CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“The number she didn’t recognise.”
Friday morning felt lighter.
For the first time in years, Zara caught herself singing while getting ready for work.
Not loudly.
Just quietly enough that she didn't notice she'd started until Miss Claudette looked up from the kitchen table with a smile.
"You sing."
Zara stopped.
"I used to."
"You still do."
"I haven't in years."
Miss Claudette poured another cup of tea.
"Maybe that's changing."
Zara smiled as she slipped on her blazer.
"Maybe."
She kissed Miss Claudette on the cheek before heading out.
Outside, Brooklyn was already awake.
The smell of fresh bagels drifted from the bakery on the corner.
Children hurried towards school buses.
Cyclists weaved through morning traffic.
It felt like home.
The thought startled her.
Home.
For months, she'd refused to call New York that.
Now it slipped into her mind without permission.
Bellamy & Co. was buzzing.
The charity auction was only two weeks away, and every department seemed to be working at full speed.
Camille gathered everyone around the conference table.
"We've just landed another major client."
The room erupted into excited chatter.
"This one will require travel."
Naomi grinned.
"Please say Paris."
Camille laughed.
"Not quite."
"The Hamptons."
Several people exchanged impressed looks.
Camille continued.
"It's a three-day wedding."
"We'll need two coordinators on-site."
She glanced down at her notes.
"Naomi."
Naomi nodded excitedly.
"And Zara."
Zara blinked.
"Me?"
"You've earned it."
A smile spread across Zara's face.
"Thank you."
"I won't disappoint you."
"I know you won't."
As the meeting ended, Zara's phone vibrated in her pocket.
Unknown Number.
She ignored it.
A few seconds later, it rang again.
Still unknown.
She frowned.
"Everything okay?" Naomi asked.
"Probably spam."
The phone stopped.
Then a voicemail notification appeared.
Zara hesitated before pressing play.
There was silence.
Static.
Then...
A familiar voice.
"Zara?"
Her entire body went still.
"...Dad?"
The message ended.
Nothing else.
Just her father's voice.
She hadn't heard it in eighteen years.
She sat frozen at her desk.
Naomi noticed immediately.
"Hey."
No response.
"Zara."
She looked up slowly.
"What happened?"
Instead of answering, Zara handed her the phone.
Naomi listened to the voicemail.
When it ended, she looked back at Zara.
"Is that...?"
"My dad."
"You've spoken recently?"
Zara shook her head.
"Not since I was eight."
Naomi reached across the desk and squeezed her hand.
"You don't have to call him back."
"I know."
"But I don't know why he's calling now."
Across town, Malik was finishing a meeting with his legal team when Keisha walked into his office.
She didn't knock.
She never did.
"You've got five minutes."
"I've got three."
She smiled.
"Even better."
She sat opposite him.
"So..."
He looked up from his paperwork.
"So?"
"When are you bringing Zara to Sunday dinner again?"
He laughed.
"That's what this meeting is about?"
"No."
She folded her arms.
"The meeting is about whether you're finally going to admit you're in love."
Malik looked down at the document in front of him.
"I haven't said that."
"You don't have to."
She smiled knowingly.
"You've started leaving work on time."
"You answer your phone when she calls."
"You smile all the time."
He sighed.
"Is it that obvious?"
"To everyone except you."
For a long moment, he didn't speak.
Then, quietly...
"I've never been this afraid."
Keisha frowned.
"Of what?"
"Losing someone."
That evening, Zara sat on the fire escape holding her phone.
She'd listened to the voicemail twelve times.
Each time it hurt differently.
She still remembered the last conversation she'd had with her father.
Or rather...
The last one she could remember.
He'd promised to visit the following weekend.
She'd waited by the front window all afternoon.
He never came.
After that, her mother stopped mentioning him altogether.
As the years passed, Zara stopped asking.
It had hurt less that way.
Her phone buzzed.
Malik: You home?
She stared at the screen.
Then replied.
Zara: Yes.
A moment later—
Malik: Can I come over?
She looked out across the rooftops before typing one word.
*Please.
Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.
Miss Claudette answered first.
"Oh."
She smiled warmly.
"Good evening, Malik."
"Evening, Miss Claudette."
"I think she's upstairs."
He nodded.
"Thank you."
When Zara opened her bedroom door, Malik knew immediately something was wrong.
"You've been crying."
She looked away.
"I got a voicemail today."
He waited.
"From my dad."
He stepped inside quietly.
"The one you haven't seen since you were a little girl?"
She nodded.
"He just..."
Her voice cracked.
"...said my name."
She handed him the phone.
He listened.
When it finished, he placed the phone gently on the bedside table.
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know."
She wrapped her arms around herself.
"My whole life..."
"...I imagined what I'd say if he ever came back."
"And now?"
"I've got nothing."
Malik sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
"You don't owe him an answer."
"I know."
"You don't owe him forgiveness either."
She looked at him.
"What if something happened?"
"What if this is my only chance?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said softly,
"My mother used to tell me that forgiveness and reconciliation aren't always the same thing."
Zara frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You can forgive someone..."
"...without giving them another chance to hurt you."
The words settled over her.
Gentle.
True.
She leaned against him without thinking.
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
Outside, rain began tapping softly against the window.
"You know what scares me?" she whispered.
"What?"
"My whole life..."
"...I've been afraid that everyone I love eventually leaves."
Malik rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head.
"I'm still here."
"I know."
"And tomorrow..."
"...I'll still be here."
A small smile appeared through her tears.
"You make big promises."
"I only make the ones I intend to keep."
As Malik left the brownstone later that evening, he noticed a dark sedan parked half a block away.
Its headlights were off.
The windows were tinted.
His expression changed instantly.
He didn't look directly at it.
Instead, he calmly walked to his Range Rover, climbed inside, and drove away as though nothing was wrong.
Only when he reached the next junction did he check his rear-view mirror.
The sedan pulled out.
Following him.
Malik's jaw tightened.
He took three unexpected turns.
The sedan stayed behind him.
His phone connected automatically to the car's hands-free system.
He pressed one contact.
"Marcus."
His head of security answered immediately.
"Everything alright, boss?"
"No."
Malik kept his eyes on the mirror.
"I've got company."
He paused.
"And if they're following me..."
His voice hardened.
"...I need to know whether anyone's watching Zara too."
As the black sedan continued through the Brooklyn streets behind him, Malik realised something that chilled him to the core.
Devon wasn't waiting anymore.
He was making his move.