The CEO's Entanglement

Chapter 4 - Kyler Steel

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Chloe

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The dining part of the evening concludes, and my father rises to his feet, a glass in hand. He politely asks our family and friends for a moment, signaling the shift from casual conversation to a more formal tone.

The room falls silent as everyone’s attention centers on him, and he calls for order. Expressing gratitude for the gathered guests, Dad’s gaze locks onto me as he starts his speech. There’s a touch of pride in his eyes as he acknowledges me, and I rise from my seat, heading toward him when he asks me to. Fabrice does the same.

My father’s words paint a picture of the journey we’ve undertaken together—from the rough beginnings to the present. He commends the tireless efforts I’ve put into the company, recalling a time when he wasn’t sure if he would pull through and tears pool in my eyes as I think back to that time—the mention of the struggles we faced and my unwavering support during those times tugging at my emotions.

Dad tells me he loves me, and I reply in kind, the warmth of his words eclipsing the lingering anxiety that had gripped me throughout the dinner. We share a hug while Lane and my aunt’s words that Fabrice’s presence here changes nothing and that my father remembers all I’ve done for our family finally sink in as he acknowledges and appreciates my contributions. This floods me with relief.

As we part, Dad resumes his speech, leading us to the moment we’ve all been waiting for—the big announcement. My father declares his decision to step back from the forefront of the company. But his next words—that he won’t be retiring but taking the back seat—surprise me, as we had agreed that he would soon retire to focus on his health. However, before I can fully process this revelation, the next words out of his mouth send shockwaves through me. He names his successor, and it’s not me.

The room seems to spin, and for a moment, the air is sucked out of my lungs as I stand there, frozen, unable to comprehend the weight of the words that have just been uttered.

Fabrice.

He names my brother as the leader and the one to take over from him with me as his second and his words hang in the air, a deafening echo amid stunned silence, before I feel the color drain from my face while a numbness spreads, leaving me grappling with a sense of betrayal that cuts deep.

My father turns to me, attempting to take my hands, saying something I can’t hear and, in that moment, my legs find a life of their own and I bolt towards the door, unable to breathe.

The voices of my aunt and cousins call out behind me in a distant echo drowned out by the deafening roar of my own thoughts and I don’t look back; I can’t. The door slams shut behind me as I burst into the cool night air and outside, the world spins as I stand there, disoriented.

I fumble, the thoughts that I don’t have my car keys or my purse dawning on me, and just then, I spot one of my father’s drivers, and I scream for his car keys, desperate to get away.

He hands them to me, and I slide inside the car just as someone grabs me. I start the engine, speeding towards the gate and the city lights blur as I drive aimlessly, seeking refuge from the crushing reality. All the promises, everything my father and I have been through together, and all the sleepless nights I spent these past years, when a deal would be going wrong or a client would be threatening to leave, come crashing back.

After I don’t know how long, I find myself parked on a deserted street, the only witness to my unraveling. Gutted and broken, I gasp for breath, my sobs tearing through the stillness, and I don’t know how much time passes as I sit there, my hands clutching the steering wheel as though it’s the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.

Just then, a car pulls up next to mine and my aunt and cousins spill out of the car, running towards mine. They open my door, their concerned voices cutting through the numbness as they pull me out of the car and wrap their arms around me, holding me together as I crumble.

My tears flow freely in a river of heartbreak and disappointment and my aunt’s words of comfort become mere echoes of the deafening emptiness within. How can he do this to me, to my mother’s memory? How can he give our legacy to a bastard who’s ever done nothing but try to destroy it?

.

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Kyler

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Closing Shiloh’s door, I take a deep breath, my back connecting against it while my heart races.

What are you doing, Kyler? I whisper to myself, trying to inject some sense back into my swirling thoughts. If her mother hadn’t walked in, I would have ruined everything. The intensity of the moment lingers, and I find myself grappling with my emotions.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but the truth is getting harder and harder to deny. For the past two years, I’ve been convincing myself that I’m not in love with Shiloh Mathews. Friends, I tell myself—we are just friends. I know Shiloh doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, and I’ve tried to be okay with that. Yet, as the months pass, the emotional tangle within me only tightens, and tonight, I almost let it all unravel.

Two years ago, the revelation hit me like a freight train—frightening and undeniable. I was in love with my best friend. We had grown up together, with Shiloh treating me like a brother. But for me, it suddenly became clear that it was different.

Leaving to go study overseas made me realize the depth of my feelings. The distance from her was agonizing, and it became hard to concentrate on anything else. And then, as if I weren’t already a mess, she confessed her misery without me, which made my struggle even worse. I knew she didn’t mean it in the sense that I did, but that didn’t matter.

My parents had advised me to come home only during holidays since I’m doing a dual major, hardly leaving room for anything else and I agreed with them. But staying away from Shiloh became a torment I couldn’t endure, and I ended up promising to come home every month, even if it meant never getting more than three hours of sleep when I go back. Now, facing the reality of almost crossing a line tonight, my stomach churns with guilt and confusion. I need to regain control.

I push away from her door, running my fingers through my hair, while the corridor feels stifling as I replay the moment in my mind—the almost kiss, the tension, and the abrupt interruption.

The fear of ruining our friendship claws at me. I do not know what to do with myself. I know I need to confront these feelings and come to terms with them. It’s not fair to Shiloh, and it’s certainly not fair to me. I make my way down the hallway, self-reproach bubbling within me. However, my thoughts are soon cut off by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs just as I reach the top, about to go down.

My father emerges and his eyes light up, the spark of recognition replacing the frustration etched on his face just a moment ago. Without a word, we find ourselves wrapped in a long-overdue embrace.

I asked for him when I arrived, and Mom told me he went to attend a dinner at the LeClaire’s. She said Pierre Le Claire, who is my father’s business partner, had some announcements to make, but she couldn’t go because of the party.

However, I knew it wasn’t because of the party that she couldn’t go; she just didn’t want to. Mom doesn’t socialize much, and my dad often goes alone at events and things. Mom only goes if she absolutely has to.

He asks how I’m doing, and I say I’m okay as we pull back from the hug before redirecting the question to him. He says he’s well too and asks when I got home. We fall into a conversation about my studies and it’s the talk we’ve had many times before, but it’s strangely comforting.

However, as we go on, it becomes apparent that I’m not the only one who noticed the frustration earlier. He pauses, looks at me, and asks, “Are you okay?” I nod, assuring him I am before turning the question back to him, and he lets out a heavy sigh that carries the weight of something unsaid.

“The dinner didn’t go well,” he confesses before saying he’s too edgy to sleep and decides to have one drink for the night.

“Want to join me?” he asks, and I accept. We head to the bar and as I settle on the barstools, he grabs a bottle and pours a drink for us. I thank him and we sip in companionable silence before I speak, noticing his troubled expression once more.

“Do you want to talk about what happened at the dinner?” I ask with a tentative voice. But my father shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he says he’d rather discuss what’s bothering me instead.

I feign nonchalance, dismissing it as nothing serious, even though, deep down, I know I’m only fooling myself. I’ve never been able to hide things from my father, and tonight is no exception. Before I know it, I’m throwing down my guard along with my shots, blurting out that I think I’m in love before quickly correcting myself, saying I know I’m in love.

My father’s eyes light up at my revelation, and he reaches for the bottle, pouring another round while asking if he knows this person. However, his hand freezes in mid-air as I whisper the name.

“As in our Shiloh?” My father’s question cuts through the air, clearly surprised by my answer and I nod, a lump forming in my throat as I continue before he can say anything else. “I know it’s wrong, Dad,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, “but I can’t help how I feel.”

The truth spills out like a confession as I open up to my father, pouring out the thoughts that have been plaguing me. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” I confess, my vulnerability laid bare. And then, in a moment of unfiltered honesty, I reveal the near-kiss with Shiloh just minutes ago. The room seems to still as the weight of my words settles between us and I brace myself for my father’s reaction. The moment stretches, tense and uncertain, until he finally breaks the silence.

“Well, the only way to know for sure how she feels is to speak to her. Tell her how you feel,” he advises, and I look at him in shock. His response is not what I expected. I expected him to echo my fears and caution against revealing my feelings and risking our connection.

“You don’t think it’s wrong?” I ask and he says no before adding that one can’t help who they fall in love with. Plus, Shiloh is a good person. She’s smart and kind, and she has a bright future ahead of her. I let out a sigh of relief at that.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way, Dad?” I mumble, the fear of rejection clawing at me, and my father leans back, studying me for a moment before offering a reassuring smile. “You’ll never know unless you try, son. Love is a risk, but it’s a risk worth taking.”

His words linger in the air, and the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter. Maybe it’s time to confront these feelings head-on, so taking a deep breath, I nod in acknowledgment. “Thanks, Dad.”