CHAPTER 37: CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Alicia’s POV

I woke up feeling almost human for the first time in days.

The smallest thing—a few hours of actual sleep—and suddenly the world didn’t feel quite so crushing. I showered, dressed in a blouse and slacks, even managed a small smile at my reflection.

Maybe today would be better. Maybe I’d find a lead on Sophie. Maybe things would start falling into place.

I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs, expecting to see Maurice waiting with the car. Expecting the usual routine—breakfast with Malachi’s intense stare tracking my every movement, then the conference center, then another day of pretending I wasn’t falling apart.

But the lobby was quiet. No Maurice. No employee buses lined up outside. No Malachi.

I frowned, checking my phone. No messages. No missed calls.

"Alicia?" One of the junior analysts from our team approached, coffee in hand. "Did you not get the memo?"

"What memo?"

"No meetings today. Mr. Blackwood gave everyone the day off. Something about rewarding us for the hard work." He grinned. "We’re all heading to the Grand Pearl tonight for dinner. You coming?"

"I... maybe. I’ll see."

He wandered off, leaving me standing in the empty lobby feeling strangely unmoored.

A day off. Freedom from Malachi’s scrutiny. Time to focus on Sophie.

So why did I feel disappointed?

Because you wanted to see him, a traitorous voice whispered. Because when you’re near him, you feel less alone.

I shoved the thought away and headed back to my room.

✿

I spent the entire day liquidating assets.

It was harder than I expected—both logistically and emotionally. Each item I sold felt like cutting away a piece of myself.

The pearl necklace Travis’s mother had given me at our wedding. I’d hated it—hated what it represented—but selling it still felt like admitting defeat. Twenty thousand dollars.

The diamond earrings Travis bought me after the first time he hit me. His apology gift. Blood money. Fifteen thousand.

A designer watch I’d never worn. A gold bracelet. A set of sapphire rings.

All of it went to various pawn shops and jewelry buyers across the city. I used fake names, paid in cash, covered my tracks as best I could.

By evening, I had twenty-three million dollars in various accounts. Almost half of what I needed.

It should have felt like progress. Instead, it felt like drowning slightly slower.

I sat on my hotel bed surrounded by receipts and transfer confirmations, my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over my father’s contact.

Twenty-three million. That’s all I have. Please. Take it and let Sophie go.

But I knew how this worked. Knew men like my father. If I showed weakness—if I revealed I couldn’t get the full amount—he’d see an opportunity. Would demand more. Would hurt Sophie just to prove he could.

My phone buzzed. Lucas.

Lucas: I’m outside your hotel. Can we talk?

My heart jumped. Maybe he’d found something. Maybe his friend at the docks had information about my father.

I grabbed my jacket and headed downstairs.

⁠✿

The parking lot was nearly empty in the evening shadows. Lucas stood near a beat-up sedan, hands in his pockets, looking exactly like the boy I’d grown up with—just taller, more worn by life.

"Lucas." I approached slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you." He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Talk. Like we used to."

"About Sophie?"

"About everything." He gestured vaguely. "We were best friends once, Alicia. Then you just... disappeared. Got married. Stopped answering my calls."

Guilt twisted in my chest. "I’m sorry. Travis didn’t like me having friends. Especially male friends."

His jaw tightened. "Did he hurt you?"

"That’s not—"

"Did he?"

I looked away. "It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m divorcing him."

"Good." Lucas stepped closer. "You deserve better than that. You always did."

We talked for a while—carefully at first, then more naturally. About our childhood. About his mother’s joy at seeing me. About the neighborhood and how it had changed.

It felt good. Normal. Like being seventeen again before everything went wrong.

"My friend at the docks," Lucas said eventually, "he thinks he knows where your father is. Says there’s a man matching his description who hangs around the west pier. Gambles at an underground casino there."

Hope flared in my chest. "Really? Can you take me there?"

"Tomorrow. He said to come around noon. The casino owner might talk to us then." Lucas hesitated. "Are you sure you want to find him? Your father... he’s not a good man, Alicia."

"I know. But I have to. For Sophie."

Understanding crossed his face. "Okay. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven."

"Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without—"

His hand reached out, gentle, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was tender. Familiar. The way he used to do when we were kids and I’d cry over my father’s latest cruelty.

"I missed you," he said softly.

Before I could respond, before I could step back, a presence materialized behind me.

Dark. Dangerous. Furious.

"Get your fucking hands off her."

Malachi.

I spun around just as he closed the distance, grabbing Lucas by the collar and slamming him against the nearest car with brutal force.

"Malachi, stop!"

Lucas’s eyes went wide with shock and pain. "I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—are you her husband?"

Malachi’s fist connected with Lucas’s face. The crack echoed through the parking lot.

"Stop!" I grabbed Malachi’s arm, trying to pull him back. "He didn’t do anything!"

But Malachi was beyond reason. His face was a mask of cold rage as he drew back for another punch.

I threw myself between them. "Malachi, please!"

His eyes finally focused on me. Dark. Wild. Barely controlled violence simmering beneath the surface.

Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the hotel entrance.

"Let go!" I tried to pull free. "What is wrong with you?"

He didn’t answer. Didn’t slow down. Just pulled me through the lobby, into the elevator, down the hallway.

People stared. I didn’t care. I was too angry. Too confused.

"Malachi, stop this right now!"

He shoved open the door to his suite and pulled me inside. The door slammed shut behind us.

Then he pinned me against it.

His body pressed against mine, one hand braced beside my head, the other still gripping my wrist. His breath came hard and fast, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that stole my air.

"Who was that?" His voice was low. Dangerous.

"None of your business!"

"Everything about you is my business."

I shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge. "Let me go!"

"Not until you answer me. Who. Was. That."

"A friend! A childhood friend who was helping me!"

"Helping you?" His laugh was bitter. "Is that what we’re calling it when a man puts his hands on you?"

"He was just—it wasn’t—" Frustration burned in my throat. "Why do you even care?"

"Because you’re mine!"

The words hung between us like a detonation.

I stared at him. "I’m not yours. I’m nobody’s. And you—you’re a monster. Just like Travis. Just like every other Blackwood."

Something cracked in his expression. Pain. Raw and brief before the mask slammed back down.

"You’re right," he said quietly. "I am a monster."

"Then let me go."

"No." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "Because you’ve made me this way. You’ve poisoned me, Alicia. Infected every thought. I can’t sleep without thinking about you. Can’t breathe without needing to know you’re safe."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "That’s not—"

"I’m obsessed," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Completely, destructively obsessed. And I don’t care if it makes me a monster. I don’t care if you hate me for it. Because the alternative—watching another man touch you, watching you walk away—that’s not an option."

Tears burned my eyes. "I don’t have those feelings for you."

The lie tasted like ash on my tongue.

"Liar." His eyes searched mine. "You feel it too. This thing between us. Tell me you don’t and I’ll let you go."

I opened my mouth. The denial sat ready.

But I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t push out the words that would free us both from this terrible, consuming pull.

"I..." My voice broke. "I hate you."

"I know."

"You remind me of everything wrong with the world. Everything cruel and violent and—"

"I know."

"You’re a devil."

"For you?" His forehead pressed against mine. "Yes. I’ll be whatever devil you need. I’ll burn the world down if it keeps you safe. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me."

"I’m your sister-in-law," I whispered desperately. "We can never—even after the divorce—"

"I don’t care about blood. About family. About any of it." His hand cupped my face. "I only care about you."

"You’re insane."

"Probably." His lips were so close now. "But you made me this way. You and your sad eyes and your stubborn pride and your refusal to let anyone help you."

"I don’t need your help."

"Yes, you do. And I’m going to give it to you whether you want it or not."

"You can’t just—"

He kissed me.

Hard. Desperate. Like he was drowning and I was air.

I froze, hands pressed against his chest, every instinct screaming to push him away.

This was wrong. So wrong. He was dangerous. Possessive. Everything I should run from.

But God, his mouth.

His lips moved against mine with bruising intensity, one hand tangled in my hair, the other sliding around my waist, pulling me closer.

I tried to resist. Tried to remember all the reasons this couldn’t happen.

But my body betrayed me.

My hands, instead of pushing, clutched his shirt. My lips, instead of staying closed, parted. My body, instead of pulling away, pressed closer.

A sound escaped my throat—half sob, half surrender.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance that felt inevitable. Like we’d been moving toward this moment since the first time our eyes met in that dark room weeks ago.

His hands roamed my body—not rough, but possessive. Claiming. Like he was memorizing every curve, every tremor, every place that made me gasp.

"Malachi," I whispered against his mouth. "We can’t—"

"We are." His lips moved to my jaw. My neck. "Tell me to stop. Mean it, and I’ll stop."

I should. I should say the words and end this before it went too far.

But all that came out was: "Don’t stop."

Something unleashed in him at those words. His grip tightened, his mouth more demanding, his body pressing mine against the door with delicious pressure.

I was lost. Completely, utterly lost.

Lost in the taste of him. In the way his hands knew exactly where to touch. In the heat building between us that made every rational thought evaporate.

This was wrong.

This was dangerous.

This was everything I shouldn’t want.

But God help me, I wanted it anyway.