Chapter Nineteen
Jayla
My mother slept for fourteen hours after we brought her to Malachi’s estate.
When she woke, I was waiting.
Rochelle looked around the guest room.
“You’re living here?”
“Temporarily.”
“With him?”
“The house is large.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You lost the right to question my relationships when you hired someone to infiltrate my life.”
She winced.
Good.
“I thought Kenzie would keep you safe.”
“You keep saying that as if wanting a good outcome erases the damage.”
“It doesn’t.”
Her answer surprised me.
Rochelle sat against the pillows.
“I failed you.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
“Good.”
“But I want a chance to tell you why.”
“You were afraid. There were dangerous people. Grandma told you to stay away. I’ve heard every variation.”
“I was selfish.”
I became quiet.
She looked down at her hands.
“Your grandmother made raising you look easy. Whenever I came home, you reached for her first. You listened to her. Loved her. I convinced myself you didn’t need me.”
“I was a child.”
“I know.”
“No, you know now. Back then, you saw me loving Grandma and decided it released you from being my mother.”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt differently from an excuse.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said.
“Nothing yet.”
“That may be all I can give you.”
She nodded.
I stood to leave.
“Jayla.”
I stopped.
“The footage from Evelyn’s hospital is going to be released.”
“What footage?”
“Lenora has a video of me entering your grandmother’s room the night she died.”
Cold moved through me.
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
I wanted to believe it.
“What happened?”
“She called me because the nurse Lenora sent had arrived. Evelyn knew they were going to kill her.”
“And you left her there?”
“She made me.”
“Nobody makes you abandon people. You choose it.”
Rochelle closed her eyes.
“She gave me the memory box and told me to protect you. I left through the service elevator. She died twenty minutes later.”
“You could’ve called for help.”
“The police worked for Victor.”
“A doctor. Security. Anybody.”
“She was already dying.”
“Not from that!”
My voice broke.
Rochelle cried silently.
I couldn’t remain there.
Malachi waited in the hallway.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
“You collect secrets professionally. You should learn not to stand near doors.”
“I came to tell you the temporary studio is ready.”
I wiped my face.
“I forgot about it.”
“I didn’t.”
Malachi had converted an empty storefront inside one of his Brooklyn hotels into a temporary workspace.
The Bennett Originals sign had been cleaned and mounted above the entrance. My surviving artwork covered the walls, and every damaged tool had been replaced.
A folder rested on the counter.
The loan agreement was signed and notarized.
No hidden ownership. No conditions.
Exactly what I requested.
“You did this in one day?”
“I hired people.”
“Of course.”
“I chose nothing except the security system.”
“How many armed guards?”
“Four.”
“Malachi.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Two.”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
Children’s laughter came from the back room.
I turned.
Zo? emerged wearing an apron covered in gold paint. Several children from the Art Garden followed her.
“What is this?”
“The center needed temporary space while their heating system is repaired,” Malachi said. “You mentioned wanting to teach.”
My chest tightened.
I had mentioned it once on the plane.
He remembered.
“You listened.”
“I usually do.”
Zo? ran toward me.
“We’re making broken things pretty!”
I looked at Malachi.
“Thank you.”
“You’re paying for it.”
“Romantic.”
“You wanted a loan.”
“I did.”
He leaned closer.
“You can thank me with another sample.”
I smiled.
“Was that flirting?”
“Possibly.”
“You need practice.”
“Tonight.”
“What’s tonight?”
“Our first date.”
“We’ve traveled internationally, been shot at, and announced an engagement.”
“None were dates.”
“What do dangerous billionaires do on dates?”
“I made reservations.”
“Where?”
“A place without bullets.”
“My standards have become tragic.”
He took me to the community art center after it closed.
Dinner waited inside the classroom containing my childhood mural. No crowds. No reporters. No armed men visible, although I knew at least two were outside.
The table sat beneath the painted stars.
“You did all of this?” I asked.
“I hired people.”
“One day, you’re going to take personal credit for something.”
“I selected the food.”
“What did you order?”
“Everything separately.”
“For you?”
“For both of us. You can combine yours.”
I sat across from him.
For the first time, we spoke without discussing Bishop, murder, missing parents, or encrypted evidence.
He told me about raising his siblings and burning three separate dinners before Celeste banned him from the kitchen. I told him about drawing on Grandma’s walls and blaming Nasir, although he hadn’t been born yet.
Malachi laughed.
A real laugh.
I liked the sound more than I should have.
After dinner, we stood beneath my childhood mural.
“I need to tell you something,” I said.
His expression became serious.
“The boy Kenzie reported on. Malik.”
Malachi waited.
“He was my first boyfriend. I trusted him. One night, he and his cousin locked me inside a room.”
I couldn’t look at him while I explained the rest.
I didn’t give every detail.
I gave enough.
When I finished, Malachi remained silent.
Too silent.
“Say something.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
My eyes burned.
“I went there willingly.”
“You didn’t agree to what happened.”
“I should’ve left sooner.”
“You said no.”
“Yes.”
“Then everything after that belonged to them. Not you.”
The certainty in his voice broke something open inside me.
“You aren’t going to ask for their names?”
“I want them.”
“I’m not giving them to you.”
“Then I won’t ask.”
“You won’t find them?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
I searched his face.
Restraint cost him something.
He paid it anyway.
“May I hug you?” he asked.
I nodded.
Malachi opened his arms and waited for me to cross the space.
I stepped into them.
He held me carefully, his hands still against my back. No wandering. No pulling. No expectation that comfort had purchased anything else.
For once, being held didn’t feel like being trapped.
I tilted my face toward his.
“You can kiss me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His mouth touched mine slowly.
The kiss deepened, but he allowed me to guide it. When my body tensed, he stopped immediately.
“Too much?”
“A little.”
He stepped back.
I caught his hand.
“I don’t want to stop. I need a second.”
“We have all night.”
“We do?”
“We have as long as you need.”
I rested my forehead against his chest until my breathing settled.
His phone vibrated.
He ignored it.
Then mine began ringing.
Malachi checked his screen.
His expression changed.
“What happened?”
“Lenora released two files from the archive.”
I opened the news alert on my phone.
The first file contained hospital footage of my mother entering Grandma Evelyn’s room shortly before her death.
The second was an audio recording.
Malachi’s younger voice filled the room.
Victor dies before sunrise. Make it look like his heart.
My stomach dropped.
He had already admitted killing Victor.
The rest of the world was learning now.
Sirens sounded outside.
Dorian called.
“Federal agents are at the center. They have warrants for both of you.”
“For Jayla too?” Malachi asked.
“Conspiracy, theft of protected evidence, and obstruction.”
Malachi reached for my hand.
“We can leave through the rear exit.”
Running would make us look guilty.
It could also protect us long enough to expose Lenora.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
Not an order.
A choice.
I looked through the window at the flashing lights.
“We don’t run.”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“They may separate us.”
“Then we find our way back.”
The doors opened.
Agents entered with weapons drawn.
Malachi stepped beside me, not in front.
“Malachi Devereaux and Jayla Bennett,” an agent announced. “You are both under arrest.”
Malachi looked at me.
“Red door.”
Safety.
A promise that we would come when the other was afraid.
“Red door,” I repeated.
They placed us in handcuffs and led us in opposite directions.