Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
JADE
Katrina guides me to the passenger seat of her BMW and pulls out of the nail salon parking lot before I can blink. My toes are still tacky—the polish not fully set—and I stare at them like they belong to someone else.
"Tell me again," Katrina says, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "What exactly did he say?"
"She had a breakdown. At the gym. In front of everyone." I repeat Devon's words mechanically, my brain still catching up to the facts. “She got arrested!”
"Jesus Christ."
I press my palm against my stomach, feeling the ball of anxiety there. "She's escalating, Kat. The restraining order didn't do anything."
"It got her arrested.” Katrina's jaw is set, her eyes fixed on the road. "This is harassment. Stalking. Criminal behavior."
I want to believe her. I want to feel the same anger that's radiating off her in waves.
Instead, I feel sick.
We stop at a red light, and my gaze drifts to the sidewalk outside. A woman is walking toward the crosswalk, pushing a stroller. She's young—my age, maybe younger—with a ponytail swinging behind her and one hand resting on her rounded belly.
She’s a mother, with another one on the way.
I watch her pause at the corner, bending down to adjust something in the stroller. The baby inside kicks its feet, and even from here I can see the woman smile—that soft, unconscious smile that mothers have. Like the world makes sense because of the life she's created.
My throat swells.
"Jade?" Katrina's voice pulls me back. The light has changed. “Are you okay?"
"Yeah,” I rasp. "Fine."
But I'm not fine. I'm watching a stranger live the life I've been dreaming of, and all I can think about is Mila's hand pressed against her stomach, claiming a pregnancy that might not even exist.
‘I’m pregnant. With your baby.’
Ugh, I fucking hate her.
Katrina turns onto our street, and I see Devon's car already in the driveway. He's standing on the porch, waiting for me, his whole body tense.
"Call me later," Katrina says as I climb out. "I mean it. I don't care what time."
"I will."
Devon is down the steps before I reach them, pulling me into his arms with a desperation that tells me exactly how scared he's been. I let him hold me, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with gym sweat, and I feel the tremor in his hands as they press against my back.
"I'm okay," I assure him.
"She’s crazy,” he breathes into my neck.
"I know."
He pulls back to look at my face, searching it for something. Maybe evidence that I'm falling apart.
But I'm not.
I should be. By all logic, I should be crumbling. Mila is stalking us. She's unraveling publicly and dragging us down with her. And yet.
"Let's go inside," I suggest, taking his hand. "We need to talk."
We sit in the kitchen, both silent and numb, processing the bullshit reality that surrounds us.
Devon sits across from me at the table, his shoulders hunched, watching me like I might fall apart.
"Tell me everything," I say. "From the beginning."
So, he does.
He describes Mila bursting through the gym doors, wild-eyed and frantic. The things she screamed about me—fat, pathetic, always was. The way she clawed at the air when security restrained her. How she claimed he ‘fucked her’ in New York.
I listen without interrupting.
“I think…” He shakes his head. “I think she’s doing all of this on purpose, Jade.”
“Maybe. Does it even matter at this point?” I take a deep breath. "She called me fat; it’s not new. She’s still the same old Mila.” I finally say.
Devon winces. "Jade—"
"No, let me finish." I hold up my hand, and he goes quiet. "She called me fat and pathetic. And all the things she used to whisper in school when you weren't looking. Now she’s letting you see.”
His eyes narrow.
"And you know what?" I meet his eyes. "She's not wrong. About some of it."
"What are you—"
"I am fat, Devon. I have a belly that folds when I sit down. My thighs rub. I'll never look like her—like those yoga poses and tanned skin and effortless perfection."
He opens his mouth to argue, but I keep going.
"I've spent my entire life hating my body." My voice is stronger than I expect. "And Mila knew that. She's always known. That's why she targeted me. Because she could see my wounds and she knew exactly how to press them."
Devon reaches for my hand, but I'm not done.
"I saw a pregnant woman today. On the street. And I felt that ache—you know the one. The emptiness. The wondering if that will ever be me.” I swallow hard. "And then I thought about Mila. About her claiming she's pregnant with your child."
"Jade—"
"She can get fucked.”
Devon's eyes are wet, his grip on my hand tightening.
"I'm struggling, I’m not going to lie. I'm scared of what she’ll do next. I can’t stop imagining you kissing her. But I’m still here.”
“Yes,” Devon whispers. "You are, and I love you," he adds. "So fucking much."
"I know." I pull my hand back gently. "And I love you. Even after everything. But I need you to understand something."
"Anything."
"This isn't about Mila anymore." I take a breath. "It's about me learning to love myself. It's about us rebuilding something real—not because I'm desperate to keep you, but because I want you. I always have.”
Devon stares at me like he's seeing me for the first time.
"Whatever she does next," I continue, "whatever she throws at us—I'm not running. Not from her, and not from myself."
"What do you need from me?"
The question is new from him—my man asking how to help instead of trying to fix everything alone.
"Be honest with me. Always. Even when it's hard." I meet his eyes. "And remind me—when I forget—that I'm worth fighting for. Even on the days I can't see it myself."
"Every day." His voice cracks. "For the rest of my life."
And that’s all I need to hear right now.