CHAPTER 32: CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Chapter Thirty-Two

Malachi’s POV

I woke before dawn.

Sleep had become a luxury I couldn’t afford. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—Alicia, with that haunted look she wore when she thought no one was watching. The way she moved through the world like she was already half-dead.

It made me want to burn things.

I sat up, dragging a hand through my hair, and stared at the Dark City skyline. The hotel was quiet. The kind of quiet that amplified every violent thought running through my head.

She was hiding something. And it was eating at me.

I called Maurice before the sun fully rose. "Reserve the private lounge. Breakfast for two."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "Mrs. Blackwood?"

"Make sure she comes. I don’t care how."

When I hung up, I dressed with the precision of a man preparing for war. Cufflinks. Watch. The charcoal suit that fit like armor. Control started with appearance—the world bent for men who looked like they already owned it.

I glanced at my reflection. Calm. Cold. Composed.

But underneath? Fury.

Alicia was driving me insane. Every deflection. Every forced smile. Every tear she hid. She’d learned to survive by keeping secrets, and I hated that someone had taught her that lesson.

More than that—I hated that she wouldn’t let me in.

By the time breakfast was ready, I’d run through a dozen scenarios. Ways to make her talk. Ways to break through that impenetrable wall she’d built around herself.

I took my seat at the head of the table. The room was perfect—windows flooding the space with light, coffee steaming, enough distance between us for her to feel safe.

Or trapped.

She arrived reluctantly, Maurice’s gentle insistence echoing in the hallway. When she stepped through the door, I cataloged everything: the exhaustion she’d tried to hide with makeup, the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her fingers clutched her bag like a lifeline.

"Good morning, Alicia."

She barely looked at me. "Good morning."

She walked to the far end of the table. As far from me as physically possible.

My jaw tightened. Everything in me wanted to close that distance. To demand she sit beside me where I could see every micro-expression, every tell.

Instead, I waited.

"How was your night?" I kept my voice even, casual.

"Fine." She didn’t meet my eyes.

Liar.

"You don’t have to attend today if you’re not feeling well." I leaned forward slightly. "I can handle the meetings alone."

For a fraction of a second, something cracked in her expression. Vulnerability. Fear. Then it was gone, replaced by that practiced smile.

"I’m fine. Thank you for your concern."

She picked up a piece of toast. Her hands trembled.

"Are you sure—" I started.

"I’m alright. We should head out soon." She stuffed food in her mouth, using it as a barrier against conversation.

My fingers curled into fists beneath the table. She was shutting me out. Again.

I forced myself to breathe. Forced down the urge to reach across the table and shake the truth out of her.

She kept her head down, chewing mechanically. But I saw it—the way she kept glancing at her phone. The tension in her shoulders. The fear swimming beneath the surface.

Someone had gotten to her. Probably threatened her. Hurt her.

And she wouldn’t tell me who.

The rage simmering in my chest threatened to boil over. I’d killed men for less than making Alicia look this afraid. Whoever it was wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

"Alicia."

I stood and crossed to her side of the table. She looked up, startled, as I stopped beside her chair.

"What?" Her voice barely registered.

I studied her face. The dark circles. The trembling lip she was trying to control. The tears gathering in her eyes that she refused to let fall.

"Are you okay?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

She opened her mouth. I could see the lie forming on her tongue.

I pressed a finger gently against her lips before she could speak.

"Don’t."

She froze, eyes widening.

"Don’t ever lie to me again, Alicia." My voice came out lower than intended. Rougher.

That’s when she broke.

Tears spilled over, sliding down her cheeks. She looked away, ashamed, but I wouldn’t let her hide.

My thumb traced the path of her tears, wiping them away.

"I..." she whispered.

"Whatever it is," I said quietly, "you don’t have to face it alone."

For a moment—one fragile, suspended moment—I thought she might tell me. Might trust me with whatever demon was chasing her.

But then she pulled back. Stood. Wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"We should go. The meeting."

And just like that, the walls went back up.

I let her walk away because forcing her wouldn’t work. Not yet. But the fury burning in my chest didn’t dissipate.

She was protecting someone. Or hiding from them.

Either way, I’d find out who. And then I’d make them wish they’d never heard the name Alicia Blackwood.

---

The car was waiting when we stepped outside. Maurice had arranged everything perfectly.

But someone else was waiting too.

Pearl.

She stood beside the hotel entrance in a designer dress.

"Malachi!" She rushed over. "I was hoping I’d catch you before you left."

I felt Alicia stiffen beside me.

Good. Let her be jealous. Let her feel something other than that damned fear.

"Pearl." I kept my tone neutral. "What are you doing here?"

"My shoot finished early, so I thought—" She reached out, her hand landing on my arm casually. "—maybe we could have lunch? Catch up properly?"

Her fingers trailed down my sleeve. A move designed to stake claim. To make any woman watching understand: he’s mine.

I glanced at Alicia, waiting for the flash of jealousy. The spark of possession. The same fire I saw when other men looked at her too long.

Nothing.

Her face was blank. Distant. Like she was watching a play she had no stake in.

Pearl leaned closer, laughing at something I didn’t hear.

Alicia turned toward the car.

"I’ll wait inside," she said quietly, not even looking at Pearl. Not looking at me.

She climbed into the backseat and closed the door.

Just like that. No reaction. No protest. No emotion at all.

Something cold settled in my chest.

This wasn’t the Alicia who’d argued with me in hallways. Who’d thrown verbal daggers when I pushed too hard. This was someone who’d checked out completely.

"Malachi?" Pearl was still talking. "Did you hear me?"

"Get lost." I stepped back, breaking her hold on my arm.

"But—"

"Stay away from me." I didn’t wait for her response. Just moved toward the car, my focus entirely on the woman sitting inside with dead eyes.

Maurice opened my door. I slid in beside Alicia, close enough that our legs almost touched.

She stared out the window.

"You didn’t say anything to Pearl," I said.

"Should I have?" Her voice was flat. Empty.

"Most women would."

"I’m not most women." She still wouldn’t look at me. "And you’re not mine to be jealous over."

The words hit like a physical blow.

You’re not mine.

She was right. Technically. She was still married to Travis. Still bound by vows that meant nothing but existed anyway.

But the way she said it—like she didn’t care, like I was just another person she’d eventually leave behind—made something dangerous swirl in my chest.

I leaned closer, invading her space until she had no choice but to acknowledge me.

"Look at me."

She didn’t.

"Alicia." My voice dropped. "Look. At. Me."

Finally, slowly, she turned her head. Her eyes met mine—and they were hollow. Vacant in a way that terrified me more than any threat could.

"What’s happening to you?" I demanded. "Who’s doing this?"

"Nothing. No one." The lies came easier now.

"Bullshit."

"I’m fine—"

"You’re falling apart!" My control snapped. "You think I can’t see it? You think I don’t notice when you check your phone every five seconds? When you flinch at sounds? When you look at me like you’re waiting for me to hit you?"

She flinched at that last part.

I forced myself to take a breath. To pull back the rage before it consumed everything.

"I’m not him," I said quieter. "I’m not Travis. I’m not whoever put that fear in your eyes. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me in."

"I don’t need your help."

"Yes, you do." I reached for her hand, but she pulled away. "And you’re going to get it whether you want it or not."

Her eyes finally showed something—anger. "You don’t get to make that choice for me."

"Watch me."

The car pulled up to the conference center. Maurice opened the door, and Alicia was out before I could stop her.

I sat there for a moment, watching her walk away with that posture, and made a decision.

If she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, I’d find out myself.

And whoever was threatening her?

They were already dead. They just didn’t know it yet.