~Karla's Pov~
It's Sunday morning, and for once, the world isn't rushing me.
There's no blaring alarm. No blazer waiting to be ironed. No subway to catch or iced coffee to spill. Just the soft hum of the city outside and the faint aroma of something warm and sweet drifting from the kitchen.
I sit up in bed slowly, careful not to jostle the dull throb in my head.
Still a bit hungover.
Still a bit stunned by the memory of last night.
Still unsure if I regret the tequila… or the kiss.
Probably just the tequila.
I throw on an oversized sweater and shuffle barefoot into the kitchen.
Tessa's already there—black hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing polka-dot pajama pants and a "Sarcastic but Cute" t-shirt. She's swaying slightly to some low indie song playing from her phone while she flips pancakes like she's starring in a brunch commercial.
She spots me and grins.
"Look who survived the clubbing apocalypse."
I lean against the fridge, arms crossed, trying not to smile. "Barely."
"I made pancakes as a peace offering for the damage I helped inflict."
I accept the plate she slides my way and sit at the small round table in the corner. My stomach, surprisingly, is grateful.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The pancakes are fluffy, warm, and taste like pure serotonin.
Tessa finally speaks. "You were kind of amazing last night, you know."
I raise an eyebrow. "I kissed a stranger in public and almost threw up in your purse on the subway."
"Exactly. Iconic."
I snort into my fork.
She shrugs, her tone a little softer now. "But seriously—you let go. I don't know what happened, but I saw you smile. Really smile. That's rare."
I pause.
She's not wrong.
Most of the time, I'm all focused and fighting, trying to build something out of my broken past. But last night, I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just was.
"I guess I needed it more than I realized," I say quietly.
Tessa nods, chewing slowly. "We all do. Sometimes."
There's a beat of silence, and then I look at her. "Hey... thanks. For dragging me out."
She lifts her mug. "To bad decisions that actually do some good."
We clink cups.
Then she adds, "Next time though, I'm confiscating your phone. You tried to text your boss at 1:43 AM and just typed the word 'marketing' eight times."
My eyes widen. "What?!"
She laughs so hard she nearly spills syrup on the table.
I groan, covering my face. "Please tell me you're lying."
"Would I ever lie to you? ...Yes. But not this time."
We laugh until we can't breathe. And in that moment—somewhere between the pancakes and the memories—I realize something.
This city may still feel overwhelming. The job may still be a war zone.
But Tessa? She might just be my first real piece of solid ground here.
The sizzle of garlic hitting hot oil fills the kitchen as I toss chopped onions into the pan, followed by colorful strips of bell peppers. My sleeves are rolled up, and the apron I found shoved in a drawer actually makes me feel halfway put together.
Tessa is perched on the counter stool, legs swinging back and forth, her cheek resting in one palm as she watches me like I'm a live cooking show.
"I still can't believe you can cook," she says, eyes wide with dramatic awe.
"It's just stir-fry," I say, flicking a piece of broccoli into the pan. "Not exactly gourmet."
"No, see—that's the problem. You're humble. And I hate it."
I laugh, giving the vegetables another stir as the soy sauce starts to glaze everything perfectly. The scent is warm, a little spicy, exactly the kind of comfort I didn't know I missed.
Tessa hums a tune—off key—and starts swaying in her seat like we're at a jazz bar instead of a tiny apartment kitchen.
By the time I dish the food onto two plates, she's clapping like I just won MasterChef.
"Chef Karla," she declares, taking her plate with both hands. "Do you realize how dangerously wife-material you are right now?"
"Don't make me throw noodles at you."
"You wouldn't dare waste your art."
I snort, sit across from her at the table, and dig in.
She moans after the first bite. "Okay, seriously, why haven't you opened a restaurant yet?"
"Because I'm busy drowning in unpaid internships and school loans?"
"A technicality."
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Tessa humming between mouthfuls like she's in some happy food trance. The kitchen feels warm—messy, lived in, safe.
She finishes before I do and leans back in her chair, rubbing her stomach.
"I'm never letting you move out," she says. "You're too valuable. Like emotional support and free meals."
I raise an eyebrow. "I'll start charging next week."
She grins and throws a cushion from the nearby couch at me.
Later, we're sprawled on the couch, the dishes drying in the sink, the lights dimmed low. The buzz of the city hums in the background like white noise, and for a moment, I feel... peaceful.
Tessa yawns. "So, big CEO day tomorrow?"
I nod. "Winterwell pitch is due. I'm tweaking the slides tonight."
"And school?"
I sigh. "I still haven't locked in my final class schedule. It's a mess. There's a conflict between my business comms course and one of the internship blocks."
"Yikes."
"Yeah. I need to fix it before my brain gives up entirely."
She sits up, nudging my arm gently. "You've got this, K. Seriously. You're doing a lot, and you're still killing it."
I smile at her—grateful. Not just for the words, but for the way she says them. No pity. No pressure. Just real support.
"Thanks," I say, standing and stretching. "I'm gonna go finish the deck and check the school portal."
"Okay, okay. Go be a responsible queen," she says, pulling a blanket over herself. "I'll be here... slowly turning into a loaf of bread."
I laugh as I head to my room, laptop already under one arm.
Back in my space, I sit at the desk and open my slides.
One deep breath.
Then I dive back into everything I'm building. My work. My future. My chance.
Because no matter how chaotic it gets, I know one thing:
I didn't come here just to survive.
I came here to rise.