CEO's Secret Babies

Chapter Four: The Note

Kiera stared out of the window in confusion.

The car had been silent for ten whole minutes. Five minutes of Damian scrolling through emails, his face blank, while she tried not to look at his hands. Long fingers. Cold. The kind of hands that signed $49 million contracts without blinking.

For a moment, she could swear she felt hawk-like, assessing eyes fixed on her when she was outside the gate.

A prickle at the back of her neck. That unusual feeling.

The same feeling she used to get when Mrs. Haley would stand behind her in the hallway, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Though she didn't have time to assess the situation then, now, the memory sent shivers down her spine.

Was there a stalker?

The thought was ridiculous. Who would stalk her? She was nobody. A debtor. A collateral.

The gate… her bag?!

Her eyes widened. She dropped her bag at the entrance gate. In the rush, in the screaming, in the humiliation. It was still there. On the pavement.

“Wait! I need to get my–”

“Get out.”

What?! For a moment she thought she had misheard. The word cut through the car like ice.

“I’ll be waiting outside the gate.”

She let out an ‘o’ with her mouth formed in a cute round circle. Her brain was buffering. Damian glanced at her indifferently with a gaze that seemed to say, ‘What the hell are you still doing in here?’

There was no room for argument. Not with him.

She stepped out of the car. The door shut behind her with a soft, final click. Confusion etched on her face. Her brows knitted together as she watched the black Maybach zoom out of the gate, leaving her in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

What was wrong with that jerk this time?!

Was this part of the punishment? Stranding her? Making her walk?

She hugged herself. The sun was hot, but her arms were cold.

She traced her way on the pavement to the security gate a few meters from the main gate. Her shoes clicked against the concrete. Each step echoed. Before spotting the black bag exactly where she had left it, slumped against the guard post like it had been waiting for her.

She sighed in relief. It was a shaky, ugly sound.

Some of her important documents were in there. Her transcripts, her high school diploma, a few of her certificates, her national ID, her student card. The few dollars she had left after tuition. The folded photo of Grandma from last year’s birthday, before the illness.

And she couldn’t even imagine why she had carelessly dumped it there.

Her hands were still trembling from earlier. From Kathy’s yelling. From the video. From Damian’s voice saying “You. 24/7.”

Maybe it was out of a little bit of fear. Fear of what that unreasonable mother and daughter duo would do if they managed to gain the upper hand again. Fear that if she held onto anything for too long, someone would snatch it away.

Her hands had been shaking so badly back in that hall.

She remembered gripping the strap of the bag so hard her knuckles turned white at the gate. At the very least, she was nervous.

That's why she had the guts to keep her bag there, that scheming mother and daughter duo could dump a full bucket of foul mop water and drench her important stuff.

She slung the bag over her shoulder. It was heavier than she remembered. When a folded piece of paper fell out on its own accord, she almost dropped the bag again.

She frowned.

She never remembered putting a folded piece of paper in her bag. Never. All her papers were normally inside a pink or orange file. Color-coded. Tabbed. She hated disorderliness. Hated surprises. Surprises were the first step of how you got hurt.

She looked around. The driveway was empty. The guards at the post were looking at their phones. Just the sound of some munching on snacks and the distant hum of the city beyond the estate walls. No one. No one was watching.

But someone had been.

Unfolding the paper carefully, her fingers moved like they belonged to someone else. She saw the letters tossed out at her face like a slap.

“Whenever you need help or in trouble, call 555-235-556. I’m not someone out here to harm you, I promise.”

No name. No signature. Just a number.

Her fingers trembled.

She read it again. And again.

She shuddered violently. Hidden daggers were much more dangerous than open ones. That was something Grandma used to say. “Kiera, the ones who smile at you are the ones to watch.”

Whoever wrote this had access to her bag. Had been close enough to slip it in while she was being screamed at inside. While Mr. Stevens was yelling. While Kathy was laughing.

Who the hell was this person?

Her first thought was Kathy. Petty enough. Cruel enough to pretend to help. Her second thought was worse.

What if it was someone from Damian’s side? What if this was part of the contract? Clause 11: Monitor the collateral at all times.

Or what if it was worse. What if it was the person who framed her? What if they were warning her to keep quiet?

But that didn't seem right… that person and all the means to take all her belongings and trash her entire life, but they didn't… did they really mean no harm?

The paper felt hot in her hand. She wanted to throw it away. She wanted to burn it.

Walking towards the gate while still cautiously looking around as if poised for battle, her heart hammered in her chest. Every shadow looked like a person. Every car passing the gate looked like it was slowing down for her. The security guard finally looked up. “You okay, miss?”

She nodded. She couldn’t speak.

She didn’t call the number.

Not yet.

Calling meant trusting. And she was all out of trust.

Instead, she shoved the note deep into her pocket, right next to her last $200. She kept walking. The penthouse was 40 minutes away by bus. Two buses, actually. She wasn’t about to give Damian the satisfaction of seeing her stranded. Wasn’t about to call him and beg.

The sun beat down on her. Sweat trickled down her back.

With every step, she thought of the number. 555-235-556. She repeated it in her head so she wouldn’t forget it. So she could delete it if she needed to.

- _ _

“Where is she?”

Damian glanced outside the car’s tinted window with a look of impatience. The driver had pulled over two blocks from the estate. He told himself it was to take a call. It wasn’t.

“Sir, something bad has happened!” A panicked voice came from the other end. His assistant, Mark. Young. Eager. And most of all – Terrible at hiding panic.

“It better be something important or else your end-of-month bonus will be cut off!” He replied impatiently. What was this dog of an assistant all panicky about? After all these years working for a composed man like him, hadn’t he learned to pick up a bit of his master’s attitude?

But Mark didn’t laugh.

“Sir, the stock price has dropped to an all-time low. Down another 12% since this morning. The board is calling an emergency meeting in 2 hours. They’re blaming the leak. They’re blaming you.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache was starting behind his eyes. Forty-nine million. A family’s debt. And now his own company was bleeding.

“Who leaked it?”

“We don’t know yet. IT is tracing it. But sir… there’s also something else.”

Damian was silent. He could already feel the headache coming. When Mark used that tone, it was never good.

“Security footage from the Stevens estate gate. 20 minutes ago. Someone slipped a note into Miss Stevens’ bag.”

Damian sat up straight. The leather creaked.

“Who?”

“The cameras didn’t catch the face. Hoodie. Gloves. Male, maybe 5’10. But sir… the note. It seemed to have a private line on it.”

A line? For a friend?

Why would a friend need to sneak a contact number into her bag?

Or an emergency number belonging to an ally she has once contacted but they dumped the number afterwards. He had seen too many of this!

Damian stared out the window, back towards the estate gates. A small figure with a black bag was walking away on the sidewalk. Alone. Head down. Shoulders tense.

Kiera Stevens.

His fingers drummed against the leather seat. One. Two. Three.

Someone was using him to get to her. Or using her to get to him.

Either way, it was sloppy. And sloppy people made mistakes.

“Tell the board the meeting is postponed. Two hours. Not negotiable.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Mark?”

“Yes sir?”

“Get the car. We’re going to pick her up.”

He didn’t know who was playing games.

But if anyone thought they could use Kiera Stevens to get to him, they had picked the wrong collateral.

Collateral didn’t get to have secrets.

And she had just picked up one.

He watched her turn the corner. The bus stop.

“Drive,” he said quietly.