A week later, Ryan can pick him. He stepped inside, looked around once, then looked at Kai.
"…What happened here?"
Kai frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ryan gestured vaguely. "It feels… different."
Kai did not answer. Because he knew exactly what Ryan meant. That night, as Kai passed Alina's room, the door was slightly open. He did not mean to look. But he did. Fairy lights glowed softly along the wall. Alina sat cross-legged on the bed, reading, her face peaceful, completely at ease.
The room looked warm and alive. So different from the rest of the house. Kai stood there a moment longer than he should have. Then he walked away quietly.
The next morning, he entered the kitchen and found a cup of coffee already prepared.
Alina appeared behind him. "I made it for you."
"I didn't ask for it."
"I know."
Kai picked up the cup anyway and drank it. The only thing she never changed was the kitchen—because he had made it very clear from the beginning that it was off limits.
He walked down the hallway, his steps slower than usual, his mind replaying the small but undeniable changes he had been noticing over the past few days. A vase that had once stood near the window now rested on the side table. The reading lamp had been shifted a few inches to the left. A painting in the corridor hung at a slightly different angle than he remembered.
It was small changes, insignificant to most people, but not to him. It wasn't just about objects being moved. It was about order control. The quiet, structured environment he had built around himself—an environment where nothing happened unexpectedly.
And now, without asking, without permission, someone had begun rearranging it piece by piece. Kai exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he stepped into the foyer. The irritation inside him wasn't explosive anger; it was something steadier, more persistent, like a stone in his shoe that he couldn't ignore.
She had done it so casually, too. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to walk into Kai Arden's house and start changing things. A faint, incredulous huff escaped him. Anyone else would have been dismissed immediately. Anyone else would never have even tried.
But Alina wasn't anyone else. That realization irritated him even more.
As he was leaving for work paused near the doorway, his grip tightening slightly around the car keys. The house behind him was quieter now, carrying faint sounds of movement from somewhere upstairs—perhaps her footsteps, or the soft chime of those wind bells she had hung above her door.
Those wind chimes… Kai closed his eyes briefly, recalling the first time he had heard them. The clear, delicate sound had echoed down the hallway, unfamiliar in a house that had always been silent, almost lifeless.
At the time, he had frowned, annoyed by the intrusion of something so light, so… cheerful. This house had never been cheerful. It had been orderly, Efficient and Silent.
Now there were traces of colour where there had only been neutral tones before. Faint scents of hot chocolate and incense drift in the evenings. A shawl was carelessly draped over a chair that had never been used before. Small, almost invisible signs that someone was living here—not just residing, but living.
Kai opened his eyes again, jaw tightening. It shouldn't matter. None of this should matter. And yet, it did. Not because he liked the changes—he refused to admit that—but because he wasn't used to anyone stepping so freely into his space, into his routines, into the quiet boundaries he had drawn around himself.
Alina had crossed those boundaries without hesitation. And the most unsettling part was that he had let her. Kai shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear the thought, and stepped outside. The cool air hit his face, grounding him a little, but the irritation lingered beneath the surface.
Inside the house, Alina set her hot chocolate down and finally allowed the smile she had been hiding to spread across her face. She knew he was irritated.
She had seen it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, in the controlled way he had picked up the keys, in the silence he used as a shield whenever he didn't want to admit what he was feeling.
And for some reason, that irritation amused her. Not because she wanted to upset him—but because she knew something he didn't yet realize. He hadn't stopped her. For all his irritation, all his sharp looks and clipped words, he hadn't told her to change things back. He hadn't forbidden her from touching anything. He hadn't drawn the line he usually drew with everyone else.
Alina picked up her cup again, taking a slow sip of hot chocolate, her eyes drifting around the room—the slightly shifted furniture, the soft touches of colour, the faint traces of warmth she had begun to spread through the once lifeless house.
She smiled to herself. Kai Arden might be irritated. But for the first time in years, his house was no longer untouched. And whether he liked it or not… it was no longer empty.
One evening, as the wind chimes rang again somewhere down the corridor, Kai paused in the hallway. The sound was soft—delicate, almost fragile—yet it carried clearly through the quiet house. Each note rose and faded like a whisper, like something alive, something breathing. It wasn't loud, and yet it filled the silence in a way nothing else ever had.
Kai stood still, listening. He told himself it was nothing. Just wind. Just metal and glass touching each other in the air. And yet… he didn't move. For a moment, he simply stood there, head slightly tilted, as if unconsciously trying to catch every faint vibration in the air.
Then, without quite deciding to, he began walking toward the sound. The corridor was dim, lit only by the warm spill of light coming from the lamps at the far end. His footsteps were quiet against the polished floor.
The chimes rang again, a little louder now as he approached. Alina's room. He stopped outside the door and knocked once, lightly. No answer. He waited a second, then knocked again. Still nothing. A faint crease formed between his brows. He tried the handle. The door opened easily. The room was empty.
Fairy lights glowed softly along the walls, their warm golden light making the room look almost dreamlike. The curtains moved gently with the evening breeze, and above the doorway, the wind chimes swayed, their tiny pieces catching the light as they touched and sang.
Kai stepped inside slowly. He looked around once, confirming she wasn't there. The bed was neatly made. A book lay open on the table. A faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air. And still, the chimes rang. He turned toward the door again. For a moment, he simply stood there, listening.
He would never admit it—not to Ryan, not to Alina, not even to himself—but the sound pleased him. Something was calming about it, something strangely grounding. On days when he left for the office, hearing it behind him made the house feel… different. Less hollow. Less silent.
Kai reached out and gently pushed the door closed. The chimes brushed together, ringing softly. He opened the door again. The sound came once more, clearer this time. Kai stilled, listening. Then he closed it again. And opened it again. The faintest smile appeared on his face.
There was something almost boyish in the way he did it—not calculated, not controlled. Just a quiet, simple curiosity, as if he were testing the sound, savouring it.
A breeze slipped through the corridor, stirring his hair. A few strands fell across his forehead, shifting slightly in the air. Under the warm light, his features softened—the sharpness of his expression easing, the hard lines of his face losing their severity.
Kai Arden, who commanded boardrooms and intimidated men twice his size, stood there in the hallway… gently opening and closing a door just to hear a wind chime sing. And he was smiling. Not the faint, polite curve of his lips that people mistook for a smile. A real one. It was small, but it transformed him completely.
His face, usually composed and distant, seemed younger in that moment. The tension that lived in his jaw had disappeared. His eyes, usually sharp and guarded, held a quiet warmth.
He looked… beautiful. Not in the obvious or polished way of magazine covers or perfectly staged photographs. His beauty was effortless, unintentional—the kind that didn't need attention to exist.
Kai had the kind of face that made people look twice without understanding why. A straight, finely cut nose that gave his profile a sculpted elegance. High cheekbones that caught the light just enough to create shadows along his face. A strong jaw, usually set in determination, now relaxed in rare ease.
Kai's hair was the kind that looked effortlessly perfect, as if it had fallen into place on its own without ever needing a mirror. Thick, dark, and slightly tousled, it carried a natural volume that gave it movement even when he stood still. The strands weren't stiff or overly styled; instead, they rose in soft waves, sweeping upward and slightly back, giving his face a sharp, striking frame. A few rebellious locks always seemed to escape the shape, falling casually toward his forehead, as if refusing to be controlled—just like the man himself.
Under light, the dark brown of his hair revealed subtle shades, warmer tones hidden beneath the surface that only appeared when the angle was right. When the wind brushed through it, those thick strands shifted easily, never collapsing, always settling back into that same effortless shape.
There was something magnetic about it—the way it added height to his silhouette, the way it balanced the sharpness of his jaw and the straight line of his nose. It gave him a slightly wild edge, softening the severity of his expression without taking away any of his intensity.
It wasn't the kind of hairstyle that looked delicate or carefully maintained. Masculine quietly and confidently. The kind of hair that made people want to look twice… and then look again, without realizing why.
And that was what made him dangerous. Kai Arden never tried to be attractive. He simply was. Women noticed him the moment he entered a room—not because he demanded attention, but because attention followed him naturally.
Conversations faltered. Eyes turned. Even the most confident people found themselves suddenly aware of how they stood, how they spoke. It wasn't just his appearance. It was his presence, the way he moved. The quiet authority in his posture. The calm, controlled energy that surrounded him like an invisible shield.
And yet, in this moment, none of that was visible. There was no power in his expression now. Just a man standing in a quiet hallway, smiling at the sound of wind chimes. At the far end of the corridor, unseen by him, Alina had stopped walking.
She had come upstairs a moment earlier, intending to return to her room—but she froze when she saw him. She stayed where she was, half hidden in the shadows, watching.
At first, she didn't understand what he was doing. Then she realized. And her breath caught. She had never seen him like this. Kai laughed softly to himself. Kai smiles without restraint. Kai looking… light.
Her eyes lingered on his face, tracing every detail unconsciously. The curve of his lips. The way his lashes lowered slightly when he listened to the sound. The way the warm light touched his skin, softening the angles of his features. He looked younger. Handsome didn't feel like a strong enough word.
Something was striking about him—something that made it difficult to look away. The kind of beauty that wasn't loud or flashy, but deep and steady, like a flame that burned quietly and endlessly.
Alina realized she was staring. And she couldn't stop. Something was mesmerizing about watching a person when they didn't know they were being seen. When the masks fell away. When the world disappeared, and only the smallest, simplest joys remained. Kai opened the door again. The chimes rang. He let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
Alina felt her heart soften. She had always known he was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. But this… this was different. This wasn't the Kai Arden the world saw. This was the man beneath the armour. And he was breathtaking.
A strand of his hair fell across his forehead again, and he absently brushed it back with his fingers, still smiling faintly. The movement was casual, unguarded, so natural that it made her chest tighten for reasons she couldn't explain.
For a moment, she wondered how many people in the world had ever seen him like this. Probably none, she would be the only lucky person, the thought felt strangely intimate.
She leaned lightly against the wall, still watching, amused by the quiet contentment on his face. There was something almost boyish about it, something that made him seem far younger than the man who carried the weight of entire empires on his shoulders.
And she realized something then that something had changed. Not just in the colours, or the lights, or the sound of wind chimes. But in him. Kai finally let the door rest half open, the chimes swaying gently in the breeze. He stood there for a moment longer, listening, then turned to leave.
For a brief second, he looked down the corridor—and Alina quickly stepped back into the shadows before he could notice her. Her heart was beating faster than she expected. She waited until his footsteps faded, then exhaled slowly. A small smile touched her lips.
Back in the hallway, Kai walked away, unaware of the eyes that had been watching him, unaware of the quiet wonder he had left behind. And somewhere deep inside him, a faint, unfamiliar warmth lingered. He didn't question it. He didn't try to name it. He simply carried it with him as he walked. And for the first time in years, the house felt like a place someone lived in. Not just a place someone owned.