Chapter 22
Cain mysia pov
Cain stood at the window of his office, arms crossed, eyes distant as they followed the jagged horizon of the New York skyline. The glass panes stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the city—but Cain wasn't really seeing any of it. His thoughts were far from steel and glass towers, tangled instead in the sterile corridors of the hospital, in the fragile rise and fall of Kassia's chest, and in the haunting image of Chicago's limp body on that stretcher.
He pulled out his phone and called Dr. Malik for an update.
The doctor's voice was calm and reassuring. Kassia was recovering smoothly, he said. By the end of the week, she would be strong enough to begin walking again.
But Chicago hadn't yet woken up. She remained in a coma.
Caleb, meanwhile, was overwhelmed with guilt, replaying the accident again and again in his mind. Charity had been trying—gently but persistently—to calm him down.
Cain frowned. He suddenly remembered the mountain of work he had been neglecting.
For nearly a week, he had put everything on hold, choosing to stay near the hospital, managing business calls from the waiting room, barking orders at Peter to keep things afloat. But the board had grown impatient, and the luxury of delay was no longer an option.
A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his reverie.
"Mr. Cain," Peter said cautiously as he stepped inside, "the board is waiting in the conference room. They're insisting you join them now. No more rescheduling."
Cain didn't respond right away. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as he slowly turned from the window. His usual sharp appearance was frayed at the edges today—tie abandoned, top buttons undone, eyes hollow. He looked exhausted in a way that made even Peter hesitate.
"Tell them I'll be there in five," Cain said at last.
Peter gave a small nod and exited.
Cain exhaled through his nose and adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. It was time to return to the real world—the ruthless one that didn't stop for grief or hospital beds. The one that didn't pause, even when someone he cared about was clinging to life.
Five minutes later, he strode into the conference room. The air was thick with tension and expectation. The board members sat stiffly around the long table, suits pristine, expressions unreadable. At the head sat Mr. Whitlock, one of the firm's oldest and most powerful investors. Beside him was Ms. Ferrell, whose distaste for Cain's unorthodox leadership had never been subtle.
"Ladies. Gentlemen," Cain greeted with a curt nod, taking his seat.
Whitlock wasted no time.
"We understand you've had a personal emergency," he began, voice trying for sympathy but falling short. "But Cain, the company needs you back at full capacity. We've been sitting on Denver's proposal for a week now."
Cain's eyes narrowed. "And I already told him—he doesn't get to dictate terms. He can't give me some absorbed ultimatum."
"We'll simply have to look for another investor," he added coolly.
Ferrell leaned forward, her polished nails tapping against the table. "With respect, Mr. Cain, now is not the time for stubbornness. Singapore is our most viable location for Asia-Pacific expansion. That mall will put us in another league, and Denver's terms are generous."
"Denver's terms are a leash," Cain snapped. "He thinks he can tell me what the hell to do?"
"He wants a man the media can trust," Ferrell replied, unfazed. "Not one constantly in the news for being cold, brash, and unavailable. He wants a family man. A symbol of stability."
Cain arched a brow. "So what now? You want me to stage a wedding just to impress Mr. Denver?"
Whitlock shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "Not a staged marriage. But... an image. You're nearly twenty-six, Cain. People are starting to ask questions. This perception of you as a lone wolf—cold, unpredictable—it's beginning to cost us."
Ferrell didn't bother with subtlety. "Choose someone. Build a story. Cement your image as a stable, serious figure. It's a small price to pay for global dominance."
Cain rose slowly, jaw clenched. "So let me get this straight: either I get married, or we lose the expansion?"
"Not in those exact words," Whitlock muttered.
He let the silence stretch until it burned. Then, with a cold edge to his voice, he said, "I'll think about it. But let me make one thing clear: I built this company with sweat and vision. If anyone here thinks I'll bend for optics, they're mistaken."
Without waiting for a response, Cain turned and walked out.
---
Later that afternoon, Cain sat alone in his office when another knock came.
He didn't bother looking up. "Come in."
The door opened, and his father stepped inside.
Mr. Chalil Mysia was a man who carried authority like armor—tall, straight-backed, his presence both commanding and familiar. Though long retired and living in Miami, he had flown in the moment he heard about the accident. He had already visited Caleb in the ICU. Now, he finally came to see his eldest son.
"You look like hell," Chalil said, blunt as ever.
Cain gave a humorless chuckle. "Nice to see you too, Dad."
Chalil shut the door and took a seat across from him. "I saw Caleb. He's healing quickly, thank God. The boy's tougher than he looks."
Cain nodded, running a hand over his face. "He was lucky. Kassia too. But Chicago… she's still not out of the woods."
"I heard," Chalil said, his tone darkening. "You did right, staying close. That girl Kassia—she means something to you?"
Cain's expression tightened. "No. She doesn't mean anything to me. I care about her younger sister, Chicago."
"Is that why you paid all the medical bills?" Chalil asked, brow raised.
"Yes. And I'm flying in Dr. Sylvia tomorrow. One of the best. She'll tend to Chicago personally."
Chalil studied his son in silence for a moment before leaning back in the chair. "And the man who caused all this?"
Cain's eyes darkened. "He's being investigated. They're calling him a suspect now. Same bastard who assaulted Kassia before. Somehow, he found them again… and rammed them off the road."
"Has he been arrested?"
"Not yet. But they're closing in."
Chalil's jaw clenched. "Good. Because if they don't, I will."
Cain said nothing. The room grew quiet—heavy, but not uncomfortable.
"You're thinking about the board's proposal," his father said at last.
Cain let out a breath. "You already heard."
"I'm retired, not deaf. I still have ears in that room."
Cain leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "They want a puppet. They want me to put on a smile, find a photogenic wife, and sell the fantasy."
"And will you?" Chalil asked.
Cain didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted back to the skyline. "I don't know."
His father's voice softened. "It doesn't have to be fake. If you choose someone… choose someone real. Someone you respect."
Cain made a noncommittal sound. He shook the thought away and murmured, "I'll figure it out."
Chalil rose, placing a firm hand on Cain's shoulder. "Don't let them break you, son. Not over this. But don't ignore the cost of standing alone either."
Cain nodded but said nothing.
When the door finally shut behind his father, Cain turned once more to the window. The city buzzed beneath him—loud, relentless, indifferent. In the hospital, Caleb and Kassia were recovering. Somewhere in a surgery wing, Chicago was still fighting for her life.
And in this office, Cain made a silent vow: he would find the man responsible. And when he did, there would be no mercy.
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Author's note
I missed Chicago so much 😫
Thanks for reading
Xoxo
CC