Chapter 11 - Day 24
958 Words
Day 24 started with rain.
I woke up to the sound of water hitting the glass walls of Kairo’s penthouse. The contract was still on the table. It looked smaller now. Like it had lost its power overnight.
He was already in the kitchen when I came out. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Hair messy. No suit. No mask.
“Kairo?” My voice was still rough from sleep.
He didn’t turn. He just slid a mug across the counter. Black coffee. No sugar. The way I liked it now.
“Morning,” he said.
That was it. Two words. But after last night… they felt heavy.
“Thank you,” I whispered, taking the mug. Our fingers didn’t touch. But I felt it anyway.
The rain got louder.
“Can’t go to the office like this,” he said, finally looking at me. His eyes were dark. Tired. “Traffic will be hell. We’re stuck here.”
Stuck.
The word hit me like a wave.
For 24 days, we’d been careful. Professional. Two strangers with a contract between us. But today… there were no meetings. No excuses. No walls.
Just a penthouse. Just rain. Just him and me.
I took the coffee to the window. The city below was blurred by water. Gray and quiet. It reminded me of the day he fired me.
That morning had been gray too.
I could still see it. The 87th floor. His office. Me standing there with my box of things while he sat behind that desk, face like stone.
“You’re late. Again,” he had said.
“It was the train, Mr. Kairo. It broke down.”
“Excuses don’t pay salaries, Miss Appiah.”
And then he signed the paper. Just like that.
90 days. Gone.
I hated him that day. I told myself I did.
But now… now he was handing me coffee without sugar, because he remembered.
“Stop,” I told myself. “Don’t do this.”
“Stop what?” His voice came from behind me.
I jumped. Coffee almost spilled.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just thinking.”
“About the papers?”
I turned. He was leaning against the counter now, arms crossed. Watching me.
“The contract,” I corrected. “Day 24. We’re supposed to act like a couple. But how do you act like something when it’s starting to feel real?”
His jaw tightened. For a second, the mask slipped.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
That honesty hit harder than the rain.
The hours dragged after that.
He worked on his laptop by the window. I tried to read. Failed. Every time the thunder rolled, I jumped. Every time, his eyes flicked to me.
I noticed things.
The way his thumb rubbed his temple when he was stressed.
The way he kept his phone face down, like he didn’t want to see who was calling.
The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
By noon, the power cut out.
“Great,” I muttered.
Kairo stood up in one smooth move. “Candles. Stay there.”
He moved like a shadow in the dim light. Lit three candles on the table. The flame made his face softer. Younger. Less like the billionaire ex-boss who fired me 90 days ago.
More like the man who gave me coffee this morning.
“Do you remember,” he started, then stopped himself.
“Remember what?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He sat down across from me. The candle between us.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was… charged.
“Why did you take me back, Kairo?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “After everything. After I quit. After I hated you.”
He stared at the flame. For a long time.
“Because you were right,” he said finally. His voice was low. “About the papers. About me. About what I became after…” He didn’t finish.
“After what?”
“My father died,” he said. Just like that.
My breath caught.
“I was 26. I thought if I was ruthless enough, if I fired fast enough, no one could hurt me again. So I fired you. And ten others that week. Because it was easier than feeling anything.”
Day 24.
No kiss. No touch.
But the truth?
That was more dangerous than either.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered.
“No one does.” He looked up at me. “Except you. You were the only one who said it to my face. That I was hiding behind that desk.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing.
The rain kept falling.
Night came fast.
The rain didn’t stop. The lights didn’t come back. The city was dark except for our three candles.
“I’ll take the couch,” I said quickly, standing up. My legs felt weak. “This is too much. Today was… too much.”
“No.” His voice was firm. Final. “One room. One bed. That’s the contract, isn’t it?”
My heart dropped.
“Co-habitation clause,” I remembered. My voice was barely a whisper. “For authenticity.”
He nodded once. Then walked to the bedroom and left the door open.
I stood there for a full minute. The candlelight flickering. The contract on the table. The sound of rain.
Day 24.
We were closer than ever.
I knew his pain now. He knew mine.
And the contract on the table… looked smaller than both of us.
My hand shook as I reached for the doorframe.
I took a step toward the bedroom.
[End Of Chapter 11]
- Writer
