, then."
"...Ah?"
I looked up, mouth falling open. Just like that? I'd been certain this was going to be my last day. Mrs. Carla was, without question, the most unpredictable person I'd ever worked for—and somehow, today, that worked in my favour.
"Hm? Why? There's nothing wrong with that. Just—the two of you need to stay professional. Your job is to keep Chris in line. Structured. On track. That's the focus."
I stood there for a moment, still processing—then snapped out of it when Mrs Carla moved to leave. I hurried over to help her clear a few things from the table.
Now it was just me. A little work left, and—finally, room to breathe. Oh, and homework. I still had homework.
"Gosh—" I muttered, rummaging through my bag. My charger. I'd left it in the reading room.
I'd been in there earlier, tracking down a few titles for Chris's reading list—the shelves were stacked with older collections. I must have left my charger plugged in without thinking.
The house was enormous—quiet in the way that only very large, very expensive homes ever were, even with staff moving through it. My footsteps echoed faintly against the clean, cold floor. Then I noticed it—one door standing slightly ajar. The De Luca family's sitting room.
It wasn't my place to pry—but something stopped me.
"That's not true. I'm not dating her."
"Really? That kiss looked a little too real to be written off as a team effort."
Back to this again. Mrs Carla, it seemed, wanted to hear it from both sides. Of course I was nervous—there had been no plan between us. Nothing to explain.
"Mum, please—don't make this into something bigger than it is. I hate the media pressure, and the public's expectations are already wearing me out."
"And yet you're the one making those expectations even bigger."
"Oh, believe me. I was just—acting on instinct. I was exhausted, the pressure was building, and it felt like one quick move to shut everything down. Besides—"
Chris let the sentence hang—and like an idiot, I waited for him to finish.
"With rumours like this going around—all it does is put my name out there more."
I went still. My eyes slowly went wide, breath caught in my throat.
There was a sharp, stinging feeling in my chest.
This wasn't heartbreak—I wasn't going to call it that. What I felt was closer to being used. Like a scapegoat handed all the consequences while he walked away with all the gains.
Damn it.
I was drowning in all of this—and he was out there, acting completely unbothered. Even enjoying it. Like none of it cost him a thing.
Crack.
Oh shit. Why did moments like this always have to come with the obligatory knocked-over object? I needed to go. Now.
"Oh, Miss Rachel. What are you doing here?"
Double kill.
No way out now. Damn it—why did someone have to catch me at exactly this moment?
Hurried footsteps approached—and then Chris was there, filling the doorway.
"Rachel, why are you here?"
"O-oh—I..."
I glanced around, suddenly blanking on the very reason I'd come. Nerves had a way of doing that.
"Nothing—I was just—oh! My charger!"
I slipped past them without waiting to read the room, making a beeline for the reading room.
"I've sent your schedule to your email. Make sure you read through all of it."
Chris and I were back in the same car—just the two of us and Mr Steward. The silence between us was heavier than the cold air the air conditioning kept pushing out.
A few weeks had passed since the eavesdropping incident, and the awkwardness had never quite left.
"About that...."
I didn't finish. Just let it hang there—an unwanted sentence neither of us wanted to complete.
"It was just an excuse. To stop my mum from asking about it."
I didn't react. I stayed quiet, eyes on my phone.
"What do I care—it has nothing to do with me. You let them bully me every single day and there's nothing I can do about any of it."
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. Chris had gone very still—swallowing once, not moving. I inhaled slowly. I wasn't sure if he genuinely felt guilty, or if I was just reading into it.
""It's fine. Don't worry about it. You won't have to deal with me much longer—once my pay comes in on the 12th, I'm done. After that, we can both get back to our own lives."
Chris's hand shot out and grabbed mine. I startled, turning to find his face much closer than I expected.
"Resign? Don't even think about it."
I pulled back until my shoulder hit the car door, putting whatever distance I could between us. My head was full of questions I couldn't answer. After everything he'd put me through—why did he want me to stay?