Page 62

I pace around the colorful living room of Millie’s and Belle’s two-bedroom apartment in SoHo.

Moments ago, the girls were consoling me as I was drowning my sorrows and worries in a pint of vanilla ice cream.

After we won the war against Timothy Voss and Steven boarded his jet to bring the news of our victory to his father, he disappeared without a trace.

Normally, a day with no contact wouldn’t worry me, but Emily’s frantic voice when she called me on the phone was something I wouldn’t forget for a long time.

His sister sounded desperate. Worried beyond measure.

If it weren’t for the “read” notifications on my text messages and the lights turning on in his penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side, I would be afraid for his safety, thinking the worst had happened.

The memories of our last moments together haunt me.

The tears in his eyes when he found me after his talk with Elias, when he held a bundle of documents in his shaky grip he said would win us the war.

The soft, searing kiss he pressed on my lips before he got on his jet for LA that night, promising me he’d come back the next day and we’d be able to spend the rest of our days together in peace.

I was worried sick and when I found out something happened and he was back in the city, and the concern mixed with anger when he ignored my calls and texts, leaving those who love him to worry alone.

How could he do this to me? To his sisters? Doesn’t he know we’re worried ?

And so, tonight, my mind mad with swirling emotions, we had our girls’ night at Millie and Belle’s apartment, where we watched Sex and the City the movie—the iconic scene where Charlotte curses the day Mr. Big was born on the day he was supposed to marry Carrie—our ceramic bowls filled with heaps of ice cream.

When men disappoint, my girls will always be here.

But my mind was still cluttered, my thoughts still full of Steven, and even the rich creaminess of ice cream couldn’t stave the pain.

Then, my phone rang and my heart leaped to my throat as my fingers trembled as I answered. Suddenly, all thoughts of anger flew out the window and concern for him darted to the forefront.

One minute. That was how long the phone call lasted. But I had a distinct feeling it was the start of the end. A sixth sense. A harbinger of doom.

The world fades into the background as Steven’s voice on the phone echoes in my mind.

He sounded like he was in pain. Like his knees were cut out from under him. I have never heard him this way before. The desolation. The hopelessness. The slurring, like alcohol was his newfound best friend.

It was not the King of Wall Street riding the chariot of victory on the phone. It was not the calm, collected, always in control man who hid behind his stoic veneer.

It was someone in crippling pain.

My pulse is chaotic in my ears, my heart slamming against my rib cage, desperate to escape. I feel queasy, like I’ll relieve my stomach of the ice cream I was consuming on the couch moments ago.

The sixth sense is first mentioned by William Whitson in the eighteenth century in relation to one of the apostles in Christianity.

The factoid flitters in my mind—my body’s defense mechanism because I know, deep in my gut, a sixth sense if you will, something is terribly, horribly wrong, and even without knowing what it is, my entire being is fighting it, is dreading it .

And for the first time, I don’t want to see him. Steven. I miss him like I’d miss an amputated limb, but at this moment, I know he’s the bearer of bad news. Somehow, my body and mind know the moment I see him, my world will change and nothing will ever be the same.

My eyes burn as I mourn an unknown loss which I’d bet my life would be devastating, cutting, obliterating to my soul.

I pant out heavy breaths as I walk back and forth in front of the lavender sectional of their art déco-inspired living room, where the girls are watching me, their mouths agape.

“What did he say, Grace? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Millie asks, her brows pinched.

Taylor snarls. “Did the bastard give an explanation? How could he make you worry like this!” My sister, the fierce honey badger, already leaping into battle mode for me.

“Tell us, we’re here for you,” Belle muses, her eyes piercing and sharp.

I shake my head repeatedly, my feet digging holes into the carpet as I pace in front of them. My body can’t stop moving or else I’ll go insane. “I don’t know. He sounded bad. Devastated. He’s coming over now.”

I look up and moisture wells in my lips. I tremble. “I-I’m scared, girls. I don’t want to know what’s going on.”

Millie’s lips wobble as she takes in my expression and she hauls to her feet and wraps her arms around me. The other girls follow suit. I try to breathe but cold sweat is gathering on my body.

“We’ll be here. Whatever happens, we’ll be here,” Millie whispers.

“Sisters forever,” Taylor muffles into my hair.

“Maybe it isn’t as bad as you think it is. Our imaginations can be wild.” Belle is the voice of reason, but even she sounds unsure at the current moment. “The man is crazy in love with you. There has to be a logical reason for everything.”

I swallow, my heart lodging in my throat. “And that’s what I’m afraid of.” For a calm, rational man to act completely out of the ordinary, it has to be something horrible .

“All I know is, Steven is a good man. He’s not like one of the assholes in your life before.” Millie nods, her eyes fierce. “He has to have a reason for his behavior.”

Deep down, I believe her. The man I know would never knowingly hurt anyone without reason.

He’s tough. He’s an asshole at times. But he has a conscience in that big heart of his, the one he claimed for the longest time not to have, only for me to unearth it beneath a pile of rubble that is his childhood trauma.

The clock ticks ominously in the background as we huddle on the sofa, as if waiting for our turn in front of the firing squad on death row. My eyes close and I sit in tensed silence, trying to calm myself and clear my thoughts.

Maybe it isn’t as bad as you think it is.

Minutes later, a terse knock slices through the quiet and I nearly jump at the intrusion.

My legs tremble as I walk to the front door, the girls loitering behind in the living room as they whisper amongst themselves.

Looking back at them, I see Millie doling out a sweet smile, Taylor with a scowl on her face, ready to take on Steven if he breathes in the wrong direction, Belle giving me a calm, reassuring nod.

Millie makes a motion toward her bedroom with her hand and ushers the girls in the direction, no doubt to give us some privacy. I hear her door click shut.

Taking a death breath, I open the front door, and my heart drops to the floor. I feel as if someone punched me in the chest.

My beautiful man, rendered into this ghost of a living being.

Steven sways as he stands before me, supported by Ryland, whose tall frame shakes imperceptibly as he hoists Steven up to the best of his abilities.

“Grace,” Ryland greets me, his voice somber, his slate eyes roving behind me, but I barely pay attention because I can barely believe my eyes.

Steven’s beautiful hair is sticking out in all directions, like he hasn’t seen a shower in days.

His eyes are bloodshot and glazed over. His breath reeks of alcohol.

His dark suit, if you can call it that, is wrinkled, with dirt on the jacket and the pants, the white shirt hanging out, untucked from his pants, a tie nowhere to be seen.

The sixth sense inside me rears to life and my hand flies to my mouth as a gasp escapes my lips.

“My sweet, darling G-Grace,” he slurs before collapsing on top of me, wrapping his arms around me in a vise, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. “I love you, so, so much.”

“Steven, what’s going on?” Moisture clouds my vision as I hear the anguish in his voice. It’s as if I can feel his pain. He’s drowning in it.

Shakily, he pulls back and curls his hand around my face, his thumb circling my cheek in reverence. Moisture mists his eyes as he stares at me with utter heartbreak. He looks at the living room behind me, his brows furrowing.

“The girls are inside the bedroom,” I answer the question in his eyes.

He nods and sways on his feet. “Do you have somewhere p-private we can talk?”

I glance at Ryland, finding his somber gaze on us. Turning back to Steven, I reply, “I-I guess, they have a private rooftop garden.”

“I’ll be back, girls,” I holler without tearing my gaze off Steven, my heart already cleaving into two at this powerful man being rendered into this person who seems to be only half alive.

Ryland grunts as he hoists Steven against his shoulder while I curl my arm around his waist. Steven grips me tightly against him as we stagger toward the elevators.

Minutes later, we find ourselves in a dark, quiet garden and Ryland deposits Steven on a bench and steps away, no doubt to give us privacy.

The garden is normally one of my most favorite places in this building.

There are colorful potted plants carefully tended to by Millie and small trees dotting the periphery, the space normally filled with fragrant blooms—a small, private oasis in the middle of the city.

It’s usually warm and inviting and gives me a sense of peace as soon as I step foot inside.

But tonight, it’s cold. Stark. Barely illuminated as the moon and the stars are hidden by the thick storm clouds. Only a fraction of the normal light shines through the garden, with the twinkling lights of the adjacent buildings lending to visibility.

The wind is brisk, carrying a thick layer of humidity, and I shudder and rub the goosebumps pebbling my arms. The sounds of the city can be heard from far below—honking of cars, subway trains chugging over metal tracks, but everything fades into thick silence, with only the sound of my clamoring pulse in my ears as I take a seat next to the man I love.

A broken shell of his former self.

My hands grow clammy and I wipe them on my leggings before wrapping my arm around his waist and leaning my head on his chest. He clutches me against him, his heartbeats sure and strong, his warmth surrounding me.

My nose inhales his scent of safety. My home.

Suddenly, the anger from hours ago dissipates, and the rioting pulse inside me calms as we sit in stillness.

He threads his hand with mine, and I notice his watch missing from his wrist, his most prized possession, the gift from his father I always see him handling with care.

I trace the empty spot with my other hand, my fingers grazing at the tan lines in his muscular forearm.

“Where’s your watch?”

He chuckles, his voice full of pain.

“Mind over matter,” he whispers, and shakes his head. “It doesn’t work. I can’t mind over matter out of this. I can’t lock my emotions away any more than I can stop breathing.”

He clasps his other hand on top of mine. “I don’t want to wear it anymore.”

My heart breaks because I know this is significant. This is one of his father’s rare gifts to him, a token of his affection, something Steven desperately wants but always feels he lacked .

“What happened? Is your father okay?”

“They had him sedated earlier before I left LA. The doctors said he needs rest and to avoid stress.” Steven lets out a mirthless chuckle. “He’ll be fine.”

I frown. “What happened then? Why haven’t you answered my texts? I was so worried!”

He doesn’t look at me, but instead stares into the darkness ahead.

“Steven…you’re scaring me. What happened?”

He stills, his muscles clenched. He tilts his head toward the sky. “A starless night,” he breathes, “of course it’d be a starless night.”

His words make no sense and yet, I sense the answer at the tip of his tongue, the puzzle pieces sifting, trying to combine into a whole.

The silence stretches into seconds, into minutes, his body tensing, muscles clenched, his frame so still, he would’ve blended into the background if I weren’t sitting next to him and feeling his warmth against my body.

After what could’ve been ten or fifteen minutes of silence, he releases a loud exhale. A long, tortured sigh.

Slowly, he turns to me, his soulful eyes staring into mine. His hand trembles as he cradles my face once more. “Can I be selfish for one more time? Will you forgive me later? I promise you, I’ll tell you everything.”

My heart riots inside me, and my breathing quickens. Of course I’d forgive him. I’d forgive him for anything. It’s a hopeless cause. I could never stay mad at him.

At my silence, he continues, “I’d like to cash in one of my days. Can I?” His thumb touches my lips, as if testing the texture. “One last day.”

My mind flits back to our bet, which feels like a long time ago.

The karaoke bet between a cold king of the realm and the intern who didn’t know her place, two people who had no business being together and yet somehow found themselves mired in the same web, drinking the same poison, falling in love.

Intoxicating, desperate love .

My eyes mist, a heaviness sits atop of my chest, as I process his last words, “one last day.”

It seems final. Like no matter what I say or do, I’d never be able to change his mind. The spark of anger begins in my gut, threatens to travel up to my chest.

How dare he decide for me?

His eyes falter, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “You’ll understand after I tell you.” He swallows, “B-But before then, can you give me one last day?”

I take a deep breath and quash the flames inside me. I’ll convince him later once he tells me everything. I’ll be the lifeboat in his turbulent seas, the calm within the madness.

But if somehow this all collapses later, I want this one last day with him.

I nod, my heart splintering, a lump forming in my throat. “You can have all my days.”

Steven chokes and shudders, and he leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “Don’t hate me afterward, Grace. I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

I throw my arms around his shoulders and cling tightly.

I’ll never be able to hate him.

He has my whole heart—all the broken pieces, all the raised scars and bloody seams. He has it all. If it were to be crushed, I wanted him to be the one to do it, because I knew, when this ended, I’d never open myself up to anyone again.

I’m not my mom. I’m not that brave. I recognize the love we have is once in a lifetime, and something I’ll never, ever be able to recreate. The pain is too great, the cost is too high, and this is the end of the road for me.

I’m going to fight like hell to protect us.