CHAPTER 6
1588 Words
Later that night, I found myself standing outside Troy’s house, my sketchbook tucked under my arm like a security blanket. I wasn’t even sure why I came. Maybe to talk, maybe to clear the weird tension from earlier. Or maybe, deep down, I just wanted him to reassure me that that message I saw on his phone didn’t mean anything.
The huge Chinjao family gate slid open automatically, and as usual, the place screamed money—perfectly trimmed hedges, marble steps, and the ridiculous golden lion statues by the entrance.
When the door opened, it wasn’t Troy who greeted me.
It was Mayor Don Chinjao himself—Troy’s father, the mayor of Linus City.
And just like every time I saw him, he looked like he was about to make a campaign speech. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back perfectly, and his tailored suit probably cost more than my entire boutique.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the famous designer,” he boomed, his voice filling the hallway. “Callie Torres! The woman everyone in Linus City is suddenly talking about.”
I forced a polite smile. “Good evening, Mayor Chinjao.”
“Evening? No, no, this is a great evening,” he said, stepping aside to let me in. “Come in, come in! I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
Oh no.
I stepped inside cautiously, my heels clicking against the polished floor. “Actually, I was just here to see Troy—”
“Ah, Troy, Troy,” he said, waving a dismissive hand as if his son was just some minor inconvenience. “Forget him for a moment. You, young lady, are impressive. I’ve heard about this project with the Bellingtons. Very ambitious.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, clutching my sketchbook tighter.
“Ambitious people belong with ambitious people,” he continued, giving me that politician’s smile. “Which brings me to an idea. How would you like to work at the City Hall? Be my personal secretary.”
I blinked. “Secretary?”
“Yes!” He spread his arms wide like he was announcing a prize. “You’re smart, you’re organized, and you’d look great standing beside me at official events. Plus, imagine the influence you’d gain! The mayor’s personal secretary—people will know your name.”
I tried not to laugh at how serious he sounded. “I appreciate the offer, Mayor, but I’m a designer. My boutique is my life. I can’t just leave it.”
“Nonsense,” he said, brushing it off. “Fashion is fine, but politics—that’s real power. And you’re wasted on just stitching dresses.”
Just stitching dresses.
I bit my tongue to keep from snapping back. If only he knew how much work went into those “just dresses.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said as politely as possible. “But my answer’s no. Designing is what I love. It’s what I’m meant to do.”
For a second, his smile slipped, replaced by a look that said he wasn’t used to being refused. But then he laughed, though it sounded forced. “Ah, young people and their dreams. Fine, fine. But when you change your mind, my door is always open.”
“Thank you, Mayor,” I said, already inching toward the stairs.
He gave me a nod, clearly already thinking about something else—probably his next campaign speech—before walking off toward his study.
I let out a quiet sigh of relief and headed straight to Troy’s room.
The house was quiet, the only sound my heels on the polished wooden floor. I stopped outside his door, hesitated for a second, then knocked lightly.
No answer.
I turned the knob and peeked inside.
The room was dark, except for the faint glow of a bedside lamp. Everything was exactly how Troy liked it—neat, organized, smelling faintly of his cologne. But one thing was missing.
Troy.
I checked the time on my phone. 9:47 p.m. Almost 10, and he wasn’t home.
I stepped inside, setting my sketchbook down on his desk. My eyes landed on his jacket draped carelessly over a chair, his phone charger plugged in but no phone in sight.
My chest tightened.
Where was he?
Maybe he was just out with friends. Maybe he was working late. Maybe… maybe he was with her.
The thought made my stomach twist.
I sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe that message meant nothing. But every time I remembered the way he shrugged me off last night, the way he didn’t even try to explain… doubt crept in.
I looked at the clock again. 9:55 p.m.
Still no Troy.
I sighed, leaning back against his pillows. The faint scent of him clung to the sheets, familiar and comforting… but tonight, it felt different.
Empty.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket as I stared at the ceiling.
I wanted to wait. Maybe he’d walk in any minute, smiling, acting like nothing was wrong. Maybe I’d ask, and he’d tell me I was overthinking.
But deep down, a quiet voice whispered: What if you’re not?
I glanced at the door, half-hoping it would open any second.
It didn’t.
The house stayed silent, and for the first time, Troy’s room didn’t feel like the safe place it used to be.
The sound of the front door finally opening downstairs made me sit up straight. My heart jumped, and I quickly glanced at the clock. 10:18 p.m.
Heavy footsteps approached, steady and unhurried. A moment later, the door to Troy’s room swung open.
“Callie?”
He sounded surprised to see me, but not exactly… happy.
“Troy,” I said, standing as he walked in. “You’re late.”
“I didn’t know I had a curfew,” he said casually, tossing his keys onto the dresser.
I ignored the sarcasm. “Where were you? It’s past ten.”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking tired but not guilty. “I was out. Business stuff. You know how it is.”
Business stuff. Right. That didn’t explain the faint perfume I caught when he walked past me—a scent that was definitely not mine. Something floral. Sweet. Expensive.
My eyes narrowed. “Business, huh? Must’ve been important if it kept you this late.”
Troy glanced at me, his expression shifting just slightly, almost defensive. “You sound like my dad right now.”
I crossed my arms. “Maybe that’s because you’ve been coming home late a lot lately. And last night—” I stopped, biting my lip, debating whether to bring it up.
“Last night what?” he asked, pulling off his jacket.
I hesitated, then decided I couldn’t keep quiet. “I saw that message, Troy. On your phone.”
His movements stilled for a second before he turned to look at me. “You went through my phone?”
“I didn’t go through it,” I said quickly. “It just… popped up when we were sitting together. ‘Can’t wait to see you again’—don’t act like I imagined it.”
Troy sighed, running a hand over his face. “Callie, you’re overthinking. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” My voice rose a little despite myself. “Then who was it from?”
He shrugged. “A friend. Someone from the mayor’s office. We were discussing work—”
“Work doesn’t sound like that, Troy,” I cut him off. “And don’t pretend I’m crazy for asking. You’ve been different lately. Distant.”
He groaned, tossing his jacket onto the chair. “Callie, you’re being paranoid. You’re stressed from work, and now you’re taking it out on me.”
I stared at him, hurt and frustrated. “Don’t make this about me being stressed. I am stressed, yes, but I’m not imagining things.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his tone softening just a little. “Look, you’ve been working yourself to death for this Lexi Bellington project. I get it, you’re under pressure. But not everything is some big conspiracy. Can’t you just… trust me?”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Because I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe him.
But that perfume… that message… and the way he didn’t even try to explain properly…
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “I want to, Troy. But you’re making it really hard.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, Troy sighed again, standing. “I’m tired. Can we not do this tonight?”
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. “Fine. We’ll ‘not do this tonight.’”
He looked at me for a second, like he wanted to say something else, but instead he just muttered, “Goodnight, Callie,” and went to grab a towel, heading toward the bathroom.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed bathroom door.
Goodnight. That was it.
I picked up my sketchbook from his desk, holding it tightly against my chest. “Woah…” I sighed, even though he couldn’t hear me.
And just like that, the room that used to feel warm and safe now felt cold.
- Writer
