Chapter 43
Iwatched the sun rise and set for each day that passed by.
Never kept count, just enjoyed the way the world moved beneath Malik’s penthouse.
People were bustling about, trying to make their morning meetings, as I kept my body horizontal for most of my days.
When we returned from my father’s chambers, Malik had to go.
He told me he didn’t want to leave my side for even a moment, but there were measures he had to take to ensure his freedom.
And mine.
It’s the first day in many since I’ve been out of bed. Emmett brought Astrid to the penthouse so she could keep me company, but all I could think about was how much my life was about to change. How much I wanted it to.
I knew I wanted something to change, so maybe this was it.
Maybe this was the key to opening a new door where I’d be happy in my own skin.
“Gosh, the men on this show aren’t even hiding the fact that they’re assholes,” Astrid says from beside me, clutching a bucket of popcorn in her hands.
We’ve watched two seasons of this trashy TV show, and she’s been sucked in, starting the next episode before the other even officially ends.
It’s been nice having her here. We were finally able to catch up and talk about the things I missed.
Including her miscarriage and my…events.
“They knew what they signed up for when they agreed to be on the show,” I say, shrugging beneath the thick, fluffy blanket on the couch.
“Yeah, but…gosh, these men are just rubbish!” She shoves more popcorn into her mouth, her eyes glued to the screen.
I sigh, closing my eyes as a wave of pain rushes over me. I’ve still been getting the headaches. They’re not so bad now, because I’ve been on top of taking my medication, but they come and go.
When I look back at the screen, it’s been paused. Astrid turns her whole body toward me, her legs crossed as she presses her lips together, the soft curls of her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. “Will you ever forgive him?”
Forgiveness isn’t always black and white. In some cases, like Ezra’s, forgiveness could be seen as a weakness. But in mine, it isn’t about weakness or revenge.
“I understand him, and I think that’s superior to forgiving,” I say softly.
She looks down into her popcorn bucket, then back at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone love another person that much. To go to prison for you…Isla, he—”
“I know. It’s the reason I can’t fault him for lying to me, because if it were me in his shoes, I would’ve done the exact same thing. I would’ve lied for as long as I could if it meant keeping him.”
“So, if you’re not going to take Ezra’s offer, what are you going to do?”
Astrid’s question is one I’ve been asking myself for days. Still with no answer, I smile back at her.
“I don’t know…and I think that’s okay too.”
She gives me a light-hearted smile, and I see the words she doesn’t speak all over her face. She’s proud of me. Not because I’ve somehow been pulled out of the fog that my sister’s death buried me in, but because I’ve finally been able to withdraw from the toxicity of my father’s legacy.
“Do you mind if we check the news?” I ask out of habit, because every night, I’ve been waiting for the announcements. For some sort of closure.
She nods, flicking to the news channel as we watch the same blonde reporter giving the rundown of the events that have transpired within the last twenty-four hours.
Most of it is related to the fire at Benedict’s that happened close to two months ago, but what I don’t expect to see is a photo of Malik and Ezra plastered on the screen.
“Turn it up,” I say, shifting my weight forward.
“Breaking news! In a stunning turn of events, the individual accused of high-profile arson at Benedict Archibald’s estate has been fully exonerated tonight.
The accusation, which drew the public’s attention just eight weeks ago, has been revealed as part of a broader web of corruption.
And one key figure, Mr Archibald himself, has resigned and come forward with the truth.
There has been a two-page resignation letter posted to social media by an unknown source, confirming his involvement. ”
My mouth drops open, the thumping beneath my chest resounding at decibels higher than normal. I can’t hear as I watch the reporter’s lips move on the screen.
He did it.
“Oh, um, I think I’ll leave now,” Astrid says awkwardly, pulling my attention back to her.
“What?”
She nods over to the door, and when I follow her gaze, Malik’s familiar eyes instantly calm me. The space falls silent as Astrid steps out the door, Malik’s chest rising and falling like he’s run across London, his hair wet from the rain.
“I told you I’d be back.” He smirks, removing his leather jacket and throwing it onto the table by the door. His light grey shirt, with dark patches from the rain, sticks to his skin beneath, outlining the ridges of every single muscle I’ve acquainted myself with.
“Are you waiting for a thank you?” I smile back, letting the blanket drop to the floor as I stand.
His jaw clenches as he takes a lazy step toward me, the raindrops glistening beneath the light in the room. “We have the rest of our lives for you to show me how thankful you are, Little Nycto. But for tonight, I’ll settle for anal.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from my throat as I launch a pillow at his head. He dodges it, firmly tackling me onto the couch, pushing the air out of my lungs when his weight lands on mine.
I’m met with the same intensity in his eyes as that night he told me to run out of the burning building, but instead of it mixed with fear, it’s bound with the tenacity of his devotion to me.
“You might have been through some dark things, but I promise I’ll treat you like you’re the daughter of a Sultan. I’ll buy islands for you, start wars for you, and fight the most noble of men for your hand.”
I bite back a smile. “Are you trying to get into my panties?”
“Always.” Then his lips are on mine, passionate and hard, my hands intertwined in the wet fabric of his shirt as he deepens the kiss.
I let myself go completely.
I fall into it—into him.
The kiss is like a silent promise, a vow that with this one breath, this one connection, we’ll rewrite our own story.
The lights flash across the ceiling and through the multi-level club, the golds, reds, and greens catching on the glitter stuck to our skin.
The light haze of perfume mixed with alcohol floats across the space as the server comes to our table with another bottle.
I can’t help that my mind wanders to Beatrice.
I think I’ve made peace with the truth because even if she was never my sister by blood, she’d always be with me in my heart.
The memories we shared will always be ours and no one, not even Gordon, was going to manipulate me into thinking otherwise.
Jamie raises his glass, shouting over the music as he moves his hips to the beat.
Astrid leans into me, nursing the drink in her hand as she stares at Emmett across the table.
I smile, wondering what they’ve been getting up to, since she’s almost finalised her divorce with Paxon.
But for once, I’m not worried. I know she’ll be okay, because we have each other.
As I feel the thump of the base through my chest, I catch his gaze from across the room.
Casual and effortless, with his sleeves rolled up and buttons undone, he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. I can see him speaking to someone and laughing at something they say, but his eyes never once leave mine.
“What I wouldn’t give to have a man look at me like that,” Astrid says into my ear, her tone envious.
I know this is the beginning because as he walks over, nothing else inside this club holds my interest. My body instinctively gravitates towards his, like he’s pulling me into his orbit. His arm is delightfully heavy around my waist as he leans into me.
“Enjoying your evening, Little Nycto?” he asks, placing a gentle kiss on my neck.
“It’d be better if it were just us, naked in your penthouse suite,” I answer, watching his lips curve into a dangerous smile.
“It’s not your birthday yet.”
I look up at him, his pupils dilating the longer he stares back at me. When I place my hand on his chest, his curls over mine. A feeling I’ve never felt before blooms inside my chest, growing at a pace too fast for me to recognise exactly what it is.
But I know if someone ever tried to take him from me, I would become their worst nightmare.
Tomorrow, when it’s my turn to make a wish, I know it’ll be for him to always look at me like this.
It’s not every day you spend your birthday at an orphanage, but I had to come back. I was hopeful it would give me back pieces of my memories, but it hasn’t.
I’m not upset because I’d rather a life without those harsh memories. Knowing what happened is enough. Knowing this place has been turned around by the boy himself, who used to live here, is enough.
“Show us again! Show us again!” A girl, probably the age of nine, yells at the top of her lungs as Malik laughs, with a penny in his hand.
“Okay, who else wants a turn this time?” he asks, and a boy’s hand shoots up. They’re all huddled around him, and in their eyes, there is one thing in common.
They love him. They adore him beyond anything else they believe in.
“Watch carefully, because when you’re older, and I’m no longer here, you’ll be in charge of this,” he says with a playful smile as he slips the penny into his sleeve without them noticing.
He shows them his empty hands, and they all watch excitedly as he reaches the same hand behind the boy’s ear, pulling out the penny.
The children scream, laugh, and clap, applauding what they believe to be magic.
But I watch Malik. His head tilted back, mouth open with that careless laugh, mixing with the children’s laughter, rolling off him like he doesn’t have anything to be burdened with.
I admire that about him, that he never lets the wall fall when he’s in front of the children.
He nods as they ask him questions, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as he likes to do when he’s comfortable.
God, he’s fucking beautiful like this.
I smile when I see the light catch the top of his cheekbone, his jaw flexing when he smiles, stealing my gaze, and that muscle in my chest squeezes.
People believe the world to be a cruel place. They believe in some sort of balance between bad and good, like without one, the other won’t make sense. But when he laughs, everything makes sense to me. And when he smiles back at me, it echoes the one thing he’s believed in his entire life.
Malik’s Law isn’t simply about devotion. It’s about a love that consumes from deep within. Because Malik’s love isn’t just about owning someone.
It’s knowing every intricate detail about them that makes them a complete stranger to the rest of the world.
Malik’s heart will love once in his life, and what a privilege to have his heart belong to me.
One heart. One love. One life.
THE END.