Chapter 13

Levi.

I sat in the boardroom, the air thick with the scent of expensive espresso and the low hum of high-stakes negotiations. My business partners from STA Constructions were spread across the table, presenting materials for our latest flagship projects in Michigan. We were looking at a series of luxury high-rises and critical infrastructure—the kind of work that defined a city’s skyline.

My clients were among the global elite; they didn't just expect excellence, they demanded perfection. As my phone buzzed on the mahogany surface, I ignored it, keeping my eyes fixed on the financial projections before me. The figures were staggering, yet necessary.

Quality was non-negotiable. I listened silently as the partners debated material costs, cutting through any suggestion that seemed suboptimal.

"Mr. Montoya," I said, my voice steady and commanding. "Your track record with STA is impeccable. My concern isn't your efficiency; it’s the timeline. I need a guarantee that these new, improved materials will be on-site as promised. My clients don't accept delays."

Montoya leaned forward, a bead of sweat visible on his brow despite his confident smile. "Mr. Ruthford, you have my word. This new variety is superior in durability—perfect for the caliber of projects you manage."

I studied him for a moment, weighing his certainty against my own instincts. I despise last-minute adjustments, I thought, but the window for the foundation pour was closing.

"Fine. Send the full technical specs to my office. I need to brief the clients by tonight," I stated stoically.

The meeting adjourned minutes later. As the room emptied, I finally reached for my phone. There were several missed calls—campaign updates, business inquiries—but two were from Kenya. My pulse quickened instantly. It was a reaction I couldn't suppress; just the thought of her made the world feel sharper, more intense. I took a steadying breath and dialed her back, a rare smile tugging at my lips as I waited for her to answer.

Kenya.

The studio floor was cool beneath my feet as I finished the final routine with my colleagues. I walked over to the bench to check my phone, hoping for a return call from Levi. We had spent the afternoon lost in choreography, but my mind was elsewhere.

"Are you alright?" Andrea asked, her voice soft as she approached. I looked up and managed a small smile.

"Yes, Andy. Just checking the time."

Andrea gave me a quick, supportive hug. "I’m just so relieved those robbers didn't hurt you during the fire. It’s devastating about the school, but Claudine being safe is what matters."

I looked away, a familiar knot of doubt tightening in my stomach. The official story—that a gang of robbers had burned the studio to the ground—felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. My memory of that night was a blur of smoke and shadows, yet something felt off.

When I had woken up in the hospital, Claudine had been there, tears in her eyes but full of hope. She told me our jobs were safe because Levi’s company had stepped in to rebuild the school, free of charge. I had been stunned. I still hadn't fully processed why a man of his stature was doing so much for a local dance teacher and her staff.

My throat felt tight. I reminded myself that Levi belonged to a different world—a world where he likely had a fiancé and a life that didn't include a girl from a dance studio. I had begged my mother not to refer to him as my boyfriend, but she was convinced he was 'the one,' and my sister Amanda just teased me for 'making up fairytales.'

Yet, he hadn't left. He stayed by my side in the hospital, and he ensured every member of the staff continued to receive their wages through an insurance arrangement he had personally facilitated. He was taking care of my entire world, even though I knew he wasn't mine to keep.

"Have you heard the news?" Rory’s voice broke through the room, his face pale as he looked at his phone.

“What news?” Andrea asked.

"The police just released a report. There was a massive shootout at an abandoned warehouse last night—rival gangs. They found Hank and his crew... Marlon and Chase. None of them made it out."

A collective gasp echoed through the studio. Disbelief washed over me like a cold wave. Rory began describing the gruesome details from the morning broadcast, and I felt the room start to tilt. I sank into a nearby chair, my head spinning. A hazy, fleeting image of a dark figure in a hoodie flashed behind my eyes—a memory trying to surface through the fog.

"Ken? You're white as a sheet," Rory said, rushing to my side. Andrea followed with a cup of water.

“I’m fine," I whispered, though my hands were shaking. "I think the news just caught me off guard."

Hank? Dead? It felt like a dark shadow was being lifted from my life, but the weight that replaced it felt even heavier.