Chapter 13 Trapped
KARA’S POV
Weeks passed after what happened inside that car. Too many nights, too many mornings where I wake up expecting something that never comes.
I hear it casually, almost cruelly, while we’re sorting documents one afternoon.
“Did you hear?” Ma’am Arroi says, flipping through a folder like it’s nothing. “Mr. Stewheinz flew to Canada for a business trip.”
My pen stills while listening.
“Canada?” I repeat, my voice coming out too soft.
"Yes. He’ll be gone for a while.” She nods.
A while, the word echoes louder than it should. I force myself to nod, to look unaffected, but something sinks quietly in my chest. Days passed without seeing him. No footsteps that make my head lift instinctively and no voice that sends that unwanted shiver down my spine.
And I hate myself for missing him.
After work, I go straight home. I tell myself I’m tired, that I just want to rest. But the moment I’m alone in my room, phone in hand, I do the thing I promised myself I wouldn’t.
I stalk his account on Instagram, over and over. Scrolling through old photos, checking stories, and refreshing like something might magically change. There are posts from airports, blurred city lights, and expensive dinners.
It's Canada unmistakably.
“He’s fine,” I mutter to myself. “Of course he is.”
What hurts more is the silence.
Despite everything that happened between us, despite how close he held me, how intense it felt… there are no messages, no texts, and no late-night calls.
Nothing.
We fucked like we were forgetting the world existed.
But outside of that? I don’t exist to him at all.
“He’s just playing around,” I whisper, trying to convince myself. “That’s what they say, right?”
The rumors come back to me, loud and merciless. Mr. Stewheinz is notorious flirt, loves messing with women, and never serious.
“Idiot,” I scold myself softly. “What did you expect?” I stare at the ceiling, blinking hard.
Sunday comes hot and unforgiving.
By then, Ma’am Arroi had already warned us that we should finish every thing before Saturday, or Mr. Stweheinz will be in a bad mood. So on Sunday, I go out with Sancha and Louisse, hoping distraction will save me. Shopping malls, cold air, and loud chatter diverte my attention from the longing that I have been feeling for the past few days.
“Retail therapy!” Sancha cheers, dragging us from one store to another.
We pamper ourselves first like for our hair and nails added by little laughs that feel forced on my end. Then we move to the luxurious boutiques, fabrics soft beneath my fingers, and mirrors everywhere reflecting a version of me I barely recognize.
And then—
“Kara.”
My heart stops because I don’t even need to turn.
Louisse already has.
“Mr. Stewheinz!” she greets brightly.
My body goes cold as I look up.
He’s there.
Tall, full of tattooes, hot, familiar, and real. He is still wearing his business attire as if he just didn't care to changed it and went directly here. Beside him is a woman. She's undeniably beautiful and elegant. Her hand is already on his arm like it belongs there.
“Good to see you,” he says easily.
Then he leans in and kisses her cheek. His hand then slides to her waist, casual, and looks possessive.
"Go, greet him.” Sancha nudges my shoulder.
But, I can’t.
My mouth refuses to open. My feet feel glued to the floor as something inside me shatters quietly and painfully.
So he really is in a relationship?
My chest tightens and breathing suddenly become difficult.
So he keeps fucking other women including me even if he has a girlfriend?
My eyes sting of that idea.
I turn before anyone can notice, walking fast, blindly, and straight into the fitting room. The door clicks shut behind me, and that’s when I lose it.
Tears fall freely, hot and unstoppable.
I press my hand to my mouth, choking back a sob as my reflection blurs in the mirror because this hurts more than I expected.
And the worst part?
I don’t even have the right to be hurt.
I cry and cry without a single sound, my back pressed against the cold mirror, my hands clenching the fabric I am supposed to try on. My chest aches so badly it feels like it might split open, yet not a single sob escapes my lips. I bite down hard, as if pain in my mouth might drown the pain inside my heart. Outside the fitting room, voices call my name again and again.
“Kara?” Sancha’s voice trembles, soft but urgent. “Kara, please open the door.”
I hear Louisse too, closer now, knocking lightly as if she is afraid I might break if she knocks harder. “Kara, we’re here. You don’t have to be alone.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears slipping endlessly down my cheeks. My shoulders shake, but I stay silent. I cannot let them hear me like this, weak and falling apart over something I cannot even explain properly.
Then Sancha speaks again, her tone more serious this time. “Mr. Stewheinz already left,” she says gently, as if each word must be chosen carefully. “But before he did, he asked about you. He was worried.”
My breath hitches.
Louisse continues, her voice cracking. “He told us to stay with you. He said we shouldn’t leave you alone."
I press my palm against my mouth, trying to stop the sound that threatens to escape. Even knowing that he worries, even knowing that people care, only makes the pain heavier. It feels unfair, like I do not deserve that concern when I cannot even stand up properly on my own.
“Kara,” Sancha pleads, her knuckles resting against the door now. “Please. Just open it, even a little.”
I do not move.
I cannot open that door, not when my face is soaked in tears, not when my eyes burn red and swollen. I cannot let them see how broken I am, how the pain sits so deep in my chest that breathing feels like a chore. I slide down until I am sitting on the floor as my knees pulled close to my chest.
“I’m fine,” I try to say, but the words come out thin and shaky, betraying me. I clear my throat, forcing another attempt. “I just need… a little time.”
Silence follows, heavy and suffocating.
Louisse’s voice softens, almost a whisper. “You don’t have to hide from us, Kara. Cry if you need to. We won’t judge you.”
That does it.
Fresh tears fall, faster now, my vision blurring as I shake my head even though they cannot see me. I clutch my chest, feeling the pain pulse with every heartbeat. I want to open the door. I want to run into their arms and let everything spill out. But I can’t.
“I can’t,” I whisper to myself, my voice breaking. “Not like this.”
Outside, Sancha sighs softly, a sound filled with worry and patience. “Okay,” she says at last. “We’ll stay right here. We’re not going anywhere.”
I rest my forehead against the door, my tears silently soaking into the wood, knowing they are just on the other side, waiting. And still, I stay where I am, crying without a sound, trapped between the pain I feel and the door I cannot yet open.