Chapter 6 - Nico’s First Week Without Her
The penthouse was louder without me.
Nico had never noticed how many sounds I made.
The coffee grinder at 6:40.
The closet door sliding open.
My bare feet on marble.
Music playing quietly while I cooked.
The hair dryer.
The shower.
The little impatient noise I made whenever my laptop froze.
Now the apartment contained refrigerators humming and heating systems clicking.
Mechanical sounds.
Nothing alive.
He stopped sleeping in the bedroom.
Arthur noticed but said nothing.
By the sixth night, Nico was working in the study at four in the morning when his housekeeper entered.
“Mr. Nico?”
He looked up.
She was holding a ceramic mug.
White.
Chipped near the handle.
“What?”
“Should I pack Ms. Norah’s things?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“Some clothes remain.”
“I know.”
“All of them?”
Nico’s eyes moved toward the mug.
It had blue lettering on one side.
BUILD SOMETHING THAT LASTS.
He remembered mocking it.
Norah had won it at a corporate retreat before meeting him.
She used it every morning despite shelves filled with expensive Italian ceramics.
“Leave everything.”
The housekeeper nodded.
Then Nico stopped her.
“Maria.”
“Yes?”
“Was she unhappy?”
Maria’s expression became cautious.
“I work for you.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I don’t think she was unhappy every day.”
A strange answer.
Nico leaned back.
“What does that mean?”
“She was happy when you came home early.”
That hurt unexpectedly.
Maria continued.
“She was happy when you ate breakfast with her.”
Another blow.
“She was happy when you asked about her drawings.”
Nico frowned.
“Drawings?”
Maria realized something.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“She sometimes drew buildings.”
He said nothing.
“On the kitchen table. Late at night.”
“Where are they?”
Maria pointed toward a drawer beneath the built-in desk.
Nico opened it after she left.
Inside were sketchbooks.
Dozens of pages.
Restaurants.
Apartment interiors.
Storefronts.
Public spaces.
One drawing stopped him.
It was a small house.
Nothing like the penthouse.
Two stories.
Wide porch.
A garden.
Bookshelves built around a fireplace.
At the bottom, in Norah’s handwriting:
Somewhere that feels like ours, not his.
Nico sat motionless.
The words changed something.
He had spent three years believing provision was love.
A penthouse.
Cards.
Cars.
Jewelry.
Trips.
Security.
He had never asked whether any of it felt like hers.
His phone rang.
Arthur.
“Rafael Crane just walked into Hartwell Studio.”
Nico stood instantly.
“What?”
“Marcus saw him.”
“Why is Norah downstairs?”
“She isn’t yet.”
“Keep her upstairs.”
“You told us not to interfere unless there’s danger.”
“Arthur.”
“I’m making a point. This is why your arrangement is impossible.”
“Is Crane alone?”
“Appears so.”
“Get him out.”
“Nico, if we drag a man out of her workplace, what exactly do you think happens to the life she’s rebuilding?”
Nico closed his eyes.
Arthur was right.
Again.
He hated this new pattern.
“What does Crane want?”
“We don’t know.”
“I do.”
Arthur waited.
“South Halsted.”
Silence.
“You think he’s tying Norah to the redevelopment parcel?”
“Yes.”
Hartwell Studio had recently bid to redevelop three abandoned commercial blocks along South Halsted.
What Norah did not know was that one of Nico’s shell companies held an option on adjacent property.
Rafael Crane had spent eighteen months trying to force Nico to sell.
If Hartwell secured the city-backed redevelopment project, the value of Nico’s adjoining parcels would triple.
Now Norah worked for Hartwell.
Coincidence was becoming increasingly expensive.
“Do you think she knew?”
Arthur’s tone went cold.
“Careful.”
“I’m asking.”
“No. You’re thinking like a man who has trusted territory longer than people.”
Nico went silent.
Arthur added, “Norah didn’t even know the company existed last week.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Nico’s jaw flexed.
“Yes.”
“Then act like it.”
At Hartwell, I remained upstairs while Claire spoke to Rafael in reception.
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“No.”
“You recognize the address?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My former partner had business near there.”
Claire watched my face.
“Former?”
“Yes.”
“Complicated?”
“You have no idea.”
Claire nodded.
“Then Rafael Crane can make an appointment like everyone else.”
Relief loosened my shoulders.
“You’re not sending me down?”
“You work here, Norah. You’re not bait.”
The word hit harder than Claire intended.
She noticed.
“Sorry.”
“No. It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Claire leaned back.
“Whatever your old life is, I hired you because you know how to do this job. I’m not letting some stranger turn my employee into a back channel.”
My employee.
For some reason, that almost made me cry.
Rafael left.
But before leaving, he gave reception a folder.
My name was written across it.
I didn’t open it alone.
Claire sat beside me.
Inside were copies of property records.
Corporations.
Addresses.
A map.
One parcel had Nico’s company attached.
Another had Hartwell’s redevelopment boundary.
And tucked behind the map was another photograph.
Nico and me.
Taken two years earlier outside a restaurant.
On the back:
Ask him why you were brought into his life three months before he bought South Halsted.
My stomach dropped.
Claire read it over my shoulder.
“Norah?”
I could barely hear her.
Because three years earlier, Nico had entered my hotel renovation project as an investor.
Three months later, according to the documents, he had purchased the South Halsted property.
And suddenly a question I had never thought to ask became unbearable.
Had our meeting really been accidental?
Or had Nico known exactly who I was before I knew him?
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Norah.”
“Did you meet me because of my job?”
Silence.
May you like
And in that one terrible pause, my heart began preparing for another answer I might not survive.
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