Chapter Twenty-Five
Jayla
My real mother didn’t ask me to forgive her.
That helped.
Rochelle sat inside my temporary studio watching children paint small wooden doors. Zo? had declared red the only acceptable color, but several children ignored her leadership and chose blue, pink, and gold.
“Your grandmother would’ve loved this,” Rochelle said.
“She planned most of it.”
“She planted the idea. You built it.”
I dipped my brush into yellow paint.
“You don’t have to compliment me.”
“I’m trying to speak to my daughter.”
“You’ve had twenty-eight years.”
“I know.”
She didn’t offer an excuse.
That helped too.
Imani sat near the front window with her ankle elevated. She had sprained it during the hospital escape and was enjoying her temporary authority as an injured person.
“Jayla, I need water.”
“There’s a bottle beside you.”
“It isn’t cold.”
“You almost got blown up yesterday, and somehow that made you more annoying.”
“Trauma presents differently in everyone.”
Zo? ran over holding a wet red door.
“This keeps monsters out.”
Rochelle’s face changed.
“Your great-grandmother used to say that.”
“Auntie Jay told me.”
Zo? returned to the other children.
I looked at my mother.
“Was the red door real?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“The winter garden. Lenora, Nia, Evelyn, and Berkeley’s mother created a safe room behind it. They hid women rescued from Victor’s ships.”
“What happened to them?”
“Some escaped. Some testified. Others disappeared after Sebastian gave Victor the safe-house list.”
“Grandma’s friend was killed.”
“Her name was Denise.”
“Did Grandma ever forgive Sebastian?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
“She worked with him afterward.”
“Forgiveness and cooperation aren’t the same.”
Grandma had written something similar in her letter.
“She understood why he chose his children,” Rochelle continued. “She never accepted that other women had to die for them.”
“What would she want me to do with the archive?”
“Protect the victims. Expose everyone else.”
“How?”
“The constellation cipher separates the files.”
“I arranged those symbols without knowing what they meant.”
“Evelyn taught you the pattern as a child.”
“All those nights painting stars…”
“She was preparing you in case she died.”
Grandma had placed a responsibility inside the only language I always understood.
Art.
For years, I believed my creativity made me impractical. Lost. Incapable of surviving the real world.
It had been protecting people before I knew their names.
“Will you help me?” I asked.
Rochelle looked at me.
“With the archive?”
“With identifying Grandma’s files.”
Hope entered her face.
“That doesn’t mean everything is fixed.”
“I know.”
“It may never be.”
“I know that too.”
“But you can help.”
She nodded.
“I’d like that.”
It wasn’t forgiveness.
It was a door.
She would have to decide whether she was brave enough to walk through it.
Kenzie called from federal custody that evening.
Her hair had been pulled into a messy bun, and the orange uniform made her look younger.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“Asha thinks I may serve eighteen months if I continue cooperating.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I earned it.”
I didn’t disagree.
“They recovered most of the money,” she continued. “Everything except what I spent.”
“Do you regret giving it up?”
“Every hour.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Kenzie smiled.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m trying.”
Her expression became serious.
“Lenora contacted me.”
“How?”
“A message appeared through the prison tablet.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’ll clear my charges and return twice the money if I help her reach you.”
“And?”
“I forwarded it to Asha.”
A small piece of trust settled between us.
Not enough to rebuild anything.
Enough to prove the foundation had once been real.
“Thank you.”
“Jay?”
This time, I allowed the nickname.
“Yes?”
“If I get out, I want to earn my way back.”
“I don’t know whether we can be what we were.”
“We shouldn’t be. What we were had lies inside it.”
She was right.
“Then we start with the truth,” I said.
“I miss you.”
“I miss who I thought you were.”
Kenzie accepted that without crying.
“I’m going to become somebody you can know for real.”
“That’s up to you.”
The call ended.
Malachi arrived after the final art class.
He wore a black sweater instead of a suit, and exhaustion remained beneath his eyes.
Two guards waited outside.
We had compromised.
“You ate?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Food.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Boiled eggs and toast.”
“You need a vegetable.”
“I drank a green smoothie.”
“That counts.”
He glanced around the studio.
Every child had left a painted door on the drying table.
“What are those?”
“Protection against monsters.”
“Effective?”
“Depends on the monster.”
His attention settled on me.
“Do I qualify?”
“Occasionally.”
He removed a small box from his pocket.
My body stiffened.
“That had better not be another engagement ring.”
“It isn’t.”
“Good.”
Malachi opened it.
Inside was Grandma Evelyn’s silver necklace bearing the reversed Devereaux crest. The tracking device had been removed and the metal carefully restored.
“This belongs to you,” he said.
I touched the necklace.
“It belonged to Grandma.”
“Exactly.”
He lifted it but waited.
“May I?”
I turned around.
“Yes.”
Malachi fastened the chain around my neck.
His fingers brushed my skin. This time, I didn’t tense.
When I faced him, the careful distance remained between us.
“We should discuss what happens after Lenora,” he said.
“That sounds ominous.”
“The federal investigation into Victor’s death may lead to charges against me.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did Asha say?”
“That the case is complicated. Victor’s body was cremated, the recording was obtained illegally, and several witnesses are dead.”
“That sounds helpful.”
“I intend to provide a statement.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking my mother, Simone, Kenzie, and everyone else to accept responsibility for their choices.”
“And you believe that means volunteering for prison?”
“I believe hiding would make me a hypocrite.”
I hated his logic.
“What happens to us?”
He looked at my bare ring finger.
“I’ll publicly end the engagement.”
Pain arrived before reason could stop it.
“You want to end it?”
“The arrangement was created to protect you. It has now placed you in greater danger.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“If I’m arrested, I don’t want you tied to me.”
“You’re deciding for me again.”
“I’m giving you a way out.”
“I didn’t ask for one.”
“You should take it.”
I stepped back.
“Do you want me?”
His control slipped.
“Yes.”
The answer filled the studio.
“Then why are you pushing me away?”
“Because wanting you doesn’t mean I’m good for you.”
“I decide what is good for me.”
“You deserve a life without armed guards, family conspiracies, and men trying to use you to reach me.”
“Before you, I had overdue bills, terrible dates, and a best friend paid to spy on me. My life wasn’t exactly peaceful.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“The point is you’re afraid.”
“I’m not.”
“You are terrified I’ll choose you and regret it.”
He looked away.
I stepped closer.
“Malachi, look at me.”
He did.
“I don’t want the fake engagement.”
“I understand.”
“I want a real relationship.”
He became completely still.
“Dating,” I continued. “Slowly. Honestly. No secret bodies appearing in conversation months later.”
“I can agree to that.”
“You ask before touching.”
“Always.”
“You don’t use money to make decisions for me.”
“Yes.”
“You attend therapy.”
“I already do.”
“More often.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Fine.”
“And if the investigation becomes ugly, you tell me. You don’t disappear because you decided suffering alone is noble.”
“I’ve never believed suffering was noble.”
“You certainly treat it like a hobby.”
His mouth moved.
I touched his chest.
“Do you want this?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask me.”
Malachi stared at me for a long moment.
“Jayla Bennett, will you allow me to court you properly?”
“Court?”
“I’m older than you.”
“You’re thirty-four, not eighty.”
“I like the word.”
I smiled.
“Yes. You may court me.”
“May I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
He cupped my face carefully and lowered his mouth to mine.
The kiss was different from the others.
Not desperate. Not borrowed from a crisis.
Chosen.
When we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.
“You understand I still intend to protect you.”
“Protection and control are different.”
“I’m learning.”
My phone chimed.
An electronic invitation filled the screen.
THE FOUNDERS’ CONVOCATION
Five days from now.
Beneath it was a handwritten message from Lenora.
Bring the woman who can separate the stars from the monsters. Without Jayla, every name becomes public.
Malachi read over my shoulder.
“You aren’t going.”
I looked at him.
He closed his eyes.
“Incorrect beginning.”
“Very.”
He tried again.
“We need to discuss whether you should go.”
“Better.”
“I’ll argue against it.”
“I expected that.”
“And you’ll probably ignore me.”
“Growth. You’re learning quickly.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then we looked at the invitation again.
Lenora needed my knowledge of Grandma’s cipher to separate the victims from the guilty.
That gave me power.
It also made me the final piece of her plan.
In five days, New York’s most dangerous families would gather beneath one roof.
Lenora intended to expose all of them.
Malachi intended to stop her.
And I would have to decide which secrets deserved daylight—and which belonged to people who had already suffered enough.