CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Chapter Thirty-Three

Alicia’s POV

Malachi was breaking through the walls I’d spent years building.

Brick by brick. Word by word. Touch by touch.

I’d learned at a very young age that survival meant silence. That trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford. That the only person who would save me was myself.

My father taught me that lesson with his fists.

Travis reinforced it with his cruelty.

And now Malachi, dangerous, unpredictable Malachi, was standing in front of me asking me to believe in something I’d stopped believing in years ago.

Help.

I stared into his dark eyes, feeling that carefully constructed wall crack under the weight of his gaze. Tears I’d been holding back for hours, days, years, finally broke free, sliding down my cheeks in hot, traitorous streams.

"I..." The word came out broken. Fractured.

"Whatever it is," he said quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it, "you don’t have to face it alone."

God, I wanted to believe him.

Wanted to collapse into those words. Let someone else carry the weight crushing my chest. Tell him about Sophie. About my father’s threats. About the impossible choice tearing me apart.

My lips parted. The truth sat on my tongue, desperate to escape the cage I’d locked it in.

Sophie. My father. Fifty million. Seven days. Help me. Please help me.

But then reality crashed back.

He was a Blackwood. Part of the family that had bought me like property. Part of the system that saw women as transactions. Why would he be any different?

And even if he wanted to help, even if his concern was genuine, what would it cost me? What would I owe him after?

I’d spent two years as Travis’s wife, learning that everything came with a price. Especially kindness.

"We should go." I wiped my tears with trembling palms and stood abruptly. "The meeting."

Distance. I needed distance before I did something stupid like trust him.

His jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind. But he didn’t argue. Didn’t demand explanations. Just stood and followed me out of the lounge.

The silence between us felt like broken glass.

We took the elevator down to the parking lot. I kept my eyes on the descending floor numbers, praying they’d move faster. Praying this day would end. Praying I’d wake up and discover the last forty-eight hours were just a nightmare.

Six days left. Six days to find fifty million dollars or lose Sophie forever.

The elevator doors opened.

"Malachi!"

A woman’s voice, bright and cheerful, cut through my spiraling thoughts.

A woman in a designer pink dress walked toward us. She was beautiful in that calculated way, perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect everything.

Her eyes landed on me for a fraction of a second. The look she gave me was pure venom wrapped in a smile.

Stay away from him.

The message was clear even without words.

I wondered who she was. What her relationship with Malachi was. Not that I cared.

Liar.

Fine. Maybe I cared. Maybe the sight of her touching his arm made something hot and ugly coil in my stomach.

Maybe I was jealous.

But I had no right to be. I was married. Malachi wasn’t mine. Would never be mine.

"I was hoping I’d catch you before you left." Her voice dropped into that low, feminine voice that men always seemed to fall for.

"Pearl." Malachi’s tone was casual. Too casual. Like this happened often. "What are you doing here?"

Pearl.

Of course her name was Pearl. Probably born with a silver spoon and a trust fund.

"My shoot finished early, so I thought," she reached out, her manicured fingers landing possessively on his forearm, "maybe we could have lunch? Catch up properly?"

Her eyes flicked to me again. Assessing. Dismissing.

She thought I was competition. Or worse, his mistress.

I kept my face blank. Neutral. Gave nothing away.

She leaned closer to Malachi, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered something I couldn’t hear. Her hand slid down his arm in a gesture so intimate it made my chest ache.

That was it. I couldn’t watch anymore.

"I’ll wait inside." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

I gave Pearl one last look, not threatening, just empty, and walked toward the car.

Maurice opened the door. I slid into the backseat and immediately fixed my gaze out the opposite window. Away from them. Away from Pearl’s hands on Malachi’s body. Away from the nauseating reminder that I had no claim to him.

He can have anyone he wants. I don’t care. Shouldn’t care.

But I did care. God help me, I cared so much it hurt.

I cared that she was touching him. Cared that he wasn’t pulling away. Cared that he probably had a dozen women like Pearl in every city, beautiful, uncomplicated women who didn’t come with trauma and baggage and impossible problems.

I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

Focus. Sophie. The money. That’s what matters. Not him. Not this.

Through the window’s reflection, I watched Malachi finally step away from Pearl. She looked disappointed, but he was already moving toward the car.

Each step he took made my heart hammer harder against my ribs.

The door opened. He slid in beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body.

"You didn’t say anything to Pearl." It wasn’t a question. More like an accusation.

I swallowed hard. Kept staring out the window. "Should I have?"

"Most women would."

Most women aren’t trapped in loveless marriages while their fathers sell their sisters.

"I’m not most women." I forced the words out. "And you’re not mine to be jealous over."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

Because I was jealous. Viciously, irrationally jealous.

And he wasn’t mine, but God, I wanted him to be.

Silence stretched between us. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then he moved closer. So close I could feel his breath against my cheek.

"Look at me."

I couldn’t. If I looked at him now, I’d break. I’d tell him everything. And I couldn’t afford that vulnerability.

"Alicia." His voice dropped lower. Dangerous. "Look. At. Me."

Slowly, so slowly, I turned my head.

His eyes weren’t angry like I expected. They were terrified. Raw with something I didn’t understand.

"What’s happening to you?" The demand came out rougher than before. "Who did this to you?"

My father. He’s selling my sister. I need fifty million dollars. I’m drowning and I don’t know how to save her.

"Nothing. No one."

The lies came easier now. Smoother. I’d had years of practice.

"Bullshit."

"I’m fine—"

"You’re falling apart!" His control snapped. The fury he’d been holding back finally broke through. "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?"

I flinched at that last part.

I’m not waiting for you to hit me. I’m waiting for you to leave. Everyone leaves.

He took a breath. Forced himself to calm down.

"I’m not him." His voice was quieter now. Strained. "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."

You can’t help me. No one can.

"I don’t need your help."

"Yes, you do." He reached for my hand.

I pulled away before his fingers could touch mine. Before his warmth could melt my resolve.

"And you’re going to get it whether you want it or not," he continued.

Something in me bristled at that. At the arrogance. At the assumption that he knew what I needed better than I did.

"You don’t get to make that choice for me."

"Watch me."

The car stopped. We’d arrived at the conference center.

Maurice opened the door. I practically fled from the backseat, desperate for air. For space. For anything that wasn’t Malachi’s intensity suffocating me.

Malachi Blackwood didn’t take no for an answer. I’d learned that much about him.

And something told me that whether I wanted his help or not, I was going to get it.

The question was: what would it cost me when I did?