As I stepped out of the council room after the day’s business, I saw him waiting near the edge of the compound. Streetlights glinted off his broad shoulders and tall, commanding frame, every movement precise, deliberate, as if the city itself had carved him. Even passing associates couldn’t help but steal glances.
If it had been any other evening, I might have walked straight to him, letting him guide me to a quieter corner of the estate where fewer eyes could watch. But not tonight. Tonight, I wanted to pass as if I had never seen him.
I started toward the exit, but Kael’s long, measured strides brought him alongside me before I could disappear into the shadows of the alley. He made no mention of the last incident. His voice was calm, controlled—the low, steady rumble of a Don who had learned patience.
“It’s Alfred’s celebration tonight,” he said simply. “He’s invited the family and the crew for dinner.”
I paused under the glow of the streetlamp, watching him. “Very well,” I replied.
We walked in silence. The air carried a faint trace of jasmine from a nearby balcony, a subtle fragrance that clung to Kael like a quiet signature.
On impulse, I asked, “Do you like jasmine?”
His amber eyes flickered briefly, betraying a thought he didn’t voice. “It’s… acceptable,” he said.
I clenched my jaw. Then why do I always sense it around you? Why does it linger when you’re with her? I said nothing more.
When we reached the courtyard where Alfred’s gathering was held, I saw Via and the others waiting. Her eyes widened slightly at our approach, the faintest edge of surprise in her gaze.
“Good evening, Kael. Betty,” she greeted, voice smooth but measured. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I inclined my head lightly at Alfred. “Forgive me. I came in a rush and brought nothing.”
Alfred smiled. “I’ve already seen to it. There’s no need for apologies.”
Kael led me to the table. The seats were arranged so we faced each other directly. It was deliberate, a statement I did not need explained.
I released his hand and took my place across from him. Kael’s expression shifted for a moment, a subtle tightening around his eyes, but he said nothing. He sat beside Via instead, leaving a calculated space between us.
The unspoken judgment of the room pressed down on me. I had never truly belonged here. I had tried—careful gifts, gestures of respect, observing every rite, every tradition—but it had never been enough. Never recognized from the heart. I had been blind until now.
I did not speak. I ate in silence, tasting the food but feeling no warmth, no belonging.
Kael, by contrast, moved with the ease of a man born to command. He peeled small prawns for Via, his hands steady, precise. Normally he scorned such effort, letting subordinates handle it, finding the work beneath him. Yet tonight, he complained not once. When he finished, he cleaned his hands deliberately, every motion measured.
A sharp ache struck my chest. I had tried to let him go, yet seeing such tenderness directed at another cut deeper than I expected.
Alfred nudged Kael lightly. “Don’t favor one over another. Surely she deserves some too.”
For the first time that evening, Kael’s gaze landed on me. His brows drew together, his voice calm but edged with quiet authority. “Bring her another plate.”
“No.” My voice was steady, measured. “I don’t eat prawns.”
“Fish, then?”
“I don’t like it.”
“And chicken?”
“Neither.”
He stared, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Not a trace of hesitation. I met his gaze, lifted a linen napkin from the table, wiped my lips, and said softly, “I do not want what you offer.”
“Betty, are you upset?” Via asked, cautious. “Why not eat something? Please, don’t be mad at Kael.”
I lifted my chin, letting silence answer. The city skyline above watched in quiet indifference as the family gathered, as loyalties were tested, and as the space between us grew wider than any street or alley could measure.
