Chapter 14
Serena
“You’re mine now.”
Three words, spoken in that rough, unhurried tone that curled around my spine like a leash. The kind of declaration that lingers.
It clung to me…
In my skin.
In my sheets.
In the way my body still hummed like it remembered the shape of him.
I wore his words like a phantom touch all morning.
Right up until my phone rang.
“Ms. Harris? We need you to speak to you in person about Zamir, it’s urgent.”
No preamble. No explanation. Just the clipped urgency of a school administrator’s voice and the kind of dread that makes your stomach drop before your feet even move.
They said Zamir was safe.
But something was wrong.
Now I was storming through the school’s front doors, adrenaline pulsing in my neck.
I didn’t even think about grabbing designer sweats with yesterday’s mascara, and a blazer until I realized it still smelled like him.
Principal Franklin stood when I walked in, her lines clean and her warmth practiced. Her linen suit was pressed, and her smile was professional and pleasant.
“Thank you for getting here so quickly, Mrs. Harris.”
Mrs.
I blinked.
I’d been here a dozen times before…science fairs, robotics club, essay awards where Zamir insisted robots would run the government in a hundred years. Every time, I corrected her.
It’s Miss. Harris.
Always Miss.
But today, she said it like we’d never met, like I wasn’t the woman raising him. Something sharp and unspoken broke loose in my chest.
“I came as fast as I could,” I said, crossing my arms. “What’s going on?”
She motioned to the chair across from her desk, the one with the too-soft cushions and judgment in the upholstery. “I appreciate you coming. I just wanted to discuss some changes we’ve been seeing in Zamir.”
Changes.
I sat down but stayed perched at the edge, like I couldn’t afford the luxury of comfort.
Because I couldn’t.
“He’s been a little more withdrawn lately. Not engaging with classwork the way he normally does. We’ve also noticed him sleeping during classes.”
My heart twisted. “Sleeping?”
She nodded. “It’s been recurring. Three days this week.”
“And you thought I wouldn’t want to know this immediately?”
She hesitated. “I did try reaching out. I spoke with Mr. Harris this morning—”
I held up a hand.
“Stop.”
She blinked.
“You’ve never met the man, and you called him first?”
“I—”
“I’m the one who packs his lunches, reviews his homework, and remembers which nights are robotics and which are therapy. I’m the one who shows up.”
“I apologize,” she said, too quickly. “It wasn’t intentional—”
“But it always is,” I snapped. “Our father has never stepped foot in this school. Not once. Not for a meeting. Not for a performance. Nothing. And now—suddenly—you have concerns, and instead of calling the only person who shows up, you reach for his estranged father?”
I could feel my voice thickening. Heat rising behind my eyes. Rage living just beneath my skin, begging to be let out.
“I want to see my brother.”
Principal Franklin nodded stiffly and made the call.
Zamir walked in a few minutes later, shoulders stiff, lips pressed tight. He didn’t meet my eyes. Just slid into the chair next to me like he was already bracing for whatever came next.
Brooding. Closed off. But I knew that look.
He wasn’t just angry. He was ashamed.
Principal Franklin cleared her throat.
“We’ve had… a situation. Earlier today, Zamir was involved in an altercation with another student.”
My spine straightened. “A fight?”
She nodded, folding her hands neatly. “Yes. He threw the first punch.”
Before she could say more, I raised my hand. “It’s his first incident.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It was his first incident,” she corrected, voice slow, deliberate. “But it wasn’t the only one.”
She sighed, long and theatrical, like she’d been waiting to get this off her chest.
“He was also caught cutting both his first and second period classes earlier this week. Mr. Harris was made aware of both situations.”
My breath stalled.
“Mr. Harris was what?”
“Made aware,” she repeated.
Zamir’s shoulders hunched deeper into the seat.
I stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“So let me get this straight,” I said, voice tight and low.
“Zamir gets into one fight, his first ever, in all the years he’s been here, and instead of calling me, the person who actually raises him, you reach out to the man who doesn’t live in our house, doesn’t know his schedule, and barely remembers his birthday?”
Ms. Franklin bristled.
“Excuse me, Ms. Harris, but Mr. Harris has been involved. He was just here for Dad Brunch last week. He’s even been having lunch with Zamir a few days a week. He’s met with me and several of his teachers.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve.
Zamir’s jaw ticked. Still wouldn’t look at me.
And that’s when the rage cracked, folding in on itself like something hollow underneath.
Because I wasn’t just angry.
I was hurt.
And I was scared.
Scared that I was losing him.
Scared that he’d started turning toward a man who had never earned the right to be called father.
Scared that no matter how much I gave, it might never be enough.
I forced myself to stay standing. To breathe. To not let the heat behind my eyes spill over and betray just how much of me was unraveling in this moment.
Ms. Franklin cleared her throat. “With your support, I think we can get him back on track. He’s a bright kid. Just needs a little structure—”
Something shifted in my peripheral vision.
Zamir.
He wasn’t sitting right.
His body was slumped low in the chair like gravity had doubled down on him. His arms hung loose at his sides, eyes glassy, unfocused. His head lolled slightly to the side.
I turned toward him, full attention on his face now—and something in me dropped.
“Zamir?” I leaned in, my voice tight.
Still no answer.
I reached for him, brushing the hair from his forehead. My hand stilled.
He was on fire.
“Oh my god,” I whispered. “He’s burning up.”
Ms. Franklin stood halfway between her chair and the door. “Is he—?”
“You tell me!” I snapped, rounding on her. “He’s been at school for an hour, and not one of you thought to send him to the nurse? Not one person thought maybe he wasn’t tired or acting out…he was sick?”
“I didn’t realize—”
“No, you didn’t,” I said, voice sharp. “Because you didn’t bother to look. You’ve had Zamir here for years. Perfect attendance. Top of his class. I’ve donated to this school personally. But the second he slows down, you don’t ask questions. You write him off.”
I reached for Zamir, pulling him gently toward me as his body gave in to exhaustion. His head fell against my shoulder.
“You didn’t ask what changed. You didn’t ask me. You called a man who hasn’t shown up to a single meeting. A man who doesn’t know his locker number, let alone how he’s been feeling.”
Ms. Franklin was quiet now. Good.
“You labeled him a problem,” I said, low and cutting. “And you treated me like I wasn’t even part of the equation.”
I shifted Zamir’s weight, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door.
And the moment it closed behind me, the silence hit.
Heavy. Final.
Every footstep echoed like blame.
I should’ve seen it.
I should’ve known.
But I’d been so tangled up in everything else. Holding this business together with twine and prayer. Letting myself feel too much where Julien was concerned. Daring to want something soft, something just for me, and now…
Now my baby brother was burning up in my arms, and I hadn’t even noticed.
Not until it was too late.
And maybe they failed him. Maybe they did what institutions always do—looked past him. Labeled him. Missed the signs.
But I missed them too.
And that’s the part I don’t know how to forgive.
Because I’m not just his sister.
I’m his shelter. The only thing in this world standing between him and everything that wants to swallow him whole. The closest thing he has to a mother, and I can’t let him down.
Right now, I don’t feel like enough.
???
Three days.
That’s all I gave myself.
Three days where the world shrank down to what mattered most, my baby brother, burning up under too many blankets and still trying to act like everything was fine.
I simmered bone broth on the stove, the scent curling through the apartment like memory.
Mama used to make her chicken soup the same way: slow and steady, full of love and garlic.
I’m glad she taught me.
Sometimes the smell alone is enough to hold me together.
Zamir drifted in and out of sleep, half-watching anime reruns with glazed eyes.
I sat beside him, holding ice packs to his neck, changing sweat-soaked tees, whispering little prayers into the crown of his curls.
I muted every call.
Ignored every “urgent” notification lighting up my phone like I was on someone else’s clock.
I didn’t care.
Maybe I was holding my breath.
Maybe I just wanted everything to stop spinning for a second.
But the quiet?
It was a lie.
Because even with Zamir curled against my side, even with everything I was doing to show up the way I’m supposed to—
Julien was still there.
His voice slid into my thoughts like smoke:
“You’re mine now.”
And just like that, my body betrayed me.
A single thought of him, his voice, that low, commanding heat, sent a shiver down my spine. My nipples tightened beneath the thin cotton of my tank, thighs pressing together without permission.
He had a hold on me I didn’t want to name.
One that didn’t fade with distance or time. One that made me do stupid things. Like stealing a hoodie from his house and wearing it for two days straight. It still smelled like his expensive cologne and whatever lived in the space between his skin and my memory.
Every time I pulled it closer, it felt like he was wrapping himself around me again with something deeper. It didn’t feel like comfort. It felt like a leash, and I was still wearing it. Every corner of my day, he found a way in. I was pulling out my second coffee mug for the day when the doorbell rang.
I froze.
Now, who was that?
Ms. Brooks.
What the hell did she want?
I sucked my teeth and turned the knob, but I didn’t even get the door halfway open before she pushed it the rest of the way, breezing past me like she had keys to the place.
“Please,” I muttered, stepping aside. “Make yourself at home.”
“I haven’t seen you in the office,” she said, already halfway into the living room. “Thought I’d check in.”
I watched her eyes sweep across the space like she was conducting an audit, loaded with quiet judgment tucked behind every glance.
Her gaze landed on the table, Nyquil and Dayquil, with a half-used thermometer.
“You’re sick?” she asked, arching a brow.
“No,” I said, arms crossed. “My brother.”
“Hmm.” A hum. Not sympathetic or concerned. Just… acknowledgment. Like a box had been checked.
“I appreciate the visit,” I said, voice clipped. “But a call or text would’ve done the trick.”
“That’s the problem with your generation,” she said, setting her purse down like she planned to stay. “So impersonal. Always hiding behind your screens. You’ve forgotten how to connect.”
“Or,” I said, matching her tone, “we just enjoy our space, and know when to decipher when we’re not wanted.”
“I forget you’re raising a teenager,” she said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt. “At your age, I was in the prime of my life.”
I didn’t answer right away.
I let the words sit there between us for a second, thinking about what she meant by those words. As if youth was something I’d wasted by loving someone other than myself.
“The prime of your life…” I said slowly, “isn’t a time. It’s a choice.” Her brow lifted, but I kept going.
“It’s not about how many candles are on a cake or how tight your skin looks in the mirror. It’s about how present you are. How willing you are to live the life you have, not the one you planned, or the one you thought you deserved, but the one in front of you.”
She stayed silent her eyes never leaving me.
“I don’t know what you were doing at my age,” I added, softer now. “But I’m raising a boy who needed someone to show up. And I do. Every single day. That feels like a prime to me.”
The corner of her mouth lifted, more smirk than smile.
“Spoken with wisdom.”
She said it like a compliment, but her tone was shady as hell. Sweetened just enough to make it sting.
Of course it sounded wise.
I’d had no choice but to become wise early. When your mother dies before you’ve even figured out who you are, and your father unravels like a thread you can’t stop pulling, you grow up fast.
You bury your wants. You rebuild yourself around what’s left. You learn that wisdom doesn’t come with time.
It comes from loss.
From sacrifice.
From survival.
“How’s Julien adjusting to his new role?” I asked, casually wanting to change the subject.
That wiped the smirk right off her face.
I didn’t know if it was the question, or the fact that it came out of my mouth. But I felt the shift. She’d been holding herself together like glass, and I’d just thrown a rock.
I didn’t react. Just watched her.
“Why are you here?” I asked, voice low and flat.
I didn’t see the point of dancing around it. There have been times before when I’ve taken off from work due to emergencies and other personal reasons, and Evelyn has never done a house call; she barely checks in with me at the office.
She blinked, tilted her head like a woman calculating risk.
“I don’t trust anyone,” she said. “Never have. Never will. Not unless they share my blood.”
Her tone sharpened, cold.
“And once someone breaks that trust, I don’t offer them a second chance. I won’t let anyone play in my face twice.”
I held her stare. She let the mask fall completely then—like it had always been too heavy.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
The air between us went still, like the whole room was holding its breath.
“Say it,” I said, finally. “Out loud, Evelyn. I don’t like guessing games.” Her eyes narrowed, mouth tightening into something bitter.
“Julien’s off limits.”
My expression didn’t shift. “Does he know you’re here saying that?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.” Her voice dropped an octave. Sharp and laced with venom. “I have eyes everywhere. You should know that.”
She leaned in, just enough for her words to land like a slap.
“You think I didn’t see you throwing yourself at him? Half the office saw you leave with him. Like you’re not supposed to be a professional. Like you don’t know better.” She straightened slowly.
“I know what that was. You did it on purpose. You want to make him look weak. Like some fucking playboy, distracted and undeserving.” Her voice lowered again, barely above a whisper. “All because you think this job should be yours. That you’re owed something.” She took one step closer, her perfume too strong, her presence too loud.
“If you want to keep your title, your reputation, your future, then stay the fuck away from my son.”
“He’s a grown-ass man—”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
Her voice rose like a whip crack, sharp and sudden, turning the room electric. Her chest heaved. Eyes wide. Breaths are coming too fast. She looked ready to pounce, like an animal backed into a corner.
I didn’t flinch.
“Maybe you should leave before things escalate,” I said, calm and cold, “and your son finds out who you really are.”
Her eyes narrowed; jaw clenched so tight I almost heard her teeth grind.
“You think I won’t kill you and leave that boy to fend for himself?”
Kill me? What the actual fuck? How did we get here?
One second we’re having a conversation, the next she’s threatening my life as casually as firing me. The woman is unhinged, and I don’t mean dramatic or overprotective, but dangerous. There was something in her eyes, wild and distant like she wasn’t entirely here. Like she was speaking from some place deeper and darker than I’d ever seen.
I’ve known this woman for years; I sat across from her in meetings, traveled with her, and celebrated company wins. But this? This wasn’t the woman I’ve worked beside. This was someone else, and she didn’t just want me gone.
She wanted me erased.
I stepped forward, matching her heat. “You threaten me or my brother again,” I said, voice low and steady, “and I’ll kill you first.”
She was on her feet before the last syllable left my lips, flipping the coffee table between us, glass shattering, water spilling, the centerpiece exploding against the floor.
I didn’t move.
I was already in front of her, squared up, shoulders back.
“We’ve worked side by side for years. Built this company from scratch. But you do not get to walk into my house and threaten me. Yes, he’s attracted to me—and I’m attracted to him. But you’re here like I’ve got a gun to his head.”
She stepped into my space, tilting her chin up, daring me to back down. I didn’t.
“Since you left with him,” she hissed, “he’s been off. He’s not the same. You’ve done something to him. And you think I’m gonna sit back and watch you.”
She let out a bitter, humorless laugh.
“No one fucks with mine.”
Her eyes were wild, and that’s when I knew…this wasn’t about me.
This wasn’t even about Julien.
This was about a woman unraveling in real time, and I was just the closest thing to strike.
“I can see you love him,” I said, quieter now. “But this? This isn’t love, Evelyn. You don’t protect someone by controlling everything around them.”
She blinked, just once, a flicker of something human in her eyes, before it vanished.
“He’s too good for you.”
It landed like a slap to my face.
“I told you I have eyes everywhere, Serena. And I’ve had them on you for a long time.” She moved in again. Too close. I had to step back. “Stay the fuck away from my son,” she whispered, “if you want to keep breathing.”
I said nothing.
Her voice rose again, sharp and sudden.
“Did you hear what the fuck I said?”
“I heard you.” I said softly. Loud and clear. And if I ever needed a sign to walk away from Julien… this was it. This was why I avoided messes, but messes always found their way to my front door.
“This is insane,” I muttered.
She straightened her blouse, smoothing invisible wrinkles like she hadn’t just flipped furniture and threatened my life. Then, in a voice so calm it was jarring:
“Good.” She turned on her heel. “I’ll see you at the office.”
???
We need to talk. In person. Office. 12 PM. Tomorrow.
That was it, that was all Julien texted.
No greeting. No explanation.
Just a command dropped into my notifications like he was still the one calling shots.
Nope. Fuck that.
I stared at the message, then dropped my phone onto my stomach, letting it bounce against the folds of my blanket. I was wrapped up in bed with a pint of butter pecan, the good kind, I hid behind the frozen peas so Zamir won’t find it. I was halfway through a movie about a crazy mother-in-law who terrorizes her son’s wife, and honestly, the timing felt a little too close to reality.
But apparently, I needed something to match the paranoia simmering in my body.
Another buzz.
I can see you read my text.
I took a big, defiant spoonful of ice cream. I deserved this. The sugar. The silence.
I wiped my mouth, then typed slowly.
I’m not coming into the office on a Saturday. I have personal obligations.
Three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared, then came back again.
Don’t play games with me, Serena. We need to talk. Be there, or I’ll drag your ass there myself.
I stared at the message. The audacity of these people. This was the second time in twenty-four hours I’d been threatened by someone in the Brooks family. And honestly? They didn’t even have to worry about it.
I didn’t reply. Just pressed play on my movie and leaned back deeper into the pillows. Let the melted ice cream coat the roof of my mouth while I stared through the screen.
I’d go, not because he told me to. But because I needed to end whatever this was. After what happened with Evelyn, it was crystal clear: there was no place for me in their world. Whatever Julien and I had, is over.
And this meeting would just make it official.