Chapter 16
Six Months Later
Bria
One hundred and eighty-two days of waking up in the same bed. Of eating three meals a day. Of watching the mangroves sway through the barred window that no longer felt like a cage.
I was sober.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying my reflection.
My cheeks had filled out, and the shadows beneath my eyes had faded.
My hair—once brittle and thin—now fell past my shoulders in soft, healthy waves.
I'd had it trimmed last week when Rosa took me to a salon in the city, Kael's men following at a distance.
The girl staring back at me was almost a stranger. I had been on drugs since I was seventeen.
I ran my fingers over my collarbones. They were still visible, but not sharp anymore. My skin tone had evened out to a warm nutmeg brown instead of ashy grey, and my body was learning to hold weight again. I remembered being thick like Maya and wearing matching outfits back in the day.
A chuckle slipped past my lips. I loved her like a sister.
I was glad she wasn't mad at me about the Caine incident anymore; I didn't know what I'd do without her.
I had known her for so long, and we'd both gone through so much.
Malachai had helped her back then, just like Kael was helping me now, and we could both be healthy together.
I felt like my sobriety would stick this time.
I sighed and ran my hands down my hips. I was healthy, beautiful, and ready for coffee.
I pulled on a matching navy blue silk short set Kael had laid out for me. Who would've thought I'd let a man dress me? I had a closet full of clothes he'd picked out.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and bacon. Kael stood at the stove, his back to me, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. What is this, some mob shit? I thought. Rolled-up dress shirts instead of just wearing a short-sleeved one. I was going to ask him about it one day.
Today, though, I just wanted to watch him.
I leaned against the doorframe. He gave me ten seconds.
"Morning, Bunny," he said without turning around.
I smiled despite myself. "How do you always know?"
"You breathe loud." He glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And you walk heavy."
"Is that your way of calling me fat?"
He chuckled. "I think we both know it isn't. Come eat. No coffee yet."
I walked to the kitchen island and slid onto one of the stools. He set a plate in front of me: eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh fruit.
I stared at the food, caught in thought.
We had a routine now. He made breakfast, I ate, and we sat in comfortable silence, reading or scrolling through our phones.
Sometimes he'd tell me about his day; sometimes I'd tell him about mine—the books I was reading, the recipes I was trying, the way the mangroves looked when the sun set.
Normal things. Human things. Non-addict things.
He'd leave for work when he needed to, and I'd spend the day in the house.
Rosa would come, I'd read, walk the grounds, and wait.
Every night, we'd have dinner, talk, and exist in the same space—two people who had somehow become each other's gravity.
Maya said everybody had noticed the changes in him; he was less walled off.
I never asked him about the future again, and he never mentioned it. But I thought about it every single day.
What would happen when he decided I was fixed? When I was no longer a project, no longer a liability, no longer a broken little rabbit he needed to save? What would happen when he let me go?
That thought terrified me. My chest tightened, my stomach twisted, and my hands shook in a way that had nothing to do with withdrawal.
I didn't want to leave. It was so funny how much I didn't want to leave. I had been kidnapped and locked in a room, yet I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon, watch him cook for me, and pretend we were a normal couple.
I wanted him, and that terrified me more than anything he'd ever done.
"Bria."
I looked up. "Huh?"
"You need to eat."
I stared at him. I was always staring at him now.
He looked different now that I was fully sober—less monstrous.
Tall, broad shoulders, wide chest. His jaw looked like it had been carved out of stone, rough with stubble that made him look dangerous even when doing something as ordinary as flipping bacon.
Then there were his eyes: the eyes of a man who could watch somebody die without blinking... yet somehow still soften every time they landed on me.
It made no sense. He made no sense.
I had never in my life thought about writing a poem, but now I caught myself trying to come up with the words to describe someone like him. How could one man look so much like salvation and damnation at the same time?
"Bria." It was a warning tone.
"Okay, I'm eating."
I picked up my fork, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. He watched me the whole time.
When I was finished, he kissed my forehead like it was a reward. "I'll be back later tonight. Rosa is upstairs already. I have a surprise for you."
I was in the living room that evening when he came home. He was in a dark suit, no tie, his hair slicked back. He looked like he was about to attend a funeral or close a deal.
I set down my book. "You're dressed up."
"I have a business dinner." He walked toward me, hands in his pockets. "I need you to come with me."
I blinked. "Me?"
"You."
I shook my head violently. I had never been to a business dinner, and I didn't want to start now. "Kael, I can't. I'm not ready to deal with people." My heart was double-dutching in my chest. I wanted to stay right here in our space. Tears flooded my eyes.
He stopped in front of me, looking down with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You have to get reacclimated to the world, Bria. You can't hide away. That's why you're coming. Be brave for me."
That last part got me. I would do anything for him at this point.
"I don't have anything to wear," I said, still trying to make an excuse.
"I bought you a dress. That's the surprise I talked about this morning."
Of course he did.
The dress was black, simple, but elegant. It hugged my curves and fell just above my knees. The neckline was modest, but the back dipped low, exposing the new muscle I'd built from walking the grounds. I looked like someone who belonged in his world.
Kael was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. When he saw me, something flickered in his eyes. He cocked his head and spoke in a low vibrato:
"Were I Pygmalion or God, I would make you exactly as you are... in all dimensions. From your warm hair to your intimate toes, would you be wholly in your own image. I would change nothing, add or take away."
I blinked hard. It was ironic; I'd been thinking about him inspiring me to write poetry, and here he was quoting a film.
My face felt hot, and tears threatened to surface again.
I covered it up, though—I didn't want him to know that almost anything he said, even corny compliments, made me feel like I was going to melt.
"I see Maya has struck again. How many times did she make you guys watch Cooley High?"
He laughed. "Seven. I didn't realize I'd remember that quote until I saw you just now."
I looked down, trying to hide my face. "Well... it was beautiful. Even if you did steal it from a movie."
"It's true."
I looked up at him, my heart pounding. "Kael..."
Be still, my fucking heart. I ducked my head again. "Can we go?"
He laughed. "Come on."
The car ride was quiet. I sat in the passenger seat, watching the city lights blur past. It had been so long since I'd been outside the estate that everything felt new, foreign, and overwhelming, yet exhilarating all at once.
"Why are you going to a charity gala?" I asked.
"My family runs it every year." He glanced at me. "It's a good place to be seen. To remind people I'm dangerous."
I blinked. That was so Kael, yet this was also the man who quoted movies.