The unexpected vulnerability in his statement caught her off guard. Before she could formulate a response, the elevator doors opened to the conference floor, and Kohen was once again the composed CEO, leading the way to the meeting room where the IT team waited.
As Rachel followed him, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was walking a tightrope between past and present, with no safety net below.
The IT meeting ran long, with complex discussions about data migration protocols and security integration. By the time Rachel finally escaped the building, the sun was setting over Westlake's skyline, painting the glass towers in hues of gold and amber.
She checked her watch and quickened her pace. She'd promised Darian she'd be home by six, and it was already quarter till. Her first day in this new position, and she was already breaking promises to her son.
Rachel reached her car and navigated through rush hour traffic, mentally rehearsing what she'd say to Darian. At seven, he was already acutely aware of broken promises, counting them like other children might count toys or trading cards.
The apartment building, a modern high-rise with secure entry and a doorman, had been James Russell's suggestion. 'Only the best for my goddaughter's child', he'd said, referring to his niece Stephanie's close relationship with Darian.
As Rachel unlocked the door to 14B, she was greeted by Mrs. Winters, the elderly sitter who'd moved with them from their previous city. Darian's therapist had insisted on maintaining as many constants as possible during the transition.
"He's been very quiet," Mrs. Winters whispered, gathering her things. "Barely touched his snack. He's in his room with his models."
Rachel's heart sank. Darian retreated into his models—intricate spacecrafts and buildings he constructed with painstaking precision—when he felt overwhelmed.
"Thank you, Mrs. Winters. Same time tomorrow?"
After seeing the sitter out, Rachel softly knocked on Darian's door.
"Dar? It's Mom. Can I come in?"
No response came, but that wasn't unusual. She pushed the door open gently.
Darian sat on his heels on the floor, surrounded by pieces of his latest space station model. His dark hair fell across his forehead as he concentrated, small fingers working with impressive dexterity for a child his age.
"Hey, space cadet," Rachel said softly, kneeling beside him. "I'm sorry I'm late."
Darian didn't look up. "It's okay."
But his tone said otherwise.
"I had a big meeting that ran long. First day and all." She reached out to smooth his hair, but he shifted slightly away from her touch.
"Did you make your chart?" she asked, referring to the daily schedule his therapist had recommended to help him cope with change.
Darian nodded toward his desk, where a carefully drawn timeline showed his day in neat blocks: breakfast, school, lunch, reading time, modeling time, dinner.
"Very organized," Rachel complimented him. "Much better than my day. Want to help me make dinner?"
"I'm not hungry," Darian murmured, still focused on attaching a tiny satellite dish to his model.
Rachel studied her son, noting the rigid set of his small shoulders, the way his eyes remained fixed on his task. She recognized the signs of his anxiety, the controlled movements that kept bigger emotions at bay.
"Well, I'm starving," she said lightly. "And I could really use your help with the pasta. You're the only one who knows exactly how much cheese is perfect."
That earned her a quick glance.
"It's a new kitchen," Darian said quietly, the real issue finally emerging. "Nothing's where it should be."
Rachel nodded understandingly. "You're right. It's all different. That's hard."
"I want to go home," he whispered, a small crack in his carefully maintained composure.
Rachel sat beside him fully now, careful not to disturb his model. "I know, buddy. I miss our old place too. But remember what Dr. Lin said? Home isn't just a place."
"It's where your safe people are," Darian recited, still not looking up. "But my friends aren't here."
"You'll make new friends," Rachel assured him. "And Mrs. Winters is here. I'm here."
"Not all day," he countered, his logic impeccable as always.
Rachel had no argument for that. "You're right. I have to work. But I promise I'll try harder to be home on time."
Finally, Darian set down the tiny piece he'd been holding and looked at her, his eyes serious beyond his years. "Is it because of my father?"
The question hit Rachel like a physical blow. "What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?"
Darian shrugged, the gesture so adult-like it broke her heart. "We lived away from here before. Now we're back. Maybe my father is here."
Rachel felt cold dread settle in her stomach. She'd always been honest with Darian about his father, or as honest as one could be with a sensitive seven-year-old. He knew his father wasn't dead, but that he wasn't part of their lives. He knew they'd moved away before he was born. And he was smart enough to connect dots she hadn't realized were so obvious.
"This is about my job," she said carefully. "Just my job."
It wasn't entirely a lie. James Russell hadn't given her a choice about the transfer, and she hadn't known Kohen owned KAL Apex.
But now that she did know, how much longer could she maintain this precarious separation between her professional and personal lives?
"Can we have spaghetti?" Darian asked, changing the subject with the typical abruptness of children, though Rachel suspected it was a deliberate redirection.
"Absolutely," she said, grateful for the reprieve. "Race you to the kitchen?"
A small smile finally appeared on Darian's face as he carefully set aside his model and stood. "I'll win."
"Probably," Rachel agreed, following him out of the room.
Later, after Darian was asleep, Rachel sat on her balcony with a glass of wine, gazing at the city lights. Aspen had changed in the years she'd been gone. New buildings, new businesses, but the essence remained the same.
This had been her home once. The place where she'd grown up, where she'd loved and lost, where her mother was buried.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Stephanie:
'First day survival report?'
Rachel smiled, typing back: 'Still breathing. Barely.'
'That bad?'
'Worse. Guess who owns KAL Apex?'
There was a long pause before Stephanie responded: 'No. Way. Him????'
'Him.'
'Holy shit. What are you going to do?'
Rachel stared at the message, the same question she'd been asking herself all day. What was she going to do? She had a job to perform. A son to protect. A past to keep buried.
'My job,' she finally replied. 'Nothing more.'
'And Darian?'
Rachel's fingers hovered over the screen. That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? What about Darian? What rights did Kohen have to know about his son? What right did she have to keep them apart?
Before she could respond, another text came through:
'He deserves to know his father, Raye.'
The nickname, the same one Kohen had used earlier, felt like an accusation. Rachel closed her eyes against the sudden burn of tears.
'It's complicated,' she wrote back.
'It's BEEN complicated for 7 years. Maybe it's time for uncomplicated.'
Rachel didn't respond. Stephanie, for all her good intentions, couldn't understand the tangled web of pain, fear, and unresolved feelings that lay between Rachel and Kohen.
She drained her wine glass and went inside, closing the balcony door on the city that held too many ghosts.
Tomorrow will be another day of walking the tightrope. Another day of pretending her world wasn't on the verge of collapse.
Another day of keeping secrets that grew heavier with each passing moment.