Kais's Pov.
The bell chimed again just as Kennedy was on her way to answer it.Aubrey held up a hand, stopping her mid-step. "I'll get it," he said quietly. His voice was calm, steady — too steady.
I, meanwhile, was locked in a ridiculous mental debate.
If there was a murderer outside, should I at least grab one last bite of my food before I die? Or should I die fighting, like a real man? Not that I'd even be needed — Aubrey could probably handle an entire gang of thugs with one hand tied behind his back. But hey, if it came to blows, I'd happily jump in to vent a little rage.
Aubrey's hand wrapped around the golden door handle, twisting it slowly. My stomach knotted with it, every nerve pulled taut.If there really was someone dangerous waiting on the other side, well… maybe I'd finally get a chance to cool off by pounding the life out of them.
One, two, three…I counted under my breath, tightening my grip on the fork. My pulse quickened with the anticipation.
Then Aubrey opened the door — and there stood Michael.Michael freaking Morais.
My heart sank.Annoyance prickled under my skin.
Michael and I weren't exactly close. We'd only known each other for about seven years, and even that was thanks to my sister. Our connection was more convenient than brotherhood. We'd spent enough time around each other to get on each other's nerves, but never enough to truly break past the surface.
He stood there in his usual calm, unreadable way — expression so robotic it could drive anyone mad. No pride, no anger — barely even concern as he glanced at Aubrey. That subtle, detached care he had for him? The only thing that made me tolerate him. But loyalty? No. He was just… there.
And yet, despite all my frustration, there was a reluctant familiarity. We weren't brothers, not by a long shot, but seven years of run-ins and mutual irritation had forged something like a rhythm. He was calm where I was impulsive, detached where I was volatile. Maybe that's why he got under my skin.
Aubrey once told me I had a problem with almost everyone.But honestly? That's just my way of loving people.
Weird, right?I mean, I'm not like Ayah — she's got her priorities so straight it's intimidating. She knows exactly how to treat people, like she's got a secret rulebook for relationships. And I'm not like Hayat either — the sweetheart who somehow sees the good in everyone, even when it's buried under a mountain of flaws.
Me? I'm the one who spots the cracks first — the flaws, the mistakes, the imperfections. It's almost automatic.And yeah, I'll admit it: I don't even bother acknowledging the good in people most of the time. Why? Because I'm scared.
Think about it.What happens when you let yourself get too comfortable with someone's goodness? You start to rely on it. You start to forget that beneath all that kindness and charm, there's a darker side — a beast.And when that beast finally shows itself? Guess who ends up hurt?Yeah. Me. Every. Single. Time.
So tell me — what would you do? Take the risk and embrace the good, or guard yourself like I do?
"Did I come at a bad time?"Michael's voice sliced through my thoughts, calm but annoyingly neutral. His gaze moved between Hayat and me before settling on Aubrey, who was still standing at the door.
"No," Aubrey replied, his tone even but slightly caught off guard. "But I won't lie — I wasn't expecting you. Is there something you need from me?"
Michael hesitated. A flicker of unease crossed his face — subtle, but there. He was nervous. And the awkwardness? It was gnawing at me.
"How about we sit, eat, and talk?" I blurted, mostly because my stomach made the decision for me. The tension was enough to kill my appetite, and I wasn't about to let that happen.
Thankfully, they both agreed.Aubrey took the head of the table, I claimed the guest-of-honor seat (personal victory), and Michael sat across from me. Hayat slid into the seat beside me, her presence as comforting as it was unassuming.
"So," I said, breaking the silence as plates began to fill, "what's the agenda here? Or is this one of those 'see where the night takes us' kind of things?"My eyes darted between them, hoping someone would clue me in.
Aubrey smiled at me — that kind of smile people give when they're more pissed off than polite."So, Michael," he said, voice calm but edged with tension, "are you comfortable enough to tell us the reason for your special visit?"
Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Couldn't this wait until after dinner?"
Oh, great. Thanks, Michael. Love you too.
"Well," I said, stabbing a juicy piece of meat with my fork and taking my time chewing, "I was very focused on finishing my dinner. But then you showed up, so yeah, I think I deserve to know what this is all about."
I met his eyes as I hopped another bite into my mouth, chewing slowly for effect. Hayat stifled a laugh beside me, and even Aubrey's annoyed smile twitched toward amusement.Michael, of course, just looked at me like I was the most exhausting person alive.
"So, spill," I said sweetly. "What's the grand reason you couldn't wait to grace us with your presence?"
Michael fidgeted, his composure slipping. "Well, uh… actually, there's no logical reason. I'm not here for business or anything," he stammered, glancing awkwardly at Aubrey. Then, after a pause, "But if you don't mind… may I stay over? To hear the story of you and Ayah?"
His cheeks flushed a deep red, and I could practically feel the embarrassment radiating off him.
Aubrey raised an eyebrow, leaning back with an exasperated sigh."Wait — that's the reason? Are you serious, Michael?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "For heaven's sake, I thought it was something important. Fine. Yes, you can stay. But don't ever pull this crap again. Do you even know how tense you made me?"
Michael gave a sheepish smile, clearly regretting the dramatics.Then, as if scrambling for a distraction, his gaze darted around the room.
"Where's the interviewer?" he asked suddenly. "Wasn't he supposed to stay until the whole thing was wrapped up?"
Aubrey smirked, glancing at me with an amused glint. "You mean that interviewer?" he asked, tilting his head toward me.
Michael's eyes followed — and the moment they landed on me, his expression morphed from mild curiosity to disbelief."This asshole is the interviewer?" he blurted, torn between shock and irritation.
I leaned back in my chair, lazily twirling my fork. "Surprise," I said, grinning. "Bet you weren't expecting this level of professionalism."
Aubrey chuckled, leaning his elbows on the table. "To be fair," he said, glancing at Michael, "he is an asshole — but he's good at what he does. Most of the time."He shot me a teasing look, and I shrugged.
"High praise coming from you," I said, spearing another bite of food. "Let's just see if you feel the same by the end of the night."