Chapter 6 The Wallet, The Heist & The Price
6 Days Earlier
July 4th
Los Angeles
Laila Malik
L aila couldn’t leave .
She had no cash, no credit cards, no ID. Not a cent to her name.
She’d lost her wallet last night—and her underwear too.
Thankfully, when she’d stumbled back to the hotel, bedraggled and soaked to the bone, the clerk had taken pity on her. They’d issued her a replacement keycard, no questions asked.
Now, lying in bed, she stared at the clock on the nightstand, each minute dragging painfully by. She knew Jay would be awake soon—his routine precise, like clockwork.
She lay there, unblinking. Trapped in her own mess.
How was she possibly going to explain this to him?
Her fingers hovered over the screen before she finally pressed call.
The line rang once, twice—then a groggy voice answered.
“Laila, what time is it? Where are you?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Jay, can you come get me?”
A sigh. A yawn.
“I’m at the Portofino Hotel in L.A.,” she continued. “I lost my wallet. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
Her voice cracked, and before she could stop herself, the tears came again. She had been a tearful, disheveled mess the entire night.
Jay sighed again, heavier this time. “How could you lose your wallet?”
Laila’s spine stiffened. “I don’t know, Jay. If I remembered, it wouldn’t be lost.”
A tense silence followed. She could picture his face—eyebrows furrowed, jaw tightening in that way that always meant he was disappointed in her.
“I have a really important meeting this morning,” he said finally. “I’ll be there tonight. Not sure when I’ll get in.”
Laila stumbled over her words. “D-do you want to just mail my passport? I can use Apple Pay for everything else. I already have the return ticket, I just need identification to get on the flight—”
“Just stay put,” he cut in. “You left behind your little swimsuit thing too. I swear you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.”
And then the line went dead.
But not before she heard him mutter under his breath—
“Great. Just another mess for me to clean up.”
A chill settled over her heart.
Her marriage was over.
Laila whipped her head around, trying to find where that whisper of a thought had come from.
No. No, no, no.
She needed to call Marie, their marriage counselor. Right away. Marie could fix this.
Jay was all she had left.
Her throat tightened as she thought back to the night before. She felt foolish. Exhausted. Old. A sob built in her chest, and she pressed a fist to her ribs, as if she could physically hold it in.
Jay had been her only friend.
They had grown up together. Their families had assumed they would get married, and Laila had never fought against it. She had followed him to the University of Chicago, let him steady her when life felt like it was caving in.
He had been there when her mother got sick. When she passed away.
And when her father, abrupt and detached, had moved back to Pakistan, leaving her—nineteen and alone—with nothing but grief, loss, and no sense of direction.
Jay had guided her. Held her. Told her everything would be okay.
He had been her constant. Her north star.
Her everything.
Laila glanced out the window. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds, washing the sky in brilliant shades of peach and gold.
She slid the balcony door open and stepped outside, inhaling the scent of salt and sea. The wooden railing pressed into her palms as she gripped it fiercely.
She wasn’t going to let Jay go.
She would have nothing left if she did.
And as for her silly little crush on Gabriel—
He was her client. She was his lawyer. That’s all there was to it.
Ignore him.
Ignore the fact that he had painted her.
Ignore the moment when he had looked at her—and the world had shifted beneath her feet.
Ignore the way his eyes had coaxed something from deep inside her.
Something unclaimed. Closely guarded. Hidden from everything and everyone.
“Stop it,” she whispered fiercely to herself.
She loved Jay. Her husband.
End of discussion.
So why did her heart still skip a beat when she pictured Gabriel’s face?
Present Day
July 10th
Chicago
Kat Kar
The doorman barely glanced up from rifling through the morning mail to look at Kat’s face.
“Mrs. Malik, how was Jamaica?”
Kat’s heart jumped into her throat . She hadn’t expected anyone to notice her, let alone interact with her .
“J-j-j’amazin’!” Kat stuttered in her best Laila Malik impersonation.
The doorman chuckled heartily.
Kat winked at Christian from behind her oversized Bhavya Ramesh sunglasses.
As they rode the elevator up, they pulled off their fake Cuyana leather jackets and slid on their lace eye masks. Clad in nothing but black tank tops and matching pleather leggings, they approached the 24th floor with apprehension.
Slipping on her black gloves, Kat kissed the keycard for good luck before swiping it.
The lock blinked green. The door clicked open.
They gasped.
Stepping inside with two massive, empty suitcases, they carefully shut the door behind them—then gasped again.
This place was ridiculous.
Massive arched windows surrounded the living room, sunlight streaming in from all angles, illuminating sleek white leather sofas positioned around a grand fireplace. Golden chandeliers shimmered overhead. Beneath their feet, a thick red Persian rug absorbed the sound of their footsteps, its plush fibers cushioning their boots.
A turquoise Moroccan runner stretched into a chef’s kitchen, where a sprawling marble island gleamed beneath ornate gold fixtures. Every surface—from the cabinets to the oversized farmhouse sink—glinted under the light.
Christian let out a dreamy sigh, staring at the Rajasthani paintings on the walls. “Oh my God. I’ve never seen so many beautiful things in my life.”
Kat snapped out of her awe.
“Okay, let’s start by unplugging the security cameras.” Her voice turned brisk, all business. “We’ve got ninety minutes on the clock.”
“Wait, do we have time for a quick photoshoot?”
Before Kat could protest, Christian flopped onto the sofa, rolling onto her stomach with one leg extended behind her.
“How exactly does this pose pertain to God?” Kat asked, puzzled.
Christian smirked. “God gave me dis booty, that’s how. Now take the damn pic, Kat.”
Kat obliged—then froze mid-motion.
“Wait, we can’t do this . We can’t have any record that we were ever here. Quick, turn your location off. Go into airplane mode.”
She shoved the phone back at Christian.
Christian pouted. “I thought the whole point of this trip was to use this penthouse as a luxury backdrop location ?”
“Yeah, well...” Kat hesitated, struggling to finish the sentence.
“You were always planning on taking something.” Christian’s voice turned sharp. “What’s wrong, Kat? Can’t own up to your mess?”
Kat shuddered—a flicker of unease.
Then she shook it off.
Now was not the time for second thoughts.
“Not all of us were born into a life of luxury,” she muttered, pressing her lips into a thin line. Her eyes narrowed . “Some of us have to take it.”
Christian studied her but said nothing.
“Now,” Kat continued, her voice cold, “are you going to get what we need, or are you going to get in the way?”
Before Christian could answer—
A sharp knock .
They both froze .
“Laila?” A man’s voice, deep and muffled, sounded through the door.
“Laila, I know you’re in there. You walked right past me in the lobby. We need to talk.”
Kat and Christian stared at each other, mouths wide open.
“Oh my God,” Christian hissed. “What do we do?”
“Ignore it,” Kat whispered. “We have to ignore it.”
A pause. Then—
“Laila, I hate how things went down in L.A. I know you’re upset. Can we please discuss this?” A sigh. Then, more softly— “ Lo siento por como te hice sentir. ”
Kat’s pulse jumped .
Christian forgot to breathe.
The voice returned, firmer this time. “Look, if you don’t open up, I’m going to call the police and do a wellness check.”
Christian started shaking. “Oh my gosh. The police. We’re going to get caught. We’re going to get caught.”
“No, we’re fine. And technically, we haven’t even done anything yet.” Kat squared her shoulders. “I’ll just open it and explain that she isn’t here. It’ll be fine.”
“Kat, do not open that door. Do not!”
Christian’s frantic whisper barely registered as Kat’s fingers wrapped around the handle.
She swung the door open—
And holy hotness.
Smoldering brown eyes stared back at her from beneath thick lashes. Tousled, curly black hair. A white t-shirt stretched across a broad, well-defined chest before tucking into a pair of perfectly worn jeans.
Oof.
And he smelled like heaven.
If heaven was a combination of soap, tobacco, and well-worn leather.
“Hey there Cinder-Laila,” he drawled, a pair of Bottega leather mules dangling from his fingers. Looking at her closely, he frowned in confusion, “You’re not Laila!”
5 Days Ago
July 5th
Los Angeles
Laila Malik
“Laila, I asked you a question,” Jay said for the umpteenth time.
Laila snapped out of her daze, turning to face her husband. His face was hard with frustration, his eyes searching hers for any sign of attention. But all she could think about was Gabriel—and his intense eyes.
“Hmmm?” she murmured. The sound of the waves crashed in her ears, but in the back of her mind, it was Gabriel’s laugh she heard.
Jay’s voice sharpened. “Are you even here right now?”
Laila blinked, realizing she’d been tuning him out for too long.
“Sorry. I’m here,” she mumbled.
The morning had been a blur—taking inventory of what was in her wallet, calling the banks, canceling credit cards, filing a police report. It had been long and exhausting.
Jay exhaled, rubbing his jaw. His frustration was palpable.
“We need to find your wallet. Focus.”
Laila turned her gaze back to the beach, to the scattered crowds, their carefree laughter drifting past her like an echo.
Her wallet was long gone.
And so was something else.
Something vital within her marriage.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was—only that there was an ache between her and Jay, a distance that had once been imperceptible but now loomed like a shadow.
And she desperately wished she could unsee it.
Shaking off the intrusive thoughts, she forced herself to focus.
Jay was here. This moment—this marriage—was her reality.
Gabriel was... impossible.
“I just—I don’t understand how you lost your wallet on the beach.” Jay’s tone was strained. “Was it before your meeting?”
“I don’t remember,” Laila said quietly.
Jay’s frustration softened, concern creeping into his features for the first time. “Laila... what do you remember about yesterday?” His voice gentled. “Break it down for me, please.”
Laila avoided his gaze, staring out at the rolling waves instead.
“I don’t remember much,” she admitted. “I woke up. I met with the client, and then—”
Her voice hitched.
Isabella Juanita Carmen Morales.
She saw her again—standing in the sunlight, caramel skin gleaming, every inch of her effortlessly beautiful.
“And then?” Jay prodded.
Laila’s vacant gaze flickered back to him. “Oh, uh... yeah. I worked and came back.”
Jay’s eyes narrowed.
“You mean back to the hotel?”
“Yeah.”
Jay hesitated. He was choosing his words carefully now.
“Do you remember what time this all happened?”
Laila studied him, suddenly aware of the shift in his demeanor.
Her stomach clenched.
“It was during the day,” she answered, deliberately vague. “I wasn’t keeping track of the time.”
Jay exhaled. His expression softened even further as he gazed at her.
“I don’t know how to say this, but... Lai—do you remember around what age your mom started showing symptoms for dementia?”
Laila’s breath caught.
She swallowed. “I don’t know. Early forties. It was around sophomore year of high school for me.” She frowned. “I mean, you know this, Jay. You were there.”
“Yes.” Jay turned her to face him, his hands firm on her shoulders. His eyes searched hers for something she wasn’t able to give him.
“But do you remember?”
Laila’s stomach dropped.
Her husband of ten years. The only man she had ever been with—thought she had dementia. The air around her tightened. Jay’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.
“We should take a trip.” His words were light, but the unspoken meaning hung between them— before it gets worse .
Oh, God. What had she done? Her heart slammed against her ribs. She needed to reassure him. Convince him that she wasn’t forgetful, that she wasn’t— What?
A liar?
A horrible human being?
How was she supposed to fix this?
“A trip sounds great, darling,” she said, forcing a brittle smile.
Her phone pinged. Laila glanced down automatically at the Instagram notification: ProfGabriel_MLM is now following you. Her breath hitched. Her palms became clammy. Had he looked her up? Was he thinking about her right now? What did this mean? What did he mean?
A startled yelp escaped her lips when she looked up to find Jay watching her.
She had forgotten all about him.
“Everything okay?” He cocked his head slightly.
“Yes! Great!” Laila’s voice came out too fast. She winced. “Just... you know. An email I forgot about.”
Jay nodded, easy and warm, his expression full of understanding.
Understanding she had no business receiving.
“How about Jamaica?” Laila blurted out suddenly. “You always wanted to go in college. Remember your Rastafari phase? The dreadlocks?”
Jay laughed, the tension between them easing ever so slightly.
“I think we should ‘go to Jamaica and feel alright,’” he sang, grinning as the wind tousled his hair.
Laila exhaled, her relief so sharp it was almost painful.
She could fix this.
She could win back her husband.
She could convince him she wasn’t losing her mind.
And the distance would help tamp down those feelings for Gabriel.
It was going to be okay.
It had to be.
Present Day
July 10th
Chicago
Kat Kar
This was not okay. Nothing was going to be okay ever again. Kat immediately regretted opening the door and tried to slam it shut.
“Who are you?” the man demanded, shoving his foot between the door and the frame.
Kat’s stomach clenched. She glanced behind her, making sure he couldn’t see Christian—or their oversized suitcases.
“Who are you?” she shot back, her voice equally hostile.
She had done her research on Laila Malik. And this man was nowhere on her LinkedIn, Instagram, Twitter, or even ol’ school Facebook. And if he wasn’t on her socials? He wasn’t important.
“I’m her friend,” he said, his voice edged with frustration. “Gabriel. Look, is she here with you? I need to speak with her.”
“Um... I’m her cousin,” Kat blurted. “Kat—Kathmandu.”
Gabriel frowned.
“She went to...get some supplies. For the, um, mask-masquerade party tonight,” Kat rambled. “But I’ll let her know you stopped by. Great meeting you, frieeeeeeeend.” She dragged out the last word deliberately, signaling this conversation is over.
Gabriel didn’t budge. His sharp gaze raked over her hair, her mask, her outfit—assessing.
“She never mentioned a cousin named Kathmandu.”
Before Kat could respond, he shoved the door open with alarming force.
She stumbled back, tripping over her own feet.
“Chris—Chrysanthemum, hide!” Kat screeched, blindly grabbing at Gabriel’s ankles.
Gabriel let out a startled grunt as he lost balance, crashing onto the hardwood floor.
Kat scrambled onto his back, pressing his face against the floor.
“What the hell?” he muffled against the wood.
“Christian, door!” Kat barked.
Christian appeared from behind the couch, eyes wide, a massive ceramic vase clutched in her hands. Kat frantically shook her head. No.
It was too late.
Christian dropped the vase.
The sickening thud echoed through the condo before the vase ricocheted off Gabriel’s skull and shattered against the floor. A heavy groan escaped his lips before his body went limp.
Silence.
A bruise was already forming on the back of his neck. A trickle of blood seeped from his hairline. Kat swallowed.
“Christian... door,” she whispered.
Christian bolted to the entrance, slamming it shut.
Then, her voice barely a whisper, Christian asked, “Is he dead?”
Kat’s breath hitched. “I—I don’t know. I’m scared to look.”
Christian squirmed dramatically, then knelt beside Gabriel, her hands shaking as she checked for a pulse.
She exhaled. “No, he’s breathing.”
“Okay, okay,” Kat said, feeling lightheaded with relief.
“Alright.” Christian clapped her hands in front of Kat’s face, snapping her out of her stupor. “Let’s tie him up.”
“What?” Kat gawked. “Why would we do that?”
Christian gave her a look.
“Because when he wakes up, he can’t be able to move until we’re out of here.”
Kat hesitated.
Christian sighed. “Kat, I don’t know about you, but I’m too pretty for jail.”
Kat took a deep breath. “Okay, okay. What do we do next?”
“Chair. Tie. Let’s go.” Christian grabbed his upper arms and dragged him across the floor.
Kat grabbed his legs and pushed. “Would it be easier if we brought the chair to him?”
Christian dropped his arms like dead weight.
“Yep. Probably way easier.”
She jogged off to find a chair while Kat disappeared into the bedroom, rummaging through Laila Malik’s ridiculous walk-in closet. She almost cried at the sight of a LaQuan Smith gown crumpled in the corner.
Laila Malik was an absolute savage for disrespecting LaQuan like this? Kat grabbed a handful of belts, ties, and scarves, hoping they would be enough. But a question nagged at her.
Why was he so obsessed with Laila?
Unless...No. Laila Malik was way too much of a goody two-shoes to have a side piece.
She returned to the living room to find Christian struggling to lift Gabriel into the chair.
“Shit,” Christian panted. “This dude is heavy.”
Kat took his other side, and with considerable effort, they hoisted him up.
As they fastened him to the chair, Kat muttered, “Wow, he smells good.”
Christian shot her a glare. “Focus, Kat! Tie his feet—I’ll do the arms.”
Gabriel groaned.
Kat’s hands trembled, but she tightened the last knot.
“Kat, we’ve got an hour.” Christian dusted off her hands. “You suss out the cameras. I’ll grab jewelry, bags, all the small stuff.” She disappeared into the bedroom.
Kat tried to calm herself. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. She hugged herself tightly, counting to ten. You can do this.
She opened her eyes—and met Gabriel’s glare.
She jumped.
“Hello,” he rasped, his voice groggy.
“...Hello.”
Why did she say that?
His golden-brown eyes and perfectly arched eyebrows had hypnotized her. Did he get them threaded?
She turned quickly, facing away from him. The mask was decorative, not burglar-proof.
Gabriel’s voice cut through the silence. “What are you doing?”
“Working on my cardio.” Her words dripped sarcasm.
“Cute.” His voice was dry. “You’re a kid, right? Mid-twenties. Trying to be a dancer or something.”
She ignored him. Two cameras disabled. Not bad.
As she began collecting statues and knick-knacks, his voice softened. “Why don’t you untie me?” he said, quieter this time. “I can give you what you’re looking for. Laila is a good person. If she can help you, she will.”
Kat froze.
He was straining against the restraints now.
“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” he added. “I think you’re in a bad position. Let us help you.”
Kat swallowed hard. Why am I talking to him? She didn’t want to think of Laila Malik as an actual person. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn this around—
““Alright, Kat!” Christian sashayed back into the room, rolling a large suitcase behind her. “We’re good. Stash is loaded.”
Kat winced.
“Chris—Christmas—he’s awake,” she whispered, jerking her chin toward Gabriel.
Christian glanced at him.
“Oh shit. Should we knock him out again?”
“NO!” Kat and Gabriel yelled in unison.
Christian shrugged. “I mean, I could grab a skillet from the kitchen...”
“No need.” Kat eyed Gabriel warily. “He passed out again.”
As they wheeled their suitcases toward the door, something shifted.
One of the Rajasthani paintings tilted forward. Christian reached out, adjusting it—The entire painting fell. And behind it—A stainless steel safe. Their jaws dropped.
“Holy shit,” Christian squealed. “We have to get in there.”
Kat’s fingers flew across her phone. “Is there an app for this?”
Christian grabbed a fire poker from the mantle. “I’m sure it just needs a few good whacks.”
“That’s not how safes work!” Kat found a YouTube tutorial.
Left, four times. Click.
Right, three times. Click.
One last turn—
The safe door creaked open with a heavy sigh, revealing... a single envelope. Kat’s heart skipped. She reached in quickly, her fingers brushing the envelope’s smooth surface.
“Is that it?” Christian muttered, her disappointment palpable.
Kat didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the envelope, the weight of it oddly heavy in her hands. Just then—A shrill alarm blared.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Christian cursed, her face draining of color. “We have to GO.”
Kat turned—And locked eyes with Gabriel.
He had seen everything.