Chapter 17
I woke up and reached out.
Swish.
My hand hit nothing but cold, expensive, 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton.
I blinked one eye open, then the other. The space beside me was empty. The pillow was perfectly fluffed, standing tall and proud like it hadn't just spent the night supporting the heavy, handsome head of a billionaire industrialist.
"Gabby is gone," I whispered to the ceiling. "Again."
I let out a long, deflating sigh that rumbled in my chest. Pffffffft.
It's like being married to a ghost! A very sexy, very rich ghost who smells like sandalwood and scary decisions, but a ghost nonetheless!
I rolled over and looked at the floor. Primrose was sprawled out on the Persian rug, her legs twitching in her sleep. She was probably dreaming of chasing squirrels in a meadow made of bacon.
"Wake up, Prim!" I chirped, tossing a small decorative pillow at her (gently! I am not a monster!). "It is a new day! The sun is shining! The birds are singing! And your mother has a group meeting that might determine the fate of her entire academic career!"
Primrose snorted, opened one eye, judged me, and went back to sleep.
"Fine," I huffed, sliding off the massive bed. "Be lazy. I will be productive. I will be an Asset!"
I marched to the bathroom with determination. Today was a serious day. Today required serious preparation. I turned on the shower. Swoosh! I grabbed my strawberry body wash. Scrub-a-dub-dub!
"You are a leader, Aleesha," I told my reflection in the foggy mirror as I applied my vanilla hair mask. "You are the President of the Group. You are the CEO of the Project. You are basically Gabriel, but cuter and with better color coordination."
After the shower, I performed the sacred rituals. I walked into the closet and stared at my clothes.
"Today requires authority," I whispered.
I pushed aside the pastel yellow dress. Too soft. I pushed aside the floral skirt. Too meadow-y.
Aha!
I grabbed my "Power Outfit." It was a pink blazer over my white uniform blouse, paired with my checkered skirt. I pulled up my white knee-high socks and slipped on my shiny loafers.
I looked in the mirror. I put on my headband—the one with the velvet bow.
"Intimidating," I nodded. "Terrifying. They will respect you."
I grabbed my bag—which was currently bursting with my laptop, three notebooks, my crochet kit, a bag of gummy bears, and a stapler—and marched out to the living room.
"Good morning, Hus—"
The living room was empty.
The kitchen was empty.
The only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator.
I looked at the heavy oak door of Gabriel's office. It was closed. Shut tight. It looked like the entrance to a dungeon where dragons guarded piles of gold.
I tiptoed toward it. Creak... tip... toe...
I pressed my ear against the wood. Silence.
Is he in there? Is he sleeping? Is he plotting to buy a small country?
"He's busy," I whispered to myself, clutching my bag strap. He is a Titan of Industry. He is probably on a call with... I don't know, the President of Mars. I shouldn't disturb him.
I felt a little pinch in my chest. Just a tiny one. Like a mosquito bite on my heart.
I wanted to say bye. I wanted him to look at me with those scary obsidian eyes and say, "Go forth and conquer, Wife."
But that's okay! I am independent! I am a modern woman!
"Bye-bye, house," I whispered. "Bye-bye, invisible husband."
The elevator ride down took forever. Hummmmmmmm. My ears popped three times! Pop! Pop! Pop!
When the doors slid open in the lobby, I saw them.
The Trio of gloom.
Sean, Marcus, and Luca were standing by the glass doors. Usually, they stand tall like statues. Sean usually has that cocky smirk that says, "I know karate and I'm not afraid to use it." Marcus usually looks like a boulder with sunglasses.
But today?
They looked... wilted.
Sean was staring at his shoes. Marcus was staring at a potted plant like it was the most fascinating thing in the universe. And Luca—who is usually the quiet, scary one—looked like he wanted to merge with the wall.
"Good morning, Team!" I shouted, waving both hands frantically. "Happy Monday!"
They all jumped. Like, physically flinched.
Sean looked up. He looked at me, then his eyes darted away instantly. He looked at the floor. He looked at the ceiling. He looked anywhere but my face.
"Morning, Ma'am," he mumbled.
"Ma'am," Marcus grunted, opening the door.
"Hi," Luca whispered.
I frowned as I hopped into the back of the massive black SUV. The leather was cold.
"Okay," I said as Sean started the engine. "Why is the vibe so... funeral-y? Did someone die? Did the stock market crash? did Gabriel ban smiling?"
Sean gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "No, Ma'am. Just... a long night."
"A long night?" I leaned forward, resting my chin on the back of his seat. "Did Gabriel make you work late? That tyrant! I will write a complaint to HR! Oh wait, he is HR."
Sean didn't laugh. He usually laughs!
"We just..." Sean swallowed hard. I saw his throat bob. "We had a performance review."
"Oooooh," I nodded sympathetically. "Reviews are scary. Once, a professor told me my code looked like 'spaghetti made by a drunk toddler.' It hurt my feelings for three days."
I sat back. They looked so sad. Like kicked puppies in expensive suits.
I need to fix this! Law 48 of Power (Aleesha's Version): Keep the troops happy with sugar!
"Sean!" I commanded. "Stop the car!"
"What? Is there a threat?" Marcus's head snapped around, scanning the street.
"No! There is an emergency craving!" I pointed out the window. "There! Scoops of Joy! Pull over!"
Sean sighed—a heavy, tragic sigh—but he pulled the tank-car over to the curb.
"I will be right back!" I announced.
I scrambled out, ran into the shop, and bought four ice creams.
Five minutes later, I hopped back in.
"Here!" I shoved a cup into Marcus's hand. "Double Dutch Chocolate! Because you are tough!"
I reached over and handed a cup to Luca in the back. "Vanilla with sprinkles! Because you are quiet but fun!"
And finally, I held a cup out to Sean.
"And for you, Mr. Driver... Bubblegum Surprise! Because you need cheering up!"
Sean stared at the bright blue ice cream. He stared at me.
His eyes looked... watery?
"Ma'am," he whispered. "You shouldn't..."
"Eat it!" I ordered, opening my own cup (Strawberry, obviously). "It melts fast! Efficiency!"
Sean took the cup. His hand was shaking a little bit.
"Thank you," he said, his voice thick.
We drove in silence for a while, eating our ice cream. But it wasn't the happy silence of people enjoying sugar. It was a heavy, guilty silence.
Sean looked in the rearview mirror. He caught my eye, then looked away again.
"Ma'am?" he asked softly.
"Yes, Sean?" I licked my spoon.
"If... if someone made a mistake," he started, staring at the road. "A big mistake. Do you think... do you think they can be forgiven?"
I paused. I tilted my head.
"Well," I said thoughtfully. "Did they kill someone?"
"No," Sean said quickly. "No. Just... wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong... person."
"Wrong person?" I blinked. "Like... they waved at a stranger thinking it was their friend?"
"Something like that," Marcus grunted from the front seat.
I smiled. "Oh, Sean! Marcus! Of course!"
I leaned forward again, patting Sean's shoulder.
"Mistakes are meant to be made!" I declared wisely. "We are humans! Not robots! Even Gabriel makes mistakes (like hating dreams, that is a huge error in his software). If you mess up, you just say sorry, you fix it, and you move on! Nobody is perfect!"
I saw Sean's shoulders shake. Was he laughing? Or crying?
"Yeah," he whispered. "Nobody's perfect."
"Exactly!" I beamed. "Now finish your Bubblegum."
We arrived at the university. Marcus hopped out and opened my door.
"Thank you, Marcus!" I bowed.
"Be safe, Ma'am," he said, his voice unusually serious. "Call us if... just call us."
"I will!" I waved. "Bye-bye! Don't let the brain freeze get you!"
I ran towards the school gates, my bag jingle-jangling with all my keychains. I felt pumped. I felt ready.
I marched into the library study room where my "group" was waiting.
Well, "waiting" is a generous word. There were three of them. Jessica was painting her nails. Kevin was asleep on a pile of books. And Thomas... Thomas was leaning back in his chair, playing a game on his phone with the volume up. Pew! Pew! Pew!
Thomas is... how do I describe him politely? He is a jerk. He wears leather jackets even though it is 35 degrees outside. He smells like cheap cologne and arrogance. And he has contributed exactly zero words to our research paper.
"Good morning, Team!" I chirped, slamming my heavy bag onto the table. THUD!
Jessica looked up, annoyed. Kevin snorted awake. Thomas didn't move.
"Okay!" I clapped my hands. "Submission is in two days! We need to finalize the code and the documentation! I have done the Introduction, the Methodology, the Coding, and the Debugging. Jessica, did you finish the Powerpoint?"
"Ugh," Jessica blew on her nails. "I started it. But the font choices were stressing me out."
"Okay," I forced a smile. "Kevin? The conclusion?"
"I'm working on it," Kevin yawned. "In my mind."
"Right," I twitched. "And Thomas?"
I looked at him.
"Thomas?"
Pew! Pew!
"THOMAS!" I shouted.
He finally looked up, sneering. "What, Princess? Keep your voice down. I'm on a level."
"The citations," I said, crossing my arms. "You were supposed to format the bibliography three weeks ago."
Thomas laughed. It was a mean, dry sound. "Yeah, I didn't do that. That's secretary work. You do it."
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. Secretary work?
"I am not the secretary!" I puffed out my chest. "I am the Leader! And we have a contract! A group contract!"
"Chill," Thomas waved a hand dismissively. "Just put my name on it. I'll buy you lunch or whatever."
I looked at him. I looked at his smug face.
I thought about Gabriel.
What would Gabriel do? Would Gabriel let a lazy board member ruin his company? No. Gabriel would fire him. Gabriel would liquidate him.
I took a deep breath.
"No," I said.
Thomas paused. "What?"
"No," I said louder, my voice shaking just a little bit. "I will not put your name on it."
The room went silent. Jessica stopped painting. Kevin sat up.
Thomas lowered his phone slowly. His eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?"
"You didn't do the work," I explained, clutching my pink blazer for courage. "Group work means group work. Not 'Aleesha does everything and Thomas plays Candy Crush' work. It is inefficient! It is illogical! It is unfair!"
"Are you kicking me out?" Thomas stood up. He was tall. Taller than me. He loomed over the table.
"Yes," I squeaked. Then I cleared my throat. "Yes. I am removing you from the group. I will email the professor today."
Thomas stared at me. His face turned red. He looked scary.
"You can't do that," he growled.
"I can!" I insisted. "I read the syllabus! Clause 4, Section B: 'Free-loaders will be prosecuted!'... well, it doesn't say that exactly, but that is the vibe!"
Thomas glared at me for a long, tense moment. Then, he scoffed.
"Whatever," he spat. "You're a joke, Garcia. You think you're special because you're part of the Student Council? You're pathetic."
He kicked his chair back. SCREECH.
He grabbed his bag and stormed out of the room.
I stood there, trembling. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I did it," I whispered.
"Wow," Jessica murmured. "Savage."
I sat down heavily. I felt... bad. I felt terrible! I kicked someone out! I ruined his grade! What if he fails? What if he cries?
"Should I call him back?" I asked Jessica, panic rising. "Maybe I can just do his part? It will only take me four hours! I don't sleep anyway!"
"Girl, no," Jessica rolled her eyes. "He was a dead weight. Good riddance."
I nodded slowly. "Right. Efficiency. Dead weight."
But my stomach felt twisted. I don't like being mean. I like rainbows and rice balls. Being a boss is hard.
★
The rest of the day was a blur of coding and guilt. By the time 5:00 PM rolled around, my brain was fried.
I walked out of the campus building, hugging my cardigan around me. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the university grounds.
I needed to find Sean and Marcus. I needed the safety of the Tank.
"Excuse me, Miss."
I stopped.
Standing in front of me, blocking the path to the parking lot, was a group of guys. Seven of them.
They weren't wearing uniforms. They were wearing oversized shirts, ripped jeans, and they had that look. You know the look? The "we skip class to smoke behind the gym" look.
I smiled brightly. "Hello! Are you guys a dance troupe? Are you practicing for the flash mob?"
The guy in the front—he had a nose ring and a tattoo of a spider on his neck—smirked.
"Yeah," he said. "Something like that. We need a judge. Can you come with us?"
"Oh!" I checked my watch. "I am in a bit of a hurry... my husband (hehe) gets mad if I am late..."
"It will be quick," Spider-Neck said. He stepped closer. The other guys stepped closer too, forming a semi-circle around me.
"Just right over there," he pointed to the back of the Engineering building. It was a quiet alleyway where they kept the dumpsters.
My instinct—the tiny little voice in my head that usually warns me about burnt curry—whispered, Run.
But I didn't want to be rude!
"Okay," I said hesitantly. "But just for five minutes! I have to rate your choreography!"
They escorted me. Or rather, they herded me.
We walked to the back of the building. The shadows were deep here. It smelled like garbage and stale cigarettes.
"So," I clasped my hands. "Where is the music?"
Click-clack. Click-clack.
Footsteps echoed on the concrete. The group of guys parted in the middle. And walking towards me, wearing his leather jacket and a very ugly scowl, was Thomas.
My smile dropped.
"Thomas?" I blinked. "You are in the dance troupe?"
Thomas didn't smile. He looked furious. His eyes were cold. "You made a big mistake, Garcia," he said. His voice echoed in the narrow alley.
"Mistake?" I took a step back. My back hit a dumpster. "About the group project? Thomas, look, I can help you with extra credit! I can—"
"Shut up!" he shouted.
Two of the guys grabbed my arms.
"Hey!" I yelped.
They pinned me against the dumpster. Their grip was hard. It hurt.
"You humiliated me," Thomas spat, walking closer. "You think you can just kick me out? Do you know who my father is?"
"Is he a dancer?" I squeaked, tears pricking my eyes. "Thomas, please! Let me go! My driver is waiting!"
"Your driver?" Thomas laughed. "You think you're some princess? You're nothing."
He reached out and grabbed the collar of my blazer—my favorite pink blazer. He yanked it down, pulling it off my shoulders, trapping my arms.
"No!" I cried.
Thomas pulled something out of his pocket.
Click.
A knife. A silver box cutter.
My blood ran cold.
"Thomas," I whispered, my voice trembling uncontrollably. "Please. Don't."
"My father is in the Syndicate," Thomas sneered, stepping into my personal space. "He owns half this city. And nobody insults a generic heir."
He brought the knife down.
SLASH.
I screamed.
A sharp, stinging pain erupted on my left upper arm.
It happened so fast. One second, I was fine. The next, there was a line of red blooming on my white skin.
It wasn't a deep cut. It was a shallow slash, maybe three inches long.
But it hurt.
"Ahhh..." I wailed, tears streaming down my face. "Why would you do that?!"
Thomas stepped back, looking at the blood. He smirked.
"That's a warning," he said. "Put my name back on the paper. Or next time, I won't aim for the arm."
He signaled to his goons. "Let's go."
They released me. I slid down against the dumpster, clutching my arm.
They laughed as they walked away, leaving me sitting in the dirt, crying over a group project and a ruined blazer.
I sat there for five minutes, sobbing.
Huhu... it stings... I sniffled.
I looked at my arm. The cut was bleeding. It looked angry.
I hiccuped. Pull yourself together, Aleesha. You are a wife now. Wives are tough.
I stood up on shaky legs. I pulled my blazer back up. The pink wool covered the wound, but I could feel the blood soaking into the fabric.
"I can't tell Gabriel," I whispered.
If I tell Gabriel, he will be mad. He will say I was inefficient. He will say I shouldn't have followed strangers into an alley. He will say I am a liability.
And worse... what if he hurts Thomas?
I know Thomas is a jerk who stabbed me, but I don't want Gabriel to go to jail for violence!
I ran to the school clinic.
"Oh my!" The nurse gasped. "What happened, dear?"
"Project accident!" I lied through my tears. "I was... building a robot...And it attacked me... With a screwdriver..."
The nurse looked suspicious, but she cleaned the wound and put a big white gauze pad on it. "Be careful," she scolded.
"I will," I promised.
I ran to the parking lot. My eyes were puffy. My arm throbbed with every step. Throb. Throb. Throb.
I saw the black SUV. Sean, Marcus, and Luca were waiting by the door.
I stopped. I wiped my face aggressively with my good hand. Rub, rub, rub.
Smile, Smile, Aleesha.
I forced the corners of my mouth up. It felt wobbly. I walked towards them. "Hi team!" I called out. My voice cracked.
Sean looked at me sharply. "Ma'am? You're late. Is everything okay?"
He stepped closer, scanning my face. "You've been crying."
"No!" I laughed, a high-pitched, manic sound. "Allergies! Pollen! The trees are attacking me today!"
I hopped into the car before they could ask more questions.
"Home, please!" I chirped. "I am starving!"
I sat in the back seat, gripping my left arm with my right hand, squeezing it tight to stop the pain from making me pass out.
I stared out the window. The world looked blurry.
"I want my mom," I whispered silently.
★
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt like a prison sentence.
Ding.
The doors opened.
Sean stepped out first and held the door for me.
"After you, Ma'am."
"Thanks, Sean," I whispered. I kept my head down.
I walked into the penthouse.
I gripped my blazer sleeve tightly with my fingers, making sure the fabric didn't slip and reveal the bandage.
The living room was dim. The sun had set.
And there he was.
Gabriel.
He was sitting in the corner armchair—the one that looks like a throne. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up (showing off those tattoos... focus, Aleesha!). His legs were crossed at the knee.
He was holding a glass of whiskey. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't looking at a tablet. He was looking at the door. Waiting. His eyes were obsidian. Dark. Bottomless. Cold.
Usually, when I see him, I run. I hop. I shout, "Husband!" I try to hug him even though he hates it.
But tonight...
I just couldn't.
My arm throbbed. My eyes burned. I felt small. I felt like the idiot Thomas said I was.
Gabriel watched me enter. He took a sip of whiskey. He didn't speak.
I stopped in the middle of the room.
"Hi," I whispered.
I gave a tiny, polite smile. It didn't reach my eyes. I knew it didn't. I just waved my hand—a small, weak little wave.
I wanted to run to him. I wanted to bury my face in his chest and tell him about the bad man and the knife and how scared I was. I wanted him to wrap those big arms around me and tell me he would fix it.
But if I tell him I got stabbed over a group project, he will just look at me with disappointment.
"I'm tired," I said, my voice barely audible.
Gabriel didn't move. He just stared at me. His gaze felt heavy, like it was peeling back my layers.
Did he see the puffy eyes? Did he see the way I was holding my arm?
Please don't ask. Please don't ask.
He didn't.
He just took another sip of whiskey.
"Okay," I whispered.
I turned and walked toward our shared bedroom. My steps were heavy. I opened the door and slipped inside.
Click.
I didn't turn on the lights. I walked to the bed. I didn't even change into my pajamas. I just kicked off my shoes. I lay down on top of the covers, curling into a ball on my side—the side that didn't hurt. I clutched my blazer tight, pulling it around me like a shield.
I stared at the window. The city lights were twinkling outside. Millions of people.
A tear leaked out of my eye and slid down my nose, landing on the expensive pillowcase.
I closed my eyes and waited for the pain to stop.