Chapter 8 Unraveling But With Style
July 17
Chicago
Laila Malik
J ay refused to meet her eyes. Every time she looked at him or tried to speak, he would either avoid her gaze or leave the room altogether.
It had been over a week. They hadn’t spoken a single word.
The humid morning air hung heavily between them. The clatter of utensils against their ceramic bowls punctuated the icy silence at the dining table.
Laila broke first. “Jay, we can’t go on like this.”
She pushed away her bowl of cantaloupe, no longer hungry.
“I agree.” He didn’t bother looking up from his phone. “I think you should move out.”
Laila’s fork slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor. “Why should I move out?”
Jay finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Because you don’t want to be here. You never wanted this penthouse. You’ve resented every decision I’ve made with our finances—”
“Exactly! Listen to yourself, Jay.” Her voice trembled with frustration. “ You made decisions with our money. I told you we couldn’t afford this place. You borrowed money from your parents anyway—money we’ve never been able to pay back. And your mother still finds a way to take shots at me every Thanksgiving, like I’m the one to blame. I make a good salary, but we still struggle every month because your business ventures make no sense. The only reason we live here is so you can brag about the address to your potential clients.”
Jay exhaled through his nose, picked up his napkin, and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with an unnerving calm. Then he said, “Is that why you decided to go fuck the neighbor?”
Laila’s heart stopped.
Jay still wouldn’t look at her, his gaze locked on the clock behind her.
“I didn’t!” Her voice cracked, rising three octaves. “He’s a client , Jay. That’s all!”
Jay scoffed. “I saw the way you looked at him. And when he wasn’t unconscious and bleeding on our sofa, I saw the way he looked at you.”
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, muffling her protest.
“You disrespected me. You disrespected our marriage .” His voice was flat. Final. “I want you and your things gone by this afternoon.”
Laila surged to her feet, leaning toward him. ““This is our home, Jay,” she said, voice shaking.
He tilted his head, a tight smile stretching across his face.
“In my name,” he corrected. “And I want you out.”
He gave her one final look of contempt before grabbing his laptop bag and leaving.
Laila sank back into her chair, stunned. Her marriage was over.
She had failed .
Her mind buzzed with static as she moved around the apartment, packing her things. Legally, she could stay. And maybe she should—just to see how far he would go to get rid of her. But as she looked around at the ransacked closet, the half-open drawers, the broken fragments of the life they had built together, she no longer wanted to.
Not only had she been robbed here, but she had also witnessed the death of her marriage here.
Divorced.
The word reverberated in her skull. She was going to be a divorcee.
She probably needed a support group. She should get friends. Other divorced women friends. What did divorced women do together? She hoped they didn’t drink wine. She hated wine.
Her gaze drifted to her vanity table.
Where was her mother’s ring?
Panic surged through her as she pulled open drawers, shuffled ring boxes, searched frantically.
Where was her mother’s ring?
She had left it behind when she went to L.A. She had set it down for just a second. She had planned to put it back on when she returned.
She had planned to fix everything when she returned. But it was too late now. The burglars had taken it. Her chest tightened. They had no idea what they had done. They had ruined her life. Laila sat on the edge of the bed and broke down, sobbing.
She had no family.
No friends.
And now, no husband.
Where would she go? What should she do? She slid to the floor, curling into herself. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, but when the distant sound of the Metra train horn signaled the afternoon rush, she knew it was time to leave.
She threw cold water on her face and stared at her reflection. Her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin mocked her. She grabbed her favorite Ajara Eye Cream, something she had discovered on Kat_Kares ’ YouTube channel, and applied it with shaking fingers.
Then she pulled on a battered trench coat, yanked a baseball cap low over her eyes, and walked away from the penthouse she never wanted to live in.
Taking the elevator down, it stopped on the third floor. Her heart stuttered - she hadn’t seen him since the paramedics had taken him away. Neither had she called or texted. When the elevator doors opened, it was only Mrs. Heeley. Laila released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Oh, hello dear, another trip?” Mrs. Heeley asked, her hair still in curlers. “Awful news about that break-in. You wonder what the world is coming to when you can’t even feel safe in your own home. Glad you and your mister are alright, though.”
Laila nodded, not trusting her voice.
“You know, I was quite the jet setter back in my day,” Mrs. Heeley continued cheerfully. “I once caught Burt Reynolds’ eye in first class. We were on Pan Am flying from New York to Seattle, and he gave me that famous smirk of his. Well, I almost had a mind to—”
The elevator doors opened to the lobby, cutting her off. “Oh well. You must come by for tea sometime, dear. We haven’t caught up in ages.” Mrs. Heeley gave her arm a sweet pat as Laila’s eyes threatened to fill with tears.
“That sounds lovely, Mrs. Heeley. I’ll take you up on that when I return.”
Laila wheeled her suitcase through the front lobby and called the Hyatt Regency. Her firm usually put up clients there, and she could secure a room for the night. So intent on looking up their address while dialing, she collided with someone.
“Easy there, Penthouse.” His voice made her knees buckle. She hesitated to look up. “It is you, isn’t it? I’ve been wrong before,” he added with a halfhearted chuckle.
When she finally met his gaze, the smile vanished from his face.
“Whoa, what happened to you?” Gabriel asked, concern etching his features.
Tears escaped despite her effort to hold them back. “I’ve been worried about you. Are you okay?” she managed.
“I’m fine. Let’s get you some coffee. Or something stronger, if you prefer?” He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the elevator. She sniffled and nodded. As they headed to his apartment, she discreetly wiped her nose with her sleeve. Just once, she wished she could look glamorous in front of him, instead of this bedraggled, sopping mess.
In his kitchen, he started the coffee maker as she studied him. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.
He winced, touching the back of his head. “Still tender, but I’ll live. Doctors said it was a mild concussion. Could’ve been worse if you hadn’t shown up when you did. You saved my life, Laila.” His lopsided smile made her insides flutter.
“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t come to see me. I’m so sorry,” Laila said as he added cream and two sugar cubes to her coffee. Taking the mug, her fingers brushed his, and the cold void inside her began to thaw. “Why did you come to see me?” Her voice was husky from the tears she couldn’t contain.
“The police didn’t tell you?” he asked.
“Jay has been handling everything with them. He compiled the list of stolen items and he’s fighting with the insurance company. The whole thing’s a mess.”
“Ah, the husband. I’m sorry we weren’t formally introduced,” Gabriel remarked casually, studying his nails.
“Soon to be ex-husband,” Laila corrected quietly.
The energy in the room shifted instantly. Gabriel’s eyes searched hers as he rounded the island. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” His expression suggested otherwise.
“I came that day to apologize,” he continued, his voice low and deliberate. “You came to LA, and I blew you off because Isabella got me excited about a business deal. I felt like an absolute jackass afterward. I’m so sorry, preciosa .”
Gabriel stood before her, placing his hands on either side of her, enveloping her in his warmth.
“Don’t do that,” Laila muttered.
“Do what?”
“Call me preciosa and all those endearments. I know it’s your thing—that it comes naturally because Latin men are born sensual, and your DNA does the salsa in its sleep—”
“You think I’m sensual?” he interrupted. He leaned in further as she scooched back, but was stopped by the cold marble of the kitchen island, which had her entrapped.
Laila rolled her eyes. “You’re very...” she gestured vaguely.
“Very what? I’m a slow learner. Please explain in detail.”
Laila set down her coffee and jabbed his chest, pushing him back slightly. “Fine! You’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. And it’s not just your looks. It’s how you move. How you hum. Every inch of you radiates sex in ways I didn’t think possible. Then there’s your art, which stirs feelings I’ve suppressed for decades. You bring everything to the surface—every urge, every desire, every raw emotion possible.” Her chest heaved as she finished, and she noticed his gaze fixed on her lips. She unconsciously licked them.
His eyes darkened. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
He captured her mouth with his. As their lips met, she cradled his face, opening to his heated breath. He groaned, “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.”
“Me too,” she gasped as he traced her jawline, kissing down her neck. His fingers unbuttoned her trench coat and impatiently lifted her shirt. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, feeling his hardness pressing against her leggings.
“Oh my God,” she moaned as his fingers grazed the underside of her breasts.
Her phone rang from the counter, startling them both.
“Ignore it, preciosa,” he murmured, hands tangling in her hair as he kissed her neck, her temples. “Stay with me.”
She nodded, dizzy from his kisses.
The phone rang again. “We should stop,” she whispered, “this could be important.”
He rocked against her, and she bit her lip to keep from begging for more. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she gasped, “I’m sure.” Laila fumbled for the phone while pushing him away.
“Hello, this is Laila Malik,” she answered briskly, ignoring her damp underwear and the sudden chill on her breasts.
“Hi Mrs. Malik, um... You don’t know me. But I have information about what happened to you a few weeks ago.” Laila’s heated blood turned to ice. “You got robbed, right?”
July 17
Los Angeles
Kat Kar
Kat’s blood boiled, and her lips curled in distaste as she watched Joseph and Christian paw at each other like animals in heat. No sense of decorum or consideration for anyone else in the room—like her!
It had been two days since Joseph had unofficially moved in. His boxers air-dried over the shower rod, while his 12-pound tub of muscle protein powder balanced precariously on their tiny kitchenette counter, making Kat’s eye twitch on and off all day.
Whatever anxiety Kat had about their arsenal of stolen goods was overshadowed by the unwanted guest she couldn’t control. He had basically driven her from their Polly Pocket apartment to the Cyber City Esports Center—in Gardena of all places!
She cautiously looked over her shoulder. All the gamer bros were locked and loaded, their eyes hypnotized by the screens before them. One dude even had drool seeping from his mouth, too engrossed to bother wiping it away. She shuddered, adjusting her beret and pushing up her blue-light-blocking glasses (available in twenty fun shades and adjustable sizes).
Logging in under her fake persona—Llama Del Rey—she jotted down the best sites to offload their merchandise, but each search reminded her of the shit ton of stolen goods waiting back at the apartment. Could she really pull this off? Her stomach twisted as she scrolled through the dark web, its eerie, outdated interfaces and cryptic instructions making her feel like she was wandering into dangerous territory.
Pawnshops, she decided, would be safer—for now. But the longer she lingered, the clearer it became: there was no turning back.
Satisfied with her research, she grimaced at the thought of returning to Christian and Joseph’s love nest. The faster she could get her hands on some cash, the sooner she could move out.
Kat paused, conflicted. She didn’t want to move out—she wanted Christian to stay put, available for her needs only. How could they ever go back to that?
As Kat slung her bag over her shoulder, a flash of burgundy and neon green stopped her in her tracks. Her pulse quickened. Only one person she knew could pull off that nuclear-hazmat concoction of a hair color—and even that was debatable. “Janvi?” she blurted, the name tumbling out before she could stop herself.
Janvi turned abruptly, beef jerky dangling from her lips. Kat’s eyes widened further. Everyone knew Janvi was vegan. She’d even signed an exclusive Ambassador deal with Daiya Foods last year.
“Kat?” Janvi asked with equal shock.
“What are you doing here?” they both asked each other in unison. Kat glanced over Janvi’s shoulder at the various tabs open and the 5-star reviews given out.
Kat gasped, “Are you writing your own reviews?”
Janvi slammed the laptop shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh my God, you’ve been faking followers and engagement. It all makes sense now.” Kat felt a wave of disappointment. How many other content creators were doing this? Was nothing sacred?
Janvi shot back, ‘You’ve got some nerve, looking like a Boho-Chic French Ex-Pat wannabe. Berets are so 2018. Who are you even influencing? Cottage-core grannies with coke-bottle glasses?’”
Kat winced at the jab, then glanced down at the notebook in her hand, where $80K was scribbled on the page. That’s when it hit her—she had just pulled off the heist of the century... or at least the week.
She allowed herself a small smile. “Well, at least my followers are legit, and I’m not sucking on beef jerky in a dark, crowded gamer den. When was the last time anyone verified your engagement numbers?”
Janvi’s eyes narrowed in annoyance before she pasted on her fake smile—the one she reserved for her Colgate Teeth Whitening Strip ads. Unraveling a high-pitched giggle, Janvi tossed her hair and briefly touched Kat on the arm. “Girl, this is so silly. You and I are both Bengali-American content creators. We’re the baddest in the game. We should be helping one another out. Girls supporting girls, am I right?”
Kat continued to stare at her, lips pressed in a firm line.
Janvi kept rambling. “I actually got a LiveTinted invite for this Saturday. You should totally be my plus one. How shocking would that be? You’ve been out of the game for so long, it’d be like you’re coming back from the dead, am I right?”
Kat schooled her features into a slightly bored expression, even though excitement buzzed beneath her skin. She loved that brand—the founder, the story, everything about it. But she wasn’t about to let Janvi know how much it meant to her. Not yet.
“I’ll let you know.” With that, she turned and walked away with a smirk.
“Think about it, ‘#BengaliBesties.’ It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Janvi called after her.
As Kat stepped out of the café and into the hazy LA sun, she couldn’t help but wonder if partnering with Janvi might not be the worst idea in the world.
—
W ALKING INTO HER APARTMENT , Kat felt a surge of accomplishment. She had set a goal, achieved it, and now the opportunities were flooding in. She surveyed the room, her smile vanishing as she realized the compression cube packs containing all of the stuff they had brought back from Chicago were gone.
Panicked, she screamed, “Christian! Christiaaannnnn! Where’s all our stuff? Where’s all my stuff?”
Christian, wearing a Pikachu onesie, yawned and opened the bedroom door. “Kat, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Kat brushed past her. “Where is Joseph? Where is he?”
“Chill, he went to the store. He’ll be back soon. Why are you hyperventilating?” Christian said, grabbing a breakfast smoothie from the mini-fridge.
“Christian, open your eyes. Our stuff is gone. Joseph is gone. Make it make sense!” Kat frantically searched under the sofa and coffee table, praying she might find a lost earring or brooch left behind.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation. Just relax,” Christian said, sitting on the couch.
“We did this together, Christian. You let a man come in and undermine the whole thing. Did Joseph give you amnesia during your amorous congress?” Kat’s voice trembled with fury.
Christian sputtered, “Amorous what? Where do you get these words? Look, I’ll call him.” Christian dialed, her voice unnaturally high. “Weird, the line’s disconnected. I’ll text him.” After a moment, she reported, “The text isn’t going through. Maybe he’s in a basement with no signal.”
Kat sank to the floor, head in hands. “We have to go to the police.”
Christian burst out laughing. “Are you out of your mind? If you tell the police, you’ll get yourself arrested. What, you think they’ll give you a reward for honesty?”
Kat shook her head in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re defending him. You know Joseph did this.”
“No, he didn’t!” Christian shouted. “Keep my boyfriend’s name out of your mouth, Kat. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what’s going on here. Let’s just wait for him to get home and see what he has to say for himself.”
Kat ground out a curse before stomping out and slamming the door behind her.
Men ruined everything—ecocide, femicide, and now friendocide.
She walked to the beach, the breeze caressing her face. Sitting on the sand, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Christian’s words echoed in her head: “You think the police will reward you for honesty?”
The police might not, but Laila Malik might. Kat’s eyes flew open. Without hesitation, she called Laila. When Laila didn’t answer, Kat kept calling, determined.
“Hello, this is Laila Malik,” finally came the response.
Kat accidentally flicked sand toward her face, blinking and spitting out debris. “Hi, Mrs. Malik, um... You don’t know me, but I have information about what happened to you a few weeks ago. You got robbed, right?”
July 17
Chicago
Laila Malik
Laila clutched her trench coat lapels together, the blood draining from her head. “Who is this?” she demanded.
Gabriel looked at her questioningly. She put the phone on speaker and straightened her clothes. A young woman’s voice continued, “Look, it doesn’t matter who I am. The guy you’re looking for is Joseph Chery. He’s super slick and shady, he’s got my best friend wrapped around his—anyway. Your stuff is in LA. Come here. Find him.”
Laila looked down at her phone and the caller ID that had appeared on Instagram. “Are you impersonating Kat_Kares , the YouTuber?” she asked incredulously.
“Lifestyle Influencer!” the voice shot back hotly. “And um...no. I mean yes. I am. Okay, bye!” A seagull squawked in the background before the line went dead.
Laila looked at Gabriel. “Do you have a pen? I need to write this down.”
Gabriel continued to gaze at her cleavage in a stupor until he realized she was speaking to him. “Hmm?” He lifted an eyebrow in question.
“A pen, Gabriel. I need a pen,” Laila repeated slowly.
“Right,” he nodded and smiled, a dimple flashing in his right cheek. She laughed softly in response. When he returned with a notebook and pen, he gave her a quick kiss on the nose, causing her to blush. There was something about the way he looked at her. It made her feel things. Things she didn’t have names for. Things she’d never felt before.
“Focus,” she said sternly, more to herself than him. “We have a lead on who took our things, but more importantly who hurt you.”
“Fine,” Gabriel grumbled, sitting on the stool beside her. “Okay. Your stuff is in LA. And the name she gave us was Joseph Cherry or something. But preciosa, I am man enough to admit that I was accosted by two very vicious young women who were definitely in their twenties. One had a Caribbean accent and the other had that LA girl accent.”
Laila reviewed the caller ID on her phone only to realize the profile came back as unknown, and the picture was greyed out. “I could have sworn it said Kat_Kares a second ago.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened. “That’s what her friend called her—Kathmandu! What if it’s the same girl?”
Laila looked at him perplexed. “The girl’s name is the capital city of Nepal?”
Gabriel pulled out his phone and looked up Kat Kares. His screen flooded with multiple pouty images of ‘The Bengali Baddie’ who was hawking everything from a Vitamix to natural deodorant. His stomach turned at the memory of how she had attacked him. “Yup, that’s the girl who broke into your house. She was with a friend, though—Christmas something. Why would she rob you? Is she a cousin? You all look a little related.”
Immediately annoyed, she elbowed him. “Not all brown girls look alike,” she said while peering over his shoulder to get a look at this Kat Kares.
“I’m brown too,” he protested.
“You’re not brown, you’re like a golden, delicious truffle,” she retorted without thinking.
Gabriel swiftly turned around and pinned her back against his kitchen island. “Oh yeah, how delicious?”
“Very,” she whispered softly.
As he bent down to kiss her, the phone rang again. Gabriel groaned, “I’m going to chuck that phone into Lake Michigan.”
Laila also wanted to fling her phone away and hurtle herself into his arms. Instead, she reluctantly looked down at the caller ID and saw that it was her office. “I have to take this. I’m sorry, it’s Carol.”
Gabriel hung his head and sighed before giving her a quick wink. “Tell her I said hi.”
Laila swatted him away.
“As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Laila Malik,” Carol’s grating voice blasted through the phone, piercing her eardrums.
Laila winced. “Yep, here I am.”
“Well, pardon me, Madam. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to get hold of you with your holidays in LA and Jamaica. It’s like watching Cher go on a world tour,” the sarcasm dripped through the phone.
“Anything I can do for you, Carol?” Laila asked through clenched teeth, drumming her fingers impatiently against the kitchen countertop.
“Well, since you asked, if you could be so kind as to grace us with your presence at some point today, I do have two depositions waiting for you that Alex wanted an answer on,” Carol paused to rattle out a wheezy, emphysemic cough before reiterating in a more threatening tone, “right away.”
“Oh, if that’s regarding the Badawi and Okonkwo cases, he sent them to me last night. I glanced over them briefly—” Laila started to say.
Carol hung up before Laila could finish her thought.
Laila glanced at Gabriel. Gabriel glanced toward his bedroom and wiggled his eyebrows. Laila suppressed a small smile, shook her head, and glanced toward the front door.
“Fine,” Gabriel groaned. “You go to the office. I’ll go to the police station with our lead. And then we’ll meet back here, is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” Laila smiled mischievously.
“But seriously, Laila, is there any reason why these girls would target you? Are they disgruntled past clients? Distant relatives? The cops are going to want to know the motivation.”
Laila shook her head while skimming briefly through the cases in her mind. “I win most of my cases, and the ones that don’t work out, the families never blame me. They know it’s a tough system.”
Gabriel walked over to her, grabbed her around the waist, and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the lips. “I really did grab the best lawyer in town, didn’t I?”
Laila felt herself dissolving into warm, liquid fizz before remembering that she needed her job and, most importantly, her salary.
“I’ll be back soon.” Feeling emboldened, she stood on her toes and gave him a peck on the lips.
He growled, “Go now or I won’t let you leave my bedroom for a week.”
Laughing, her face flushed, she left his apartment feeling giddy and the tiniest bit hopeful that the world wasn’t such a terrible place after all.