Chapter 4
Jemma froze just inside the door, her eyes wide and stunned as she took in the chaos.
She didn’t move.
Couldn’t move.
The room looked like a war zone, and she could feel the blood drain from her face as her gaze swept over the damage. The shattered desk. The destroyed chair.
But it was the symbols that made her breath catch.
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing on the strange squiggles painted on the far wall. They weren’t random. They weren’t vandalism for vandalism’s sake.
They were codes.
Recognition hit like a punch to the gut.
Jasper.
She’d seen those symbols before—just a few weeks ago.
He’d been sprawled on the floor of their apartment, flipping through a book about American history and subcultures.
He’d been fascinated by the hobo code, an old visual language used by transient workers during the Great Depression.
Symbols left in chalk or carved into fences—messages about where to find shelter, work, danger.
She hadn’t paid much attention at the time. She’d been folding laundry. Distracted.
Now she stared at the symbols again, her heart pounding as the pieces snapped into place.
This wasn’t some senseless tantrum.
Jasper had been sending a message.
And whatever that message was, he’d used Saif’s office as the canvas.
Slowly, she turned to face Saif.
He was too close—standing just behind her like a wall of heat and fury and questions. She took a step back, needing space, needing breath.
But he followed her with his eyes.
Good grief, he looked the same. Better, even.
That crisp white shirt strained slightly over the muscles covering his chest, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing the cords of muscles there as well.
He was all strength and sharp edges. The kind of man who took up every inch of space in a room without saying a word.
She remembered sleeping against that chest. Making love with this man.
Her fingers in his hair. Her lips on his skin.
The way he’d made her feel safe and desired and powerful—all at once.
Saif had been more than just her lover. He’d been her partner.
Her teacher. The only man who’d ever looked at her and seen potential, not a placeholder.
When they’d met, she’d still been soft—still worried about hurting people’s feelings in meetings, still hesitant to speak up. Saif had taught her not to shrink. Not to apologize for being intelligent. He’d taught her to own her space.
Until she’d given it all up.
Now, she worked for a man who punished dissent and rewarded submission. Who shut her down before she could speak. Who demanded coffee and silence instead of insight.
Not because she’d become weak.
But because she couldn’t afford to lose the job that was keeping a roof over their heads.
“I’ll pay you for the damage,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Just send me the bill. I’ll take care of it.”
Her eyes never wavered, though her stomach churned. She had no idea how she’d pay him back. She could barely keep up with her mother’s medical debt. But she’d figure it out. Somehow.
Even if it meant letting the interest pile up on the hospital bills again.
Because she’d rather be indebted to the cruel, heartless American healthcare system than to him.
With Saif, it wouldn’t just be financial.
It would be personal.
“I’m so sorry my brother did this,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking.
And then she turned.
Quickly.
Deliberately.
She walked toward the door, every step stiff with determination. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t beg. She’d face this, take the hit, and protect Jasper.
She made it to the threshold—just one more step and she’d be gone.
But then his voice, low and commanding, stopped her cold.
“Jemma.”
Just her name.
But it held a thousand questions.
And not a single ounce of forgiveness.