Chapter 5 – The Real Reason Why
The air in the small flat smelled of thyme, fried onions, and something warm that clung to childhood memories. Not luxury—but comfort. Not silence—but life.
Kirah Evans pushed open the door and stepped into the barely lit entryway, kicking off her heels with a soft groan. The pain in her arches was a reminder that power didn't come cheap. Neither did survival.
"You're back, Kirah baby!" her mother called out from the kitchen, her voice worn with age but still sweet. It wrapped around Kirah like a familiar blanket, one she'd never admit to needing.
"Yeah, Mama," she said, walking in with the grace of a woman who'd just left a skyscraper built for billionaires. "Smells like heaven in here."
"In here is not heaven o," her mom teased. "Just moi moi and pepper soup. You want?"
Kirah's stomach answered before she could. "Always."
She stepped into the small kitchen where the tiles were chipped in the corners and the fan above the stove buzzed like an old song. Her mom, in her favorite faded wrapper and head tie, was stirring the pot with the kind of focus that reminded Kirah where her own intensity came from.
"Long day?" her mother asked without looking up.
"You have no idea." Kirah opened the fridge, grabbed a cold sachet of water, and took a slow sip. "Mama… I entered a different world today."
Her mom glanced at her then, eyes lighting with curiosity. "Tell me everything."
They moved into the living room after dinner. The plastic fan squeaked softly as it rotated, and her younger brother, Denzel, was sprawled across the couch with his phone pressed to his face, headphones in.
"Kirah," he said lazily without looking up, "you got promoted to CEO yet?"
She rolled her eyes. "Almost. Maybe next week."
"Let me know when it happens. I want a Tesla."
"Keep dreaming."
Her mom chuckled as she settled into the armchair beside Kirah. "Ignore him. So tell me, how was your first day?"
Kirah leaned back, sighing. "It was…intense. That company is no joke, Mama. Vierra Holdings is a machine. But I walked in like I owned the damn place."
"Language," her mom warned with a raised brow.
"Sorry," Kirah said with a smirk. "But you'd be proud of me. I didn't stutter. Didn't flinch. Even when half the room looked like they wanted to throw me out."
Her mom looked at her with a soft pride that made Kirah's chest ache. "Of course you didn't stutter. You're my daughter."
Kirah swallowed hard. "I impressed the boss too."
"The billionaire?" her mom asked, leaning forward slightly. "The Dominic guy you mentioned?"
Kirah gave a small nod, unsure how to describe him. "He's… something else. Cold. Controlled. The kind of man who doesn't need to raise his voice to command a room. Tall. Sharp. Very sharp. I think he sees me as a challenge."
Her mom raised a knowing brow. "Handsome?"
Kirah paused. "Unfortunately."
Her mom laughed. "Hmmm. Dangerous."
"Exactly," Kirah muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. "But don't worry. I'm not there to catch feelings. I'm there to catch snakes."
She fell quiet after that, staring at the low table where her sister's nursing textbooks were still spread open from earlier in the day. Her sister, Mayowa, wasn't home yet—probably still working her shift at the private hospital. The girl was smart, driven, but her salary couldn't stretch enough to cover the family's real needs.
Kirah looked around the room—the old curtains her mom refused to replace because "they still did the job," the couch with its squeaky spring, the TV that flickered sometimes when the socket wobbled.
It wasn't poverty. But it wasn't comfort either.
And they all leaned on her—every single one of them.
Mayowa tried, but she wasn't earning half of what Kirah made. Denzel was still in university, burning through data subscriptions and feeding his tech dreams. Her father, aging and slower now, ran a small tailoring shop that barely made enough for daily bread.
Kirah carried it all.
"I'm going to make this work," she said quietly. "No matter how cold that man is. No matter how many side-eyes I get at that office. I'm going to rise."
Her mom watched her carefully. "Are you happy, Kirah?"
She blinked. The question caught her off guard. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It has everything to do with it," her mom replied gently. "You work so hard, my child. Every day you carry the world on your back. I just want to know… is it breaking you?"
Kirah stared ahead. "No. It's building me."
Her mother reached out and touched her hand. "Just make sure you're not building yourself into a prison."
Later that night, as everyone slept, Kirah lay awake in her small room, the ceiling fan turning in lazy circles above her. She stared at the pale wall, thinking of Dominic Vierra—of his sharp eyes and unreadable smile.
He was rich. Ruthless. Dangerous.
And yet… something about the way he looked at her told her he was watching more than her reports. Watching her.
She didn't like that. Didn't trust it.
She'd dealt with powerful men before. Men who thought their charm could override her mind. Men who tried to test her boundaries. She'd chewed them up and spit them out.
She wouldn't fall into that trap now not when her family's survival depended on her staying focused.
So what if his voice was low and rough in that way that curled against her spine? So what if his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary?
She could handle him.
Hell, if she had to, she could outplay him.
With a deep breath, Kirah rolled over and reached for her tablet. She pulled up the company security logs again, highlighting a suspicious email thread she hadn't fully looked into earlier.
Distraction was a luxury.
And she wasn't rich enough to afford it.