Chapter 3 - Morning Light and Bitter Coffee
The kitchen was narrow, smelling strongly of stale roast coffee and the damp chill of dawn seeping through the single-pane window. I stood by the chipped porcelain counter, watching Julian struggle with the archaic drip coffee maker I had inherited from my grandmother. He had kept his white dress shirt on, though he had removed the black bowtie entirely, leaving the top three buttons open. His dark hair was slightly mussed from where he had run his hands through it a dozen times during the sleepless night.
"It takes three minutes," I said quietly, breaking the heavy stillness. "You have to press the toggle on the side, not the top."
Julian let out a dry, self-deprecating breath, his fingers adjusting the switch. "Right. Sorry. My kitchen at the townhouse is... automated. You just tell the wall what you want."
"This isn't your townhouse," I reminded him, my voice flat, though lacking the venom I thought I would feel.
He turned around, leaning back against the counter, folding his arms. In the harsh morning light, the lines around his eyes looked deeper than they did in the forgiving glow of the gala chandeliers. "No, it isn't. And I spent the last six hours realizing how much of her life happened within these four walls while I was sitting in glass towers arguing about municipal bonds."
"I protected her, Julian," I said, my tone hardening slightly. "You know how your world works. The press, the board members, the endless scandals that follow men in your position. If anyone had known about Maya..."
"She’s my daughter," he interrupted, his voice low and firm. "She was never a scandal."
"To you, no. To the tabloids? To your competitors who would use her to get to your voting shares? She would have been ammunition." I set my mug down on the counter with a sharp click. "I left before you could find out because I knew what your father did to your family. I wasn't going to let that machine chew up my little girl."
Julian flinched, the mention of his father striking a nerve he kept carefully buried. He pushed off the counter and stepped closer, stopping just a foot away. I could smell the faint scent of expensive cologne mixed with the bitter coffee. "My father was a monster who hid behind a clean public image. I am not him, Clara. You know that."
"I knew the man you were ten years ago, Julian. People change when they inherit empires."
Before he could answer, a soft padding sound echoed from the hallway. We both turned to see Maya standing in the doorway, wearing her light blue dress from the night before, her blonde hair sleep-tousled and falling across her eyes. She stopped when she saw Julian, her small fingers clutching the hem of her apron.
May you like
Julian’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. The tension vanished from his shoulders, replaced by an agonizingly tender expression. He crouched down slowly, keeping his hands visible. "Morning, Maya," he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.
Maya looked at him for a long moment, then stepped forward, offering a small, tentative smile. "Did you fix the coffee?"
