Chapter Forty Four

Four Days Later

Chris rolled onto his side, pressing his cheek deeper into the pillow. His eyes drifted to the shelf beside the bed. No more tea. No more steam.

He sighed and sat up. Reaching for his phone, he checked the time—7:30 a.m.

I need to get dressed for work now, he thought, pulling off his shirt.

It had been weeks since he last set foot in the office. He had buried himself in painting, making only a few calls about the upcoming exhibition. Still no word from Isa. No one had seen her return to collect her things. Chris wondered if she had decided to leave everything behind—leave him behind.

He walked into the bathroom, showered, and got dressed. After slipping on his shoes, he buttoned his cufflinks. A glance at the clock: 8:30 a.m. He shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his suitcase and jacket, then looked around one last time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything before heading out.

Chris stepped into his studio to collect two of his recent paintings—The Caged Man and The Mirror. As he packed them, his gaze landed on the abandoned shelf. A flood of memory struck him: the screw pictures... Isa standing right there.

His stomach twisted. He swallowed hard.

Tomorrow would mark the beginning of the exclusive exhibition preparations.

Chris cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, and stepped out of the studio—like a man fleeing a ghost.

A Few Minutes Later

Chris arrived at his office and paused in front of Isa’s desk. The faint scent of ink still lingered in the air. His eyes swept over the scattered pens, half-filled documents, and the untouched computer screen.

He imagined her sitting there again, lost in her notebook, typing away, unaware of his presence.

A bittersweet smile curved on his lips. How much had I taken for granted?

Even if she didn’t speak much, her quiet presence behind that desk had filled a space he didn’t realize was empty—until now. He thought he was alone, but he hadn’t been.

Chris sighed, tightening his grip on the frame of the painting in his hands.

“Sir?” Mr. Johnson’s voice echoed gently as he approached. “You sent for me.”

Chris turned his gaze toward him. Mr. Johnson bowed his head immediately, standing still like a statue.

Chris stared for a moment, his thoughts flashing to Isa’s subtle shivers whenever she stood before him.

Am I taking everyone for granted too? His chest tightened as he recalled his own painting—The Man Caged in His Own World. A man who inflicted pain on others because of the pain he carried himself. A man who weighed down his staff with work, yet never offered a word of thanks.

Chris exhaled and handed the paintings to Mr. Johnson. “These are for the exhibition.”

Mr. Johnson received them with a respectful nod. “I’ll send them to the head artist now.”

Chris gave a small nod. Just as Mr. Johnson turned to leave, he said, “There’ll be a meeting now. Inform everyone.”

Mr. Johnson nodded briskly and hurried off. Chris let out a deep breath and entered his office.

Seated at the head of the long table, Chris scanned the room. His staff sat motionless, tense, almost holding their breath. Even the air felt frozen, like it was waiting.

He sighed and rubbed his brow, uncertain how to begin. Then he leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the table.

“First—” he paused. Instantly, everyone straightened, notebooks and pens at the ready.

Good. They’re attentive.

Chris hesitated, tempted to swallow his words. But Isa’s face flashed in his mind.

Maybe she wouldn’t have left if I’d just shown a little appreciation.

He looked at his staff again. They were here. Present. And that meant something—he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

His thoughts shifted to Nolan—the boy with the bright eyes and easy smile. Even if their time together had been brief, it had made Chris feel alive. He couldn’t escape the cage he’d built around himself, but maybe... he could enjoy the company of others. Even if it didn’t last.

“Firstly,” he repeated, softer this time, each word carefully chosen. “I want to thank you all for the incredible work you’ve been doing here at Nova.”

A beat of silence followed. Eyes blinked in confusion. Heads turned subtly, eyebrows raised as if questioning whether they heard him right.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” he continued, “and I want to especially thank you for your effort with the upcoming exhibition.”

His throat tightened. His heart thudded in his chest. Sweat gathered in his palms, but he kept his face unreadable.

When he looked up again, the staff were watching him—only briefly—before turning their eyes away. Shoulders tensed. Some looked visibly uncomfortable, as if sitting on hot coals. Sweat glistened on more than one forehead.

Chris’s hands unclenched. He rubbed his fingers together under the table.

Will anything ever change?

He thought of Isa’s smile the first time he saw her with Alex—how relaxed she’d been. It wasn’t just me who didn’t want people around. People didn’t want me around either. No one wants me. Not even Isa.

He bit the inside of his cheek, pressed his lips together, and stood. Chairs scraped loudly as everyone leapt to their feet.

Chris’s eyes moved across the room and stopped on Maya’s hand, which nervously clutched a pen. When she noticed his stare, the pen slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

The sound rang through the room. Maya didn’t bend to pick it up.

Am I that terrifying?

Chris adjusted his tie, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Calm and composed, he said:

“Preparation for the exclusive exhibition begins tomorrow. I expect everyone at the hall early.” His eyes swept across the room, cold and piercing. “No mistakes. Everything must go seamlessly.”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed.

Without another word, Chris turned and walked out, his face tight, silently cursing himself.

Liana darted to the door and peeked down the hall.

“Is he gone?” Maya asked, breathless.

Liana nodded and quickly returned to her seat.

“Did he hit his head in that accident or something?” she asked, glancing at everyone.

Maya shook her head and slumped back into her chair.

“What’s wrong with him?” Daniel scoffed. “I’d rather he yelled at us. That speech? It felt like my soul left my body. He’s never said anything like that. It sounded... weird. Off.”

“Did something happen?” Nami murmured, pressing her fingers to her chin. “Do you think he fired his PA? Isa hasn’t been coming in.”

Mr. Johnson quickly waved his hands, frowning. “I don’t think so. He called to ask if Isa had shown up. I think she just couldn’t handle his demands. Or his coldness.”

“God,” Liana muttered, sinking deeper into her seat. “Then he must’ve really hit his head.”

Everyone sat quietly, lost in thought—except Ryan, who kept squinting suspiciously at the door.

Thank you for your patience—I truly appreciate you taking the time to read this story. I hope you’re enjoying Chris’s emotional journey so far. I’d love to hear your thoughts—even a simple reaction would mean a lot. Thanks again!