Kiara
Back in Alfred's car, neither of us said a word.
His grip on the steering wheel was steady, but he'd changed. He wasn't that sharp, charming therapist anymore. There was something fragile about him now. A cocktail of anger, restraint, and maybe—guilt.
I cleared my throat, breaking the silence.
"So…"
He kept his eyes on the road, barely slowing at a curve. I had a million questions, but my gut said to hold off. Still, curiosity won. I wasn't really part of his world yet, but I had to ask.
"What's your mother's diagnosis?"
"She's in a coma," he replied, quick and flat. It sounded clinical, almost cold, but his jaw clenched hard.
"A few months ago, she fell down the main staircase in my father's house. The impact messed up her brain—frontal and temporal lobes, mainly. No skull fracture, somehow, like a miracle, but the brain… it doesn't bounce back from that kind of hit."
His fingers tightened around the wheel.
"She had severe swelling. They managed to keep the pressure under control, but she never woke up. The neurologist said the injury damaged the pathways that let people be aware, present. She breathes without help. Her vitals are stable. But she's not… here."
The air felt heavy.
There was pain in his voice, but it was folded up and packed away, like he'd rehearsed it over and over.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked," I said, quietly.
He exhaled, slow and deliberate. "Don't be. You deserve to know."
I paused, then tried again. "Didn't you have a nurse looking after her?"
He glanced at me—just a flicker.
"Yeah. A private nurse. She stopped coming a few weeks back."
"That's strange."
He nodded. His voice dropped. "It is."
Silence filled the car, but now it felt different—thicker, somehow.
Minutes passed. The car slowed.
A tall, matte-black gate appeared ahead—sleek and intimidating without even trying. As we drew closer, it slid open, barely a sound. Probably motion sensors, or someone inside watching.
Alfred drove through, careful and slow.
The driveway curved slightly before opening into a simple outdoor parking area. The house stood ahead of us — modern, clean-lined architecture with wide glass panels that revealed a deliberate glimpse of the warm, bright interior. Soft lighting glowed from within, reflecting off polished floors.
It wasn't flashy. It was intentional.
Simple. Expensive. Controlled.
Beautiful.
When the engine shut off, Alfred finally turned toward me fully.
"Listen carefully, Kiara."
His tone shifted — calm, serious.
"I live here with my two stepbrothers. Dillon — he's a good ten year old. We're close. You can trust him."
He paused slightly.
"The older one is Blake."
The name was short. Flat.
"I'm not saying anything definite," he added. "I'm just… not sure about him."
His eyes drifted briefly toward the house, thoughtful rather than accusing.
"The nurse who used to take care of my mother — the day before she stopped coming, she said she needed to tell me something important. I was busy. I told her we'd talk the next day."
He swallowed.
"She never showed up."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.
"Do you think—?"
"I don't know," he cut in quietly. "And that's the problem. I don't know."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"My family is complicated. Just… be careful. Trust Dillon. Trust my mother. And most importantly, trust me."
"What about your father?" I asked cautiously.
A faint, humorless smile crossed his lips.
"Not my father. Not Blake. And especially not my stepmother."
He leaned back slightly in his seat.
"You don't have to worry about my father and stepmother though. They don't live here. They just visit occasionally."
A pause.
"So really… just keep your guard up around Blake."
For a brief second, doubt crept into me. Was coming here a mistake?
But then reality settled back in.
I had nowhere else to go.
He was offering me a place to stay and a decent job. Stability.
That mattered.
I straightened slightly and gave him a small nod.
"I can handle complicated," I said.
His eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary.
"I knew I can trust you," he murmured.
And just like that, I knew there was no turning back.