EPILOGUE #2
In my left hand, I held a thick, worn leather book. Alicia’s journal.
The cover was scuffed, the pages yellowed at the edges, filled with the elegant, frantic handwriting of the girl who had hung herself from a college ceiling fan because she loved me too much.
For years, this book had been a physical anchor of my guilt.
It was the proof that my love was a disease, a curse that dragged beautiful women into the dirt.
I had spent months staring at these pages, letting Alicia's ghost dictate how high I could build my walls.
And then, when I finally dared to let someone else in, Malik had proved the journal right by leaving Terra dead on the sidewalk.
But I couldn't carry the weight of two dead girls into my future anymore. I was drowning under the sheer volume of the ash.
"Time for a new chapter," I muttered to myself, my voice sounding firmer, harder, like a vow written in stone.
I heard the soft rustle of denim behind me.
I turned my head and saw Angela standing in the open frame of the sliding glass door.
She didn't say a word. She didn't try to stop me or offer a lecture on the historical value of memories.
She just stood there, her presence a silent, unwavering pillar of absolute security, her eyes telling me that whatever I needed to do to survive, she would stand right beside me through the smoke.
I pulled a small silver lighter from my pocket—the one Gabriel had left on the kitchen counter weeks ago. I struck the flint. A small, dancing yellow flame illuminated the gray afternoon light.
I held the edge of Alicia’s journal over the flame.
The dry paper caught instantly, a bright, aggressive orange flare devouring the first page of her handwriting.
The smell of burning paper and old leather filled the cold air, thick and pungent.
I dropped the blazing book into a large, empty metal trash bin that was sitting on the balcony floor, stepping back as the fire roared to life, casting a hot, violent glow across my face.
We stood there in absolute silence—Miley Palmer and Angela—watching the physical embodiment of my past turn into bright, curling flakes of black ash.
Every line of guilt, every word of sorrow, every memory of a love that had ended in horror was being systematically turned to smoke, drifting away over the rooftops of Manhattan until there was nothing left but an empty metal container.
"Goodbye, Alicia," I whispered into the wind, the tears finally spilling over my eyelids, hot and clean against my cold cheeks. "Goodbye, Terra. I’m leaving you both in this room."
I stepped back inside the apartment, sliding the glass door shut behind me, effectively cutting off the scent of the smoke.
I looked around the bedroom where Terra and I used to play around, remembering how she used to throw pillows at my head when I stayed up too late studying, how she used to dance barefoot to old soul records while she was making breakfast. I took one final, deep, agonizing breath, letting the memory settle into a quiet corner of my soul where it could no longer cut me.
I picked up my two remaining suitcases, my hands gripping the handles tight. Angela immediately stepped forward, reaching out to take the heaviest one from my hand without a single word of complaint.
"The workers already have all the main boxes loaded into the back of the moving truck downstairs," Angela said, her eyes locked onto mine with an immense, grounding clarity. "The penthouse is ready, Miley. Helisa’s security team already cleared the building and set up the private access codes for both of us. It’s time to go home. "
"Yeah," I breathed, my heart doing a strange, terrifying flip inside my chest as we strolled out of the apartment together, our footsteps echoing down the long, empty hallway. "Let’s go to our new home."
Two Years Later:
The morning sun over Manhattan didn't just rise; it shattered against the floor-to-ceiling glass of my new executive suite on the top floor of the E-Tech headquarters, scattering across the polished obsidian desk like loose diamonds.
Two years. Twenty-four months of clocking in, pushing through the static, and systematically rebuilding a woman out of the fragments Malik had left on a downtown sidewalk.
I stood with my heels planted firmly on the plush indigo rug, looking out at the skyline.
The city looked smaller from up here. Less dangerous.
I was wearing a sharp, custom-tailored charcoal suit—a far cry from the rumpled, grief-stricken look the news cameras had caught me in when I rushed down to St. Luke’s Hospital after getting the horrific call about Terra.
My box braids were immaculate, swept back cleanly, falling past my shoulders with a heavy, rhythmic swing whenever I moved.
"The regional quarterly metrics are locked in, Miley," a voice called out from the doorway.
I didn't have to look up to recognize the cadence.
It was a voice that used to be a hesitant whisper in a dark living room, a voice that used to shrink from the loud, aggressive pulse of New York.
But now? It carried the smooth, unyielding weight of someone who belonged exactly where she was standing.
I turned around, a genuine, easy smile breaking across my face as Angela walked into my office.
She looked stunning. She was rocking a tailored navy vest over a crisp white button-down, her eyes tracking a holographic tablet hovering above her palm.
Her posture was straight, her chin up. The defensive, protective shield she used to pose to the world was still there, but it wasn't a hiding place anymore; it was an armor of pure corporate competence.
"You look good, Angela," I said, leaning back against the edge of my desk, crossing my arms over my chest. Hey, remember when you used to hide behind your mom’s couch when more than two people walked into the crib?"
Angela shot me a look, one corner of her mouth twitching into a classic, sardonic smile.
"First of all, I never hid behind the couch, Miley.
I simply managed my social energy with high efficiency.
Second of all, these metrics don't lie. The new data-encryption framework I developed for Ciara’s team just cleared the compliance check.
Helisa signed off on it ten minutes ago. "
"See? I told you," I said, my voice dropping into a deeper, prouder register.
"When I put in that good word for you with Helisa a year ago, I knew you had the raw talent. But watching you and Ciara run these high-level security audits? Man, you’re straight up running the floor now.
Helisa saw the vision, and Ciara knew you were a savant from day one. "
Angela walked over, setting the tablet down on my desk, her eyes softening as she stepped into my personal space.
The professional mask slipped away just enough for me to see the sweet, tender softie hidden beneath her tough exterior.
"We both know why I’m here, Miley. You gave me the platform.
You pushed me out of my shell when it would’ve been so much easier to let me stay invisible. "
"Nah, don't do that," I murmured, reaching out to gently brush my thumb against her wrist. "You did the work, Angela. I just opened the door. You’re the one who walked through it without looking back."
"Speaking of Helisa," Angela said, pulling a sleek, matte-black key fob from her pocket and tossing it lightly onto the obsidian desk.
It landed with a heavy, satisfying metallic click.
"The corporate garage just delivered the keys to the new hybrid sedan she assigned to my division. It’s parked right next to your SUV. "
I looked at the key fob, a wave of familiar, overwhelming gratitude washing over me.
"Man... Helisa is something else, real talk.
I haven't had to open the Uber app or cram myself into a delayed 2-train in twenty-four months. She literally looked at us after the nightmare and decided we were never going to be vulnerable in transit again. She’s like a mother and a guardian angel wrapped into one fiercely protective package. "
"She keeps her promises," Angela agreed softly, her eyes holding mine. "She said no one else dies on her watch, and she spent the last two years treating that vow like it was written in blood. Every aunt, every cousin of Terra's... she’s still checking on them. She’s still funding her sister’s salon expansion downtown. "
"I know," I breathed, my mind taking a quick, nostalgic leap back to the heavy, tear-soaked air of that funeral home two years ago. I remembered looking at Terra’s older sister, the nail technician, whose hands were shaking so violently she couldn't even hold the program.
Helisa had stepped in, quiet and absolute, lifting the entire family out of the financial shadow of death.
Suddenly, my desk console pulsed with a soft, melodic chime. A sharp, professional voice filtered through the speaker. "Miss Palmer, your vehicle is prepped in the executive garage. Your session with Dr. Hall begins in twenty minutes."
Angela’s expression immediately shifted, a quiet, knowing understanding entering her eyes. She reached out, her fingers sliding into mine, giving my hand a tight, grounding squeeze. "Go. Don't be late for this one. I know how much work you’ve been doing with her."
"Yeah," I sighed, pulling my hand back reluctantly as I grabbed my blazer from the back of my chair. "Every single week for two years, rain or shine, entirely on Helisa’s dime. Dr. Hall doesn't let me slide on anything, Angela. She’s about to put my whole psyche on a dissection table."
"Good," Angela said, her voice filled with an unyielding, protective warmth. "Let her. I’ll be waiting at the penthouse when you get back."
***