Chapter One The Post That Started the War #2
Makayla grabbed her phone and searched recent tagged photos from The Black Meridian. She found a woman posing in the same hallway from the same week.
Black wall. Gold trim. Tall mirror.
No green marble stripe.
Makayla’s mouth went dry.
“No, no, no…”
She checked the SUV picture again.
The license plate was blurred, but the valet sign behind the vehicle had a curved silver logo at the top.
She searched The Black Meridian valet signs.
Square black logo.
She searched private event venues in Morrow Bay.
Her pulse kicked when she found one.
The Obsidian Hall.
Charcoal-green marble walls. Curved silver valet logo.
Makayla pushed the laptop away like it had burned her.
The pictures were real.
The location was wrong.
Her post had gone viral using evidence from somewhere else.
She grabbed her phone and called Vasha.
Vasha answered on the fourth ring, voice thick with sleep and excitement. “Girl, do you see your numbers? You killing it.”
“Where did that source come from?”
“What?”
“The Jarvis source. The first message. Did you send them to me?”
Vasha paused. “I forward tips all the time. Which one?”
“The one from tonight.”
“I don’t know. I think it came through the backup inbox.”
“You think?”
“Makayla, it’s late. Why you acting weird?”
“Because the hallway in the picture isn’t The Black Meridian.”
Silence.
Makayla stood and started pacing. “The valet sign either. Vasha, those pictures came from Obsidian Hall.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Yeah. Oh, hell.”
“Okay, okay, breathe. Just update the post and say there are questions about the location.”
Makayla laughed once, dry and empty. “The whole city already got his name in their mouth.”
“Then take it down.”
Makayla looked at the screen.
Taking it down would be an admission. Leaving it up could ruin an innocent man. She hated the word innocent attached to a man like Jarvis because men with that much power were rarely clean all the way through, but proof mattered.
Proof was supposed to matter.
Her phone buzzed while Vasha was still talking.
A new message came from an unknown number.
No profile picture.
No name.
Just one sentence.
You posted the wrong thing, Makayla.
Her breath stopped.
Vasha’s voice sounded far away. “Kayla? You there?”
Makayla stared at her real name on the screen.
Nobody from Dirty Little Proof knew her real name except Vasha and Auntie Zella.
Nobody.
Another message appeared.
Come outside.
Makayla moved to the window before common sense could stop her.
The rain had slowed to mist. Streetlights smeared gold across the wet pavement below her apartment building. A black car sat across the street, engine running, headlights dimmed.
A man leaned against the passenger side.
Tall. Still. Dressed in black.
Even from the third floor, Makayla knew.
Jarvis Draven.
Her stomach dropped.
“Vasha,” she whispered.
“What?”
“He’s outside.”
“Who?”
“Jarvis.”
The line went quiet.
Makayla backed away from the window. “How does he know where I live?”
Vasha’s breath shook. “Don’t go down there.”
Makayla stared at the phone. “Why did your voice just change?”
“What?”
“You sound scared.”
“I’m telling you don’t go down there, Makayla.”
“Why?”
“Because men like him don’t come to talk.”
Makayla ended the call.
Her mind raced, but her body moved with strange calm. She put on jeans, a black hoodie, and sneakers. She pulled her hair down, finger-combed it once, and grabbed the small can of pepper spray from her dresser.
Auntie Zella opened her bedroom door right as Makayla stepped into the hallway.
“No,” Zella said.
Makayla froze. “I gotta handle something.”
“You ain’t gotta meet danger at the curb.”
“He knows my name.”
Zella’s eyes sharpened. “Who?”
Makayla swallowed. “Jarvis Draven.”
Zella stepped closer. “Call the police.”
“And say what? The man I accused online came to my apartment after I ruined his name with evidence I’m no longer sure about?”
“You said no longer sure?”
Makayla looked away.
Zella closed her robe tighter. “Baby.”
“I messed up,” Makayla whispered.
The words hurt coming out.
She had built herself on being sure. On being careful. On being the person people could trust when everybody else had failed them.
Zella touched her arm. “Then fix it smart.”
Makayla looked toward the front door. “He already knows where I live. If I hide, he still knows.”
“That ain’t a reason to walk into his hands.”
Makayla squeezed the pepper spray. “I’m walking with this.”
Zella gave her a look that said the pepper spray was cute, foolish, and pitiful all at once.
“Keep your phone on,” Zella said. “And if he breathes wrong, scream like you crazy.”
Makayla kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I learned from you.”
“That’s why I’m worried.”
The hallway outside smelled like old carpet and somebody’s fried fish. Makayla took the stairs instead of the elevator because she needed the movement, needed a few extra seconds to steady herself before she faced the man she had set on fire.
By the time she reached the lobby, her phone had twenty missed notifications.
Blogs were reposting her.
People were arguing.
Someone had already made a meme of Jarvis’s face with devil horns.
Makayla shoved the phone into her hoodie pocket and stepped outside.
The air felt wet and cold against her face.
Jarvis watched her cross the sidewalk.
He looked even better up close, which made her angrier. Beauty on dangerous men always felt like false advertising. His skin was deep brown, smooth under the streetlight, his waves neat, his jaw clean, his mouth set in a calm line that showed no fear, no panic, no guilt.
He wore a black wool coat over a black shirt, tailored pants, and leather gloves.
No chain.
No flash.
Power, quiet and expensive.
Makayla stopped several feet away. “You stalking women now?”
His eyes moved over her face. Slow. Measured. Like he had already studied every photo of her he could find and was comparing them to the real thing.
“You posted my name before you checked your facts,” he said. “Let’s start there.”
His voice was low, smooth, and controlled. That made it worse.
Makayla lifted her chin. “You have something to say, say it through a lawyer.”
“I did.”
He reached into his coat.
Makayla raised the pepper spray.
Jarvis paused and looked at it.
For the first time, something almost like amusement touched his face.
“That little pink can supposed to save you?”
“It’ll make you cry pretty.”
His eyes returned to hers. “I don’t cry.”
“Everybody does with enough seasoning.”
A corner of his mouth moved, barely.
Then he pulled out a thick envelope and held it toward her.
Makayla did not take it.
“What is that?”
“Your education.”
“Keep it.”
“You should read it before your page destroys both of us.”
Makayla stared at the envelope. “Both?”
Jarvis stepped closer.
She held the pepper spray tighter.
He stopped just outside arm’s reach, close enough for her to smell his cologne—warm, dark, something with smoke in it.
“You think you exposed me tonight,” he said. “You exposed yourself.”
Makayla’s throat tightened.
Jarvis tilted his head. “Makayla Serrin. Apartment 3C. Aunt Zella in the back bedroom. Sister named Amira. Mother in Briar Row. Father gone since you were fourteen. You work part-time doing social media for Halo & Thread Boutique, and you run Dirty Little Proof from a laptop with a cracked left hinge.”
Makayla felt the blood leave her face.
Every word hit like a hand around her throat.
Jarvis watched her absorb it.
“Keep pretending you’re anonymous if it helps your nerves,” he said.
Makayla forced her voice steady. “How did you find me?”
“The same way you found me. Dirty.”
“Did you hack me?”
“No.”
“You had me followed?”
“Yes.”
The honesty startled her.
Jarvis held the envelope out again. “I started looking for the person behind the page two months ago.”
Makayla’s eyes narrowed. “Before tonight?”
“Before tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because someone’s been using you.”
Makayla hated how those words landed. She hated that they sounded too close to what she already feared.
She snatched the envelope from his hand and opened it.
Inside were printed screenshots.
Messages from different anonymous accounts.
Tips she had received.
Posts she had made.
Photos circled in red.
Bank transfers.
A pattern.
Her fingers moved faster as she flipped through the papers.
Three past posts. All high-profile men connected to Jarvis in some way.
A restaurant investor. A city contract broker.
A liquor distributor. Each one had been exposed on Dirty Little Proof within weeks of refusing or delaying business with Jarvis.
Makayla looked up. “This doesn’t prove I was used.”
“No,” Jarvis said. “It proves somebody wanted you pointed in my direction long before you knew my name.”
She swallowed.
Rain slid from the edge of a nearby awning and splashed onto the pavement.
“You could’ve sent this earlier,” she said.
“And you would’ve believed me?”
Makayla said nothing.
Jarvis nodded once. “Exactly.”
She looked back down at the papers. Another sheet showed the hallway comparison. The Black Meridian versus Obsidian Hall. Jarvis had already found what she found, only faster.
Her shame sharpened into anger. “So what you want? An apology?”
“I want my name cleared.”
“Then clear it.”
“My statement goes out at eight. My lawyers go after every blog by nine. By noon, your page becomes part of the story.”
Makayla’s stomach turned.
Jarvis continued, calm as ever. “By dinner, half the city knows Makayla Serrin runs Dirty Little Proof. And by midnight, every person you ever exposed starts asking where Apartment 3C is.”
Makayla stepped toward him before she could stop herself. “You threatening me?”
“I’m explaining weather.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Then listen like it’s one.”
The street between them felt charged.
Makayla wanted to slap him. She wanted to run upstairs and delete everything. She wanted to rewind the night and listen to the warning in her gut.
Most of all, she wanted him to stop looking at her like he already owned the next move.
“I don’t scare easy,” she said.
Jarvis’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted again. “I noticed.”