HIS ROOMMATE

YOU DID IT, REYES!

CHAPTER 28

ADRIAN’S POV

After leaving the mansion I felt more alive.

That sounds wrong. I’m still broken. Still replaying Valerie’s “I’m engaged to Marcus” on loop. Still got a ring box in my hoodie pocket I haven’t had the guts to throw away.

But alive. Because the walls stopped echoing. Because the silence stopped screaming back at me.

Kai was trying her best to keep me in my right senses. I could see it in the way she hovered. In the way she checked my face every five minutes like she was reading for cracks.

We had a movie marathon. Just like the last time I was here.

Same couch. Same blanket she throws over both of us when the AC is too cold. Same terrible action movies with plot holes you could drive a truck through.

The only difference was her.

Last time she stole my fries and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. This time she’s too busy asking if I’m tired to concentrate on the movie.

“Are you hungry? Do you want water? Is it too loud? Too cold? Adrian, blink twice if you need a break.”

Every ten minutes. Like I’m made of glass and she’s afraid I’ll shatter if she looks away.

“Ka— I’m fine,” I mutter, eyes still on the screen. Some guy’s blowing up a building for the third time.

“You sure? Because you haven’t blinked in like a minute. That’s not normal.”

I almost laugh. Almost. The sound dies in my chest before it gets out.

She pauses the movie. Turns to face me, knees tucked under the blanket. “I’m not asking because I think you’ll break. I’m asking because I don’t want you to break alone this time.”

That hits harder than the movie explosions.

I look at her. Really look. Dark circles under her eyes too. She’s been up here every day for two days. Sleeping on my floor when I let her in. Checking if I ate. Changing my sheets.

She’s doing what I did for her when Edward tried to hurt her. Sitting outside the door. Staying.

The city’s loud through her thin windows. Sirens. Cars. Someone yelling in Spanish two floors down. It should be annoying. In the mansion, noise meant memories. Here, noise means people. Life. That I’m not the only one breathing.

I lean my head back on the couch and close my eyes for a second. “Movie’s fine. I’m fine. Stop asking.”

She doesn’t. Can’t. I see it in her face.

So I sigh and reach for the remote. Unpause it. “Just… sit here. Watch with me. No questions for ten minutes, okay?”

She nods, fast, like I just gave her permission to breathe. Scoots closer. Blanket over both of us again.

Ten minutes. I can do ten minutes without falling apart.

Especially with her here, trying all her best to keep me in my right senses. Even if I don’t deserve it.

“You really are stubborn, Kai. Stop staring at me like that, I said I’m fine.”

My eyes stay fixed on the TV. Some hero’s giving a speech before the final fight. I’m not really watching. I’m just using it as an excuse not to look at her.

She huffs and crosses her arms. I can feel her staring harder now. “I can’t help it. My best friend is acting like a sickly Victorian orphan, what do you expect me to do?”

That gets me. I turn to her, corner of my mouth twitching. “Stop being dramatic.”

“I’m serious, Adrian.” She’s not smiling anymore. Voice drops soft. “You should really go to bed. You can take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

I shake my head. “It’s your house. You take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

I’ve slept on worse. Mansion floor. Airport chairs. I can handle one night.

Before I know it, she’s grabbing my wrist. Stands up, pulls me up with her, and pushes me toward the bedroom. Five steps, that’s all her apartment is.

“You talk too much,” she says, hands still on my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll bolt if she lets go.

I chuckle. Little. Rusty. First real sound I’ve made in two days that isn’t a whisper.

“You’re bossy,” I mutter as she points at the bed.

“You’re annoying,” she shoots back, but there’s relief in her eyes. Like getting me to argue means I’m still in here somewhere.

She tugs the blanket back for me. Same thin, gray one she’s had since college. Smells like her detergent.

I sit on the edge of the bed. It dips under my weight. Small. Cramped. Nothing like the king-size at the mansion with sheets that cost more than her rent.

She hovers in the doorway, arms still crossed. “Sleep. Actual sleep. Not staring-at-the-ceiling sleep. If I hear you moving around at 3am I’m coming in.”

“With a bat?” I ask, deadpan.

“With soup,” she says, serious. Then cracks a tiny smile. “And maybe a bat.”

I lie back. Stare at her ceiling. There’s a crack in the paint shaped like Texas. I used to trace it when I couldn’t sleep here before.

Kai lingers a second longer, then turns off the lamp. Room goes dim, just city light through the blinds.

“Night, Adrian,” she says soft from the couch.

“Night, Kai,” I reply.

For the first time since Saturday, I close my eyes and don’t feel like the room’s closing in.

Two years later and everything is slowly getting better. Two years after telling Mr George I wasn't ready for the company yet.

I hardly think about Valerie anymore. When I do, it’s not the knife-twist it used to be. Just a memory. Distant.

I keep myself busy. Work. The company. My parents’ company. In two days I’ll finally take over. Sign the papers. Corner office. All of it.

I won’t say I’m completely ready. But I’m not scared either.

Like my stubborn friend said, “the pain only makes us stronger.” When Kai told me that on her floor while I was still a mess, I rolled my eyes. Thought it was some cheesy line.

Now I get it. Strength isn’t not breaking. It’s breaking and still showing up.

The boardroom smells like polished wood and old money. Floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan spread out below. My parents’ photo from 1998 hangs on the wall — right next to the empty space where my name goes now.

I’m sitting at the head of the table. Suit. Tie. Pen in hand.

Twenty-two years old. CEO.

The lawyers slide the papers over. “Mr. Reyes, just here, here, and here.”

Adrian Reyes. My father’s name. My name.

My hand is steady this time. I sign. Adrian Reyes. Once. Twice. Three times.

Click of the pen. Handshakes. “Congratulations, Mr. Reyes.”

Mr. George gave me a warm smile before hugging me. Arms tight, the way he used to when I’d come to the office as a kid and he’d sneak me candy from his desk drawer.

He’s like a father to me. Stayed on as interim CEO for two years while I was falling apart. Kept the company running. Kept my parents’ legacy steady until I was ready. Never pushed. Never judged. Just kept the lights on.

When we pulled back, everyone in the boardroom clapped. Not the polite, PR kind. Real claps. People who’ve been here twenty six years, watching me grow up in the halls.

I nod. Smile. It doesn’t feel fake. Just new. Like wearing a suit that finally fits.

We stepped out to the hall. The whole floor had been transformed for the party. Chandeliers lit, string quartet in the corner, tables with champagne and desserts I’ll never eat. Everyone dressed up — dresses, suits, people I’ve known since I was ten.

The hall was filled with claps and “Congratulations, Mr. Reyes” and handshakes I can’t keep track of. But I was looking for one person.

My eyes landed on a figure by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Gold long dinner gown. Back to me, hair down, city lights catching the fabric so it looks like she’s glowing.

I smile. I can never get used to seeing Kai in dresses like this. She lives in hoodies and ripped jeans and “I’ll change if I have to” energy. But when she does this… she stops the room.

I walked up to her. She turned when she heard my steps. And she was grinning from ear to ear. Not the polite boardroom smile. Her real one. The one that makes her eyes crinkle.

“You did it, Reyes,” she says, grinning. Holds up a glass of champagne she clearly didn’t order for herself.

“I guess I did,” I say. Voice comes out steadier than I expected.

TBC