chapter 7
1398 Words
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The rain had turned Manhattan into a gray watercolor, streaking down glass and pooling in every curbside like secrets refusing to stay buried.
Daisy stared out the window of Charles’s black SUV, her reflection ghostlike in the tinted glass. The city blurred past her, too fast and too familiar. She should’ve stayed in the penthouse. She should’ve ignored the text.
But some ghosts don’t stay silent.
The message had come from a number she hadn't saved—but one she’d never truly forgotten.
“Corner of 109th and Lenox. You owe me, Daisy. Don’t make me come to you.”
She didn’t need to guess. There was only one person who would dare send something like that.
Kamal.
The name hit like an old bruise, tender and dangerous. She hadn’t seen him since she left Harlem three years ago. Left everything, including the girl she used to be. But Kamal? He was the kind of man who didn’t forgive disappearances—especially not when they cost him money.
She exhaled slowly, willing her hands to stop shaking.
The SUV slowed, easing into a narrow side street flanked by shuttered bodegas and rusted metal gates. The driver—one of Charles’s men—turned slightly in his seat.
“You sure you want me to drop you here, Miss Almond?”
She forced a smile. “Just give me ten minutes.”
The driver didn’t move. “Mr. Robert doesn’t like unplanned stops.”
“I’ll handle Charles.”
She stepped out before he could argue, pulling her coat tighter against the wind. The city smelled different here—like wet concrete, hot pretzels, and faded memories. She crossed the street quickly, ducking into a shadowed alley where she’d once shared smokes and secrets with boys she never really trusted.
He was waiting by the graffiti-smeared brick wall, cigarette between his lips, hood up despite the drizzle. He hadn’t changed much—still tall, wiry, and coiled like a loaded spring. His smile, when it came, was slow and cutting.
“Look who’s back from the dead.”
“Kamal,” she said quietly. “You said ten minutes. Use them wisely.”
He chuckled, flicking the cigarette to the ground. “Still got that mouth on you, huh? I missed it.”
“What do you want?”
He stepped closer. “I want what you owe me. You think you can just walk out with my money, disappear into glass towers and billionaires’ beds?”
She flinched. “I didn’t take your money.”
“You cost me money, Daisy. That’s the same thing.”
Her chest tightened. She remembered the night she ran—the chaos, the deal gone wrong, the sirens. Kamal had been furious, but she’d been scared. Scared enough to vanish.
“I don’t have anything,” she said. “You know that.”
“No?” He pulled something from his coat pocket and held it up. A photograph. Grainy. Blown up from a security cam. Her. And Charles. Entering his building, too close to be professional.
“I did some digging. You’re not nobody anymore.”
Her stomach dropped. How the hell had he found her?
Kamal stepped in again, lowering his voice. “You think your new life makes you untouchable? Maybe you should tell your shiny billionaire who you really are.”
“I’m not that girl anymore,” she whispered.
“Sure you are. And I’m going to remind you.”
He turned and walked away, leaving her frozen, heartbeat hammering like it wanted to burst through her ribs.
By the time she got back into the SUV, her hands were still shaking.
—
Charles was waiting when she returned.
He stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, glass of bourbon untouched on the table behind him. He didn’t turn when she walked in.
“You left without telling me.”
She dropped her coat on the back of the couch, her voice low. “I had something to handle.”
“I asked you not to lie to me.”
That made her look up sharply. “I didn’t.”
He turned then, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “My driver reported everything. Including your visitor.”
Daisy went still.
Charles stepped closer, each movement deliberate. “Who is he?”
“Nobody,” she lied, too quickly.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m tired.”
“No, Daisy. You’re scared.”
She hated how he could see through her. Hated how vulnerable that made her feel.
He reached out, touching her wrist lightly. “You don’t have to protect me from the truth. But you can’t keep hiding.”
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not without crumbling.
So instead, she asked, “Would you still want me if you knew everything? Who I used to be?”
His expression didn’t change. But his grip on her wrist tightened, just a little.
"try me"
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She wanted to laugh. Or scream. Maybe both.
Because Charles Robert—man of steel, king of Wall Street—was looking at her like he cared. Like he wasn’t just curious about her secrets, but aching to carry them.
“Try me,” he said again.
Daisy lowered herself onto the edge of the leather sofa, legs suddenly weak. Her throat felt raw, and not from the cold. From years of silence finally fraying.
“You want the truth?” she asked softly.
He nodded once.
“I used to run jobs. Small-time stuff. Hustles. Favors. Whatever it took to survive. I was good with people, with finding things, knowing who wanted what. Kamal—he was my link. The middleman. But the deeper I got, the worse the deals became. Drugs. Laundering. One night a deal went wrong, and someone got arrested. I ran. Left everything. Even the name I used back then.”
She paused. His eyes didn’t leave hers. No judgement. No disgust.
Just stillness.
“I wasn’t a criminal,” she added quickly, voice shaking. “But I was close enough to feel the fire.”
Silence stretched between them like a loaded string.
Then Charles moved. Sat beside her, close enough to feel the tension vibrating off her skin.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked quietly.
She scoffed. “Oh, right. Let me just walk into the penthouse of a man who signs billion-dollar contracts and say, ‘Hi, I used to help guys flip stolen phones and fake credit cards.’ That would’ve gone great.”
His lips twitched, like he almost smiled—but didn’t.
“You think I’ve never dealt with messy pasts?” he said. “This city is full of people wearing masks. Some of us just learned how to make them expensive.”
She stared at him, heart thudding. “So… what, you’re not going to throw me out?”
“I should,” he said evenly. “I’ve built my entire career on risk analysis. You are a walking risk, Daisy Almond.”
She swallowed. Nodded.
Then he leaned in, voice low and deliberate. “But I’ve never cared less about logic than I do right now.”
Her breath hitched.
He touched her face—just a graze of fingertips, soft and searching.
“You’re not who you were,” he said. “But I need to know something. Is this man—Kamal—a threat?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s unpredictable. He knows things. He’s dangerous when he’s cornered.”
Charles stood, all stillness gone now, replaced with something colder. Sharper.
“Then he just made the worst mistake of his life.”
She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Charles, this isn’t your world—”
“You’re in my world now. That makes this my problem.”
His voice held no room for argument. The protective force in him was no longer just simmering—it was flaring into action.
Before she could stop him, he was already pulling his phone from his pocket, barking out a name—someone from his security team, someone who sounded used to cleaning up shadows.
And Daisy sat there, silent and trembling, as the line between her past and present finally shattered.
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- Writer
