My bedroom 11

CEO Of My Life 

~Katia~ 

The view from my office towered over the Brooklyn skyline, glass and steel stretching like a cathedral built for power. Sunlight poured in through the windows, spilling over the dark oak desk and the neat stacks of documents I’d been combing through since seven a.m. Sharp black fountain pen in hand, I made notes in the margin of a contract I’d have rewritten by the end of the day. One of our Al integration deals with a European defense firm needed restructuring. 

A soft knock tapped at the door before it opened. Sam stepped inside, with folders in one hand and her usual iced coffee in the other. Her heels were silent against the polished floors, her presence as seamless in this office as she was the night she picked me off the concrete in nothing but a bathrobe. 

“You’ve been buried in paperwork all morning,” she said, sliding the files onto my desk. “Wanna go out for lunch, ma’am?” 

I raised an eyebrow, looking up from my desk. “Ma’am“? Since when do you call me that, Sam?” 

She gave a half–smile, one brow arched. “Since you became one of the most powerful women in the country, and I need a raise.” 

We both laughed. She handed me the files and perched lightly on the edge of a leather chair, her eyes skimming the documents as I did. 

“Everything looks solid,” I said, flipping through a merger proposal. “You double–checked that company from Manhattan?” 

“Triple–checked,” she replied. “They’re clean, capitalized, and offering a very decent deal. If you want it, it’s yours.” 

I nodded, satisfied. Then her tone shifted. 

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“Oh, and…” she added with just enough pause to grab my attention, “your father called.” 

My pen froze mid–signature. 

“David Kensington?” I asked, already knowing the answer. 

Sam’s mouth twisted into something between amusement and wariness. “The very one. Said he’d like to know if it would be possible for you to come home for dinner tonight.” 

I stared at her for a moment, deadpan. Then slowly set the pen down on the desk. 

“Here we go,” I murmured. “The Kensington guilt train has finally pulled into the station. Took them six years.” 

Sam leaned back slightly, folding her arms. “Should’ve taken longer, if you ask me. They kicked you out, let you fend for yourself when you were pregnant, and now they want to play happy family?” 

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“Let me guess,” I said coolly. “They didn’t say why?” 

“Of course not. Just dinner,” she said. “Your mother didn’t call. Neither did Delia. Just David.” 

I exhaled and pushed my chair back from the desk. “They want something. It’s always a transaction with them. Love isn’t unconditional in that house; it’s leverage.” 

Sam watched me carefully. “So, what are you going to do?” 

I stood up and adjusted the cuffs of my white silk blouse. “We’re going.” 

Sam blinked. “We?” 

“I’m not stepping into that house alone,” I said with a hint of a smile. “You’re coming with me.” 

She gave a slow, amused nod. “Alright. What’s the play?” 

“Keep appearances,” I said, already walking toward the wardrobe cabinet in my office. “Call that boutique in SoHo. Get something wrapped, something wildly expensive, elegant, and confusing. I want them off balance the second I walk through the door.” 

“Any requests?” she asked. 

“Something old money wouldn’t dare spend on themselves,” I replied. “Make it tasteful but loud enough that Mother will wonder if I’m laundering for the Russians.” 

Sam grinned. “Got it.” 

“Oh, and Sam,” I added, turning to face her again. “We’re taking Aiden.” 

Her face sobered for a second. “You sure?” 

“Oh, absolutely. Let them see what they threw away. Let them look into the eyes of the grandson they 

abandoned before he was even born.” 

Sam gave a slow nod of understanding. “You want to burn the memory of that night back into their 

heads.” 

“No,” I said, my voice calm now. “I want to make them regret it.” 

I turned back to my desk, sorting through a few final documents while Sam began typing out messages on her phone, calls to stylists, drivers, the boutique, and most likely to the hotel concierge to have a suit prepped for Aiden. 

She hesitated near the door before she left. “You think maybe… they just want to see him? That they miss you?” 

I let out a low laugh. “They want to see how high I climbed. That’s not love. That’s recon.” 

She gave a small sigh. “You’re probably right. Still…” 

I cut in gently, “I’ve stopped needing them to be anything but what they are.” 

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She lingered a moment, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll get everything ready. Pick you up at 6?” 

“Make it 7:00. I want them waiting.” 

She smirked, gave me a small salute, and disappeared through the door. 

Once I was alone again, I turned to the glass wall behind me. Manhattan and Brooklyn stretched below like kingdoms I had already conquered. I pressed my fingers to the window, my reflection faint but resolute. My ring caught the sunlight, glinting like a challenge. 

Six years ago, they thought I’d fall. 

Tonight, they’d see just how wrong they were. 

And they’d do it from across a dinner table. 

With my son at my side. I know one thing for sure: they are probably going to ask about my husband. Who is he? Why haven’t they seen him? And why haven’t I introduced him to them as if I owe them anything? I will show them that they don’t get to ask me questions; this is my life, and I am the CEO of it, 

not them. 

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