"I had no one else," Alina said quietly. "Except Maya, and then you came into my life." Kai's breath caught.
"So I could only think of you," she continued. "I came to your office because I need your help."
She shook her head slowly. "But then I thought—no. I don't want to use him. I don't want anyone to think I'm taking advantage of you or asking for favours."
She paused, gathering herself. "But I also knew something else," she said. "Only you could help me."
Kai couldn't meet her eyes, not because he didn't want to—but because he couldn't. The truth pressed down on his chest with brutal weight: so much had happened in Alina's life, and a part of it—an unforgivable part—traced back to him. To his silence. To his absence. To the moments he had chosen distance over clarity, restraint over courage.
And the worst part? He hadn't even known. While he had been living his carefully controlled life, managing crises, negotiating power, and calculating outcomes, Alina's world had been quietly unravelling. Pain had found her. Circumstances had cornered her. Choices had been forced on her—not because she was weak, but because she had been alone.
And Kai hadn't been there. He stared at the ground, jaw clenched, hands curled slowly into fists at his sides. Guilt crept through him, slow and merciless, settling into places he had always kept locked. This wasn't the sharp guilt of a bad decision or a failed deal—this was something deeper. Heavier. The kind that didn't fade with logic.
If he had looked at her sooner. If he had noticed the silences. If he had asked the questions, he was too afraid to ask. Would her life have taken a different turn? The thought tormented him. He had believed distance would protect them both. That staying away, staying uninvolved, was the safer choice. He had convinced himself that ignorance was neutrality.
Now he understood the cruelty of that belief. His not knowing hadn't spared her. His not looking hadn't saved her. It had only left her to carry everything alone.
Kai swallowed hard, breath unsteady for the first time in years. He felt undeserving of the calm she offered him, of the care in her touch, of the softness she still carried despite everything she had endured.
How could she stand in front of him like this—unbroken, compassionate—when he had been unknowingly complicit in her suffering?
He finally lifted his gaze, just a fraction, not enough to meet her eyes. He didn't think he could bear the reflection of his failure there. Guilt wrapped around his heart, tight and unrelenting. And in that moment, Kai Arden knew this much with painful clarity:
Whatever had been taken from Alina's life, whatever damage had been done while he wasn't looking—he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right. Even if she never forgave him.
"That day… when I was crossing the road." Kai looked up.
"When you held me," she said, her eyes lifting to his. "That moment." Her voice wavered for the first time.
"That's when I understood how much you actually care. Even when you say you don't. Even when you push me away. Even when you run." Silence swallowed the room.
"You always do," she said softly. "That's why I believed this would work."
Kai's fingers curled slightly against his knee. "So I planned everything," Alina went on. "The crosscheck, the legal papers, the blackmail." Her voice dropped. "Because that was the only thing I could think of."
Kai shook his head once, a slow, disbelieving motion, as if the truth she'd laid bare refused to settle inside him. His jaw tightened, regret threading itself painfully through his expression.
"But you could have told me," he said at last. His voice wasn't sharp—just heavy. "You could have said that because of me, you were having trouble."
Alina didn't look away. Her gaze held his, steady and unflinching, as though she had already walked through every version of this conversation in her mind long before it ever happened.
"Even if I had," she replied quietly, "you wouldn't have believed me." Something flickered in her eyes then—anger, sharp and sudden, cutting through whatever softness had existed moments ago.
"Because at that time," she continued, her voice rising just a notch, "the only thing haunting you was this obsession that you needed to run away from me."
She took a step forward. Alina wasn't sad anymore. His question hadn't wounded her—it had ignited her.
"Tell me something," she said, her tone daring now. "If I had told you… If I had said I needed your help, would you really have helped me?" Another step closer.
"Instead, you would have been happy," she pressed, "and would have laughed at my problems?" She moved forward again, each step deliberate, each word landing harder than the last.
" You would have turned my helplessness into entertainment?" she demanded. "And would have played dirty games with my situation." Her eyes burned, but her voice didn't shake.
"Because that's who you are, Kai." She stopped just short of him. Then her expression shifted—something breaking through the anger.
"No," she said suddenly, fiercely. "That's not who you are." The words hit him harder than the accusations.
"You show the world that version of yourself," she continued, her voice quieter now, more dangerous. "But in truth… I have never seen a better man than you."
The silence that followed was unbearable. The truth settled between them—heavy, undeniable. Kai didn't argue because she was right and that realization hurt more than any accusation ever could. He stood there, unmoving, his chest tight, his thoughts colliding violently inside his head.
Alina exhaled sharply. "Why are you quiet?" she demanded. "Say something, Kai."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Say you don't want to run away from me?" she said. "Isn't that what you want?"
She stepped closer again, deliberately invading his space now. " Say you didn't want to get rid of me," she said, her voice almost taunting. "Every time I came closer to you, you were the one who stepped back."
Her lips curved—not in a smile, but in provocation. "Isn't that right, Kai?" She was pushing him. And she knew it. The tension snapped.
Kai moved. He rose to his full height in one sharp motion, fury flaring in his eyes. In two long strides, he closed the distance between them until there was barely air left to breathe.
"Yes, I was running away from you?" he said, his voice low, dangerous. "Yes, I wanted to get rid of you?" He stepped closer and closer. Then he reached out.
Before she could react, his hand caught hers and twisted it behind her back—not painfully, but firmly—pinning her between his body and the truth she'd forced him to face. Their faces were inches apart. His breath brushed her cheek.
"Is that what you wanted to hear from me?" he asked quietly. "Say it." His grip tightened just enough to remind her how real he was.