Chapter 6
Jemma pressed her lips together. Hard.
No. No, no, no.
Saif could never discover her secret.
She didn’t know what he would do if he found out the truth—but she knew it wouldn’t be mercy. Saif didn’t do mercy. Not when he felt betrayed. And not with her.
Her life was already teetering on the edge of desperation. But now, with this crisis looming bigger, threatening to take away everything, Jemma rallied. She was done letting the universe shove her deeper into hell.
She drew in a breath, willed the panic to stay buried, and forced herself to turn.
Not away. Toward him.
Her eyes locked with his, full of heat and challenge. “Well, isn’t that a lovely little tidbit,” she said crisply. “I’ll be tendering my resignation first thing in the morning.”
She turned on her heel.
It was a bluff. A bad one. She had no other job prospects, no safety net. But pride demanded she pretend. Her salary kept a roof over their heads and food in her brother’s mouth. Without it, they were done.
She took two confident strides toward the door before his voice dropped like a blade behind her.
“If you resign, I’ll have your brother arrested.”
She stopped cold.
The air rushed out of her lungs, and she slowly turned back to face him, her eyes blazing.
“You have no proof that Jasper did that,” she snapped. Her hand flicked toward the trashed office.
Even as she said it, she knew it was useless.
Saif didn’t answer. He didn’t argue.
He just walked back to his damaged desk, picked up a sleek tablet, and tapped play.
The screen came to life.
And there was Jasper, clear as day.
Fury twisting his features, spray can in hand, painting the word cheapskate over the wall, the desk, the furniture. Ripping down curtains. Kicking over lamps. It went on and on. The footage was timestamped, high-resolution, and damning.
Jemma felt her knees go weak.
He hadn’t just vandalized a room. He’d committed multiple felonies. Breaking and entering. Destruction of private property. The amount of damage alone could land him a prison sentence.
And he was sixteen.
She stared blankly at the tablet as the video looped, then went still. Saif’s face, when she looked up, was a wall of triumph.
She swayed slightly but didn’t fall. Didn’t cry.
Instead, she inhaled slowly and lifted her chin.
“What do you want?” she whispered, her voice flat with the horror she was trying to hide.
He didn’t answer right away.
For a moment, the silence pulsed between them like something alive.
Then Saif turned away, casually tossing the tablet onto his desk. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m touring Sinstack Designs in the morning.”
Huh? She blinked, startled. “You’re what?”
He didn’t even glance at her. “The company’s been underperforming for years. It’s up for sale. The Overstock board was hoping to find a buyer before the employees found out.”
Jemma’s heart stopped.
Her job—already hanging by a thread—was about to disappear. There would be no references, no bridge left unburned.
Mark would never vouch for her.
Her resume would become dead weight.
And if Saif dug deeper—if he found the truth behind what she’d done last year—he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d use it. Exploit it.
Ruin her.
She lifted her gaze and found him watching her again.
That same cold satisfaction was there—but so was something else. Curiosity. And that was worse. Because if Saif was curious, he wouldn’t stop digging.
He never had.
Jemma swallowed hard.
She would not break. Not here. Not now.
“Until tomorrow, then,” she said, lifting her chin, her tone cool and steady. “I’ll be there at eight-thirty.”
“Be there at seven,” he said, folding his arms. “I want to go through the building and warehouse before the others arrive. I’ll need you to explain what’s happening on the ground.”
There was no chance she could get there by seven. None.
“My day starts at eight-thirty,” she replied calmly. “I’ll see you then.”
Then she turned, walked to the door, and didn’t flinch. Not even when her finger trembled as she pressed the elevator button.
He couldn’t see it.
Her body blocked his view.
And she made damn sure she held her head high.
The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, moved to the far corner, and finally—finally—let out a breath.
Still, she didn’t allow herself to collapse.
Not yet.
Only once the doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent did she allow her shoulders to sag.
And even then, just for a moment.
An hour later, Jemma stepped into the apartment, the door sticking slightly from age and overuse before clicking shut behind her.
The air inside the tiny apartment smelled faintly of pasta and baby powder. Home.
Her shoulders sagged.
From the living room, she heard Jasper’s voice.
“You can do it, Jayla! It’s right there! You got it—come on!”
There was laughter in his voice—real, unguarded laughter. It tugged at something in her chest she hadn’t let herself feel all day.
She bent, dropped her water-logged purse onto the threadbare rug, and hung her keys on the tiny hook by the door. It was bent slightly from years of use. A small, stubborn detail she hadn’t had the time or energy to fix.
Only then did she turn.
Jasper was crouched on the floor beside Jayla, his long limbs awkward and folded as he encouraged the baby to roll over. Jayla grunted with effort, her legs kicking in slow, uneven bursts. And then, with a triumphant squeal, she flipped onto her tummy.
“There it is!” Jasper cheered, grinning so wide it lit up the whole room. “You did it, Jayla! You totally did it!”
She leaned against the doorway, soaking wet, utterly exhausted, and stared at the two people she loved more than anything in the world.
Her heart ached.
Not just from the fear. Not just from what Saif had said, or what he might discover, or what tomorrow would bring.
But from this—this impossible sweetness in a world that never stopped trying to crush her.
“Mommy’s home!” Jasper finally called out as he lifted the tiny infant into his arms.