I felt the blood cool in my veins as I moved. No fear. Fear was inefficient. There was only the cold, mechanical hum of necessary action.
I didn't look at Chester Knight again. I retrieved the silenced weapon, wiping it down methodically, and slid it into the specially lined compartment in my jacket. The only evidence left was a minimal transfer of bodily fluids and the fact that Chester had stopped breathing.
I pulled out my phone and made 2 calls. The first was a single, curt, coded message.
"Tyrone. Cleaning Crew Alpha. Knight Office. ASAP. Twenty-minute window."
Tyrone, my security chief and lifelong fixer, didn't ask questions. He didn't need to.
The second call was to my lawyer, a rapid-fire instruction to move the entire legal offensive…the one designed to ruin Chester financially…into high gear immediately. The illusion of the corporate attack had to be maintained.
I walked out of Chester's office building the same way I came in, unnoticed and unremarkable. The entire operation…the shot, the securing of the scene, the calls…took less than five minutes.
I then drove toward Belinda's firm, the gun resting in my jacket like a bomb. I hadn't planned to go to her office. My logical self screamed that I should be establishing a watertight alibi at my company. But my core, the part of me that was still reeling from the intimate honesty we had shared on the desk, overruled logic.
I needed to see her face. I needed to anchor myself in her reality before the consequences of my action ripped our world apart. I had killed for her, and I needed her to know, needed her to understand that the monster I had become was her monster.The man who killed her father.
I parked on the street a block from her sleek, glass-walled building and called her personal line.
"I'm outside," I said, my voice level. "Come to the car now. We need to talk."
Belinda was out of the office in two minutes, running the last few steps, her expression a turbulent mix of fierce resolve and frantic worry. She slid into the seat, slamming the door shut.
"What happened? Did something go wrong with Liam or did…" she stopped abruptly, finally taking in my stark, controlled demeanor. "Jackson? You look like you haven't slept in a week. What's going on?"
I reached for her hand, the contact immediate, grounding. I was about to tell her everything…the violence, the death, the cleanup crew currently operating inside Chester's office. I opened my mouth, the truth poised on my tongue.
"I took care of the…"
"Oh my God, Jackson wait sorry before I forget, I just heard the craziest news!" she blurted out, her anxiety suddenly overwhelmed by a flash of genuine, unexpected joy. She squeezed my hand, her eyes shining with tears that were thankfully not of fear. "My cousin Rosaline—she's getting married! She just texted me. The date is set! Can you believe it? The woman said she'd never settle down!"
She leaned across the center console, her happiness a sudden, blinding light in the suffocating darkness of the car. Her arms went around my neck, and she kissed me.
It wasn't the fierce, demanding kiss of our earlier passion, it was soft, sweet, and utterly, wonderfully normal. It was a kiss full of wedding registries, flower arrangements, and the comfortable, uncomplicated love of family.
The truth…the cold, ugly truth of the murder…lodged in my throat. How could I taint this moment? How could I tell her that while she was planning toasts and bridesmaid dresses, I was disposing of her father's body?
I kissed her back, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, and made a decision more terrifying than the shooting itself.
"That's incredible, Bel," I murmured, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes, my expression deliberately softening into a tired smile. "That's wonderful news."
The truth stayed locked behind my teeth, the cold, silent weight of the silencer in my jacket a secret only me and Tyrone now shared. I will eventually tell her later. When the deal is done. When the cleanup was finished.
But as I drove us away from the curb, a terrible realization settled over me… the first lie had cost me her trust. This secret…this monstrous, necessary murder…might cost me my soul, but telling it now would certainly cost me her love. I could never tell her. I'm on my own.
We then head to my office because she asked to see it today.
I pulled away from her, the warmth of the shared tea and the desperate kiss doing little to settle the frantic energy thrumming beneath my skin. I had to move the jacket. The weapon inside felt like a burning coal, an undeniable piece of evidence connecting me to the silence in Chester Knight's office.
"I need to make a quick call to the bank," I lied, keeping my movements controlled. "Just to ensure the preliminary financing is ready to move the moment your leverage hits."
I grabbed my jacket from the chair, the weight of the gun heavy and familiar against my hip. I walked quickly to the master bedroom to make the call in private. Once inside, I didn't call the bank. I pulled out my phone and sent a single, terse text to Tyrone: "NOW. Code Red."
I emerged, the jacket now safely hidden behind a row of winter coats. The momentary relief was immense but fleeting.
Belinda was already moving toward the door, her eyes shining with fierce anticipation. "The Chronicle story will be at peak circulation right now. We need to strike the purchase agreement before anyone else can even process the freeze over my father's company. But first, the dress."
I blinked, momentarily derailed by the abrupt, almost manic shift to normalcy. "The dress?"
"We don't go to war looking drab, Jackson. That gala is next week, and it's the perfect stage. We need armor. We need the emerald green gown, and we need it today. I need to walk onto that stage looking like the woman who is about to own this city—and I need you beside me, looking like the man who makes it happen."
The command was absolute, tinged with a thrilling recklessness that had nothing to do with fashion and everything to do with defiance. I knew I should be preparing safe houses and alibis, but the desire to honor this part of her rage…to watch her transform into the public executioner of her father's empire…was intoxicating.
"Fine," I said, accepting the detour. "Armor shopping it is."
We drove downtown. The transition from the hushed apartments to the exclusive designer boutique was a jarring assault on the senses. Belinda moved through the racks with the focused intensity of a CEO reviewing quarterly reports, while I stood back, maintaining a careful perimeter.
When she stepped out of the fitting room, everything stopped.
The dress was a deep, shimmering emerald green velvet, cut with a stark, architectural precision that was both regal and dangerous. It revealed her power, not just her beauty.
"Well?" she asked, turning slowly, the fabric whispering with the sound of a thousand unspoken threats.
I crossed the distance between us in two long strides. I didn't speak. I reached out and let my fingertips trail down the elegant line of her exposed back. The sight of her…triumphant, beautiful, utterly oblivious to the murder committed in her name…was almost too much to bear.
"It says 'untouchable'," I murmured, my voice husky. "It says no one dares to look away."
"I think you should get it in red. Red always looks so sexy on you and you know what they say. Red for danger."
She smiled at me and nodded before disappearing to change out of it.
As we waited for the dress and the accompanying jewels to be wrapped, the transaction felt unreal. I was exchanging currency for a beautiful garment that would act as a powerful decoy, while my other, far more sinister operation…the one involving Tyrone and the body…unfolded in the city's depths.
When we left the boutique, the shopping bag felt heavier than the gun ever had. It was weighted with the secret, the silent, deadly promise that would either bind us forever or tear us apart. The performance of normalcy was exhausting, but I knew I couldn't stop. I had bought her the armor; now I had to make sure she was safe enough to wear it.
Who knows who else I could have pissed off by killing Chester. Something tells me I just dragged myself into a hole that Belinda might accidentally trip into unknowingly.
I need to let off steam.
"My love…when we get home, I'm using your body as much as I need okay? You're gonna need a safe word" I warned as we made our way home.
She nearly choked on her smoothie and agreed, "Um…okay then. My…safe word will be…pineapple."
She looked a bit concerned as if she was picturing what could possibly go wrong for her to need a safe word.
Oh Belinda, you have no idea…