Chapter one
"Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm just running mad."
The words slipped out before Kairen could catch them, soft enough to sound like he was confessing to himself rather than the man sitting across from him.
The therapist's office smelled faintly of polished wood and lavender. A clock ticked softly in the corner, steady as a heartbeat. Pale walls were lined with bookshelves, their spines neat and orderly, and a single potted plant leaned toward the window's slant of afternoon light. The air felt calm, deliberate, almost rehearsed — everything in this room was arranged to steady a person coming undone.
Kairen sat on the edge of the leather couch, posture elegant but tense. His curls caught the light, the brown undertones glowing like embers hidden in midnight. Hazel eyes, flecked with gold, stared at the floor instead of the man across from him. His hands rested on his knees, fingers clasped too tightly, betraying the storm inside.
Dr. Haynes adjusted his glasses and leaned back, voice smooth and grounding.
"You're not crazy, Kairen. You're surviving. And survival doesn't always look neat, but it's still progress."
Kairen gave a small laugh — brittle, unfinished. He always looked composed, no matter how broken he felt. Even here, he wore it like a mask: body-con tee tucked into joggers, slim chain glinting faintly at his collar. Polished, controlled. He hated how exposed he felt when the mask slipped.
"You've been doing well," the therapist continued, keeping his tone warm. "Six months of sessions, and you've been honest about your triggers, your fears, even your dreams. But…" He paused, studying Kairen the way surgeons study wounds. "There's one truth you've avoided. And I think it's time we touch it."
Kairen finally lifted his gaze. His chest tightened.
Dr. Haynes's words landed carefully:
"Why did you finish high school from home? And later, college the same way?"
The room fell silent. Even the clock seemed to hesitate.
Kairen's throat worked, but no sound came. His fingers dug into the fabric of his pants until his knuckles paled. He could feel it — the shadow of the question pulling him backward, toward halls he swore he'd never walk again.
His lips parted, but nothing came out. Just silence. Heavy. Raw.
Dr. Haynes didn't push. He only waited, eyes steady, letting the question hang like smoke between them.
And Kairen sat there, frozen — knowing that to answer was to rip open scars that never healed.
Kairen sat there, still as stone, his lips pressing into a thin line. The silence between him and Dr. Haynes stretched too long, and then it snapped.
His mind drifted backward—pulled like a thread unraveling.
He was kneeling. Cold tiles pressing into his knees. A bucket tipped, water cascading down his hair, drenching his shirt until it clung like second skin. The sound of laughter echoed all around him—jeers, whistles, cruel amusement.
And then him.
That fine, handsome senior, tall and commanding, standing above him like some god of ridicule. He crouched, gripping Kairen's chin, jerking his face upward until their eyes locked. His hazel gaze burned with disgust.
"You're a disgrace to manhood," the senior hissed. "You disgust me."
The words cut deeper than any slap. But the slap came anyway. A hard shove sent Kairen sprawling back, his palms slamming against the wet floor as laughter swelled around him.
---
"Kairen?"
Dr. Haynes's voice tugged him back to the present. The therapist's face was calm, eyes softened with concern, his pen still poised over the notebook but unmoving. He had noticed the stiffness in Kairen's shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell too sharply.
"We don't have to rush," Dr. Haynes said, steady and patient. "But maybe… we can begin from his name."
The air felt heavy. Kairen's tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, refusing to move. But the name clawed its way up anyway, bitter and sharp, tasting of metal and shame.
"…Sebastian," he finally breathed. "His name is Sebastian."
As if on cue, a car horn blared outside the office window. The sound jolted the room, breaking the fragile thread of vulnerability. Kairen exhaled shakily, almost grateful for the interruption.
He rose from his chair, straightening his shirt as though gathering armor. "We should… continue next time."
Dr. Haynes didn't protest. He closed his notebook gently, sliding it aside, giving Kairen that small dignity of retreat.
Together, they walked toward the door. The silence between them now wasn't heavy with avoidance—it was heavy with a name that still had power.
Sebastian....
Kairen and Dr. Haynes stepped out into the late afternoon air. The world outside felt quieter, less suffocating, though the heaviness of the session clung to Kairen like damp clothes.
A jet-black Mazda 3 hatchback was parked by the curb, sleek and compact. Its tinted window hummed down, revealing a woman leaning lazily against the steering wheel, curls dyed in a bold burgundy catching the sunlight. Her black eyes sparkled with mischief before her lips even moved.
Kairen gave a small nod toward the car. "My ride's here. Uber."
Dr. Haynes smiled knowingly. "Mm-hm. Just remember to take your meds, Kairen. And next time—we'll try to begin with the name."
"Sure," Kairen murmured, tugging lightly at the strap of his bag.
He walked over, pulling open the passenger door. As soon as he slid into the seat, silence held for half a beat. Then, with zero warning, the driver's side voice erupted:
"Bitch, who the fuck is your ride?"
Kairen froze, then cracked—his laughter tumbling out as if the tension of the entire session had been waiting for that one punchline to break.
"Amara," he groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Please. I just came out of therapy. Allow me to be sad in peace."
Amara threw her head back, cackling as she started the engine. "Sad? In that little waist of yours? Nah, baby boy—you don't get to be sad looking like a goddamn snack."
Kairen rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself as the car pulled away from the curb.
For the first time that day, the weight in his chest felt just a little lighter.
---
The Mazda hummed softly as they rolled down the quiet street. For a while, the only sound was the faint rhythm of the tires against the asphalt. Kairen leaned his cheek against the window, letting the afternoon light streak across his skin.
When he turned to the backseat, his brow furrowed. Dresses and garment bags spilled over the cushions, sequins catching stray rays of sun.
"What's all this?" he asked.
Amara flicked her curls back dramatically, one hand steady on the wheel. "A girl's arsenal, obviously. One of the biggest companies in the damn world just opened their headquarters here. They're hosting some huge gala tonight."
Kairen let out a low groan. "You're going, aren't you?"
"Duh," she shot back, grinning. "Connections, baby. Connections. I can't keep selling silk to broke college kids. I need the rich folk with offshore accounts and family crests."
Kairen shook his head, lips twitching. "That company isn't even new. My roommate's been working there for like a year now."
Amara glanced at him, arching a brow. "Really? What's it called then, Mr. Knows-It-All?"
He shrugged. "Something French-sounding. Maison… Maison de la Croix, I think."
Her hand slapped the wheel. "That's the one! Owned by the Cross family. Old money with a capital O. Honey, they breathe in generational wealth."
At the sound of the name, Kairen stilled. A faint ripple of recognition coursed through him, though it was blurred, distant, half-formed. "Cross," he murmured, almost to himself. "Feels like I've heard that name somewhere before…"
Amara snorted. "Please. You hear names in your sleep. You're just messed up in the head."
He let her joke wash over him, though his chest felt tight.
They drove in silence for a few moments before Amara nudged the mood back up. "So what about you? Don't you have a shift tonight?"
"Yeah," Kairen said with a sigh. "Clocking in soon. You'll drop me off first."
"Of course, boo."
Her phone screen lit up on the dashboard. A flood of notifications from social media and emails blinked through, bold text screaming: The Gala Has Begun. Amara's eyes widened.
"Shit." She bit her lip, torn. Then she turned to him with her best exaggerated pout. "Babe… please. I'll drop you nearby. You can cab it the rest of the way to work. I can't miss this one."
Kairen rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. "Fine. Go sell your soul."
"You love me." She grinned, pulling up to the curb.
He leaned over, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. "I tolerate you."
"Bitch."
"Bitch."
They said it in perfect unison, both laughing.
And then she was gone, the Mazda purring down the street, burgundy curls glinting in the driver's window until she turned the corner.
Kairen was left standing on the roadside, the wind tugging faintly at his shirt. Alone, waiting for a cab, his reflection caught in the dark screen of his phone.
For a moment, the world felt suspended, like the quiet before a storm.....