ALVA

Marcel hasn’t called back. It’s been three days since I threatened him, three days since I told him to give me whatever my late mother left in his care or risk me prying it out of him in a manner he wouldn’t like.

His silence eats at me. I console myself with the thought of him pacing in his home, gnawing on his knuckles as guilt claws through him after my threat. Maybe he’s run away. Maybe he’s done what cowards like him do best; flee to his hometown, hiding behind nostalgia and the safety of old ghosts.

Still, his sudden departure from Danvarr and leaving his niece behind can only mean one thing; he definitely has something of Camille’s he’s gone to retrieve or protect. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

The thought of it makes warmth bloom in my chest. Camille Branson. Even her name feels foreign on my tongue because of how much of a taboo it was to speak it while growing up.

I lean back in my chair, the glow of my laptop painting my face a pale blue. I don’t know how I would feel if he called to fess up and give me whatever my birth mother had left me. I don’t have high expectations at this point. Her old hair brush will do the trick if it has an engraving of my name on it.

I just need something...anything, for closure. To distract myself, I glance back at my screen.

The draft of my book glares back at me. The sentences feel like open wounds. Each Chapter is a mirror I can’t stop looking into. Am I giving away too many details that shouldn’t be in there?

I’ve thought of cutting off or even rewriting a few scenes that hit too close to home but I feel the story would lose a huge chunk of its edge, emotion and authenticity if I do.

Afterall, the raw truths are what make the book so authentic, and why the literary agent fell in love with the story. The protagonist’s life is mine after all, disguised by a few changed names and blurred events. I was silently glad that the book had hit a spot with my first unbiased reader.

But this is not just about pleasing my readers. Writing this book feels... liberating. I know it’s strange to hide behind fiction but that’s only way I can relieve myself of the burden within. I tried other ways to heal. Telling a therapist my story made me feel naked but with my book, every word I write feels like confession disguised as art.

I scroll, then stop at a paragraph where the main character watches his mother’s coffin lower into the ground, pretending the lump in his throat is nothing more than dust. With a deep exhale, I shut the laptop to shove down painful memories of my mother’s death in the news.

No, not tonight. Tonight, I need to think of something else, anything else. I can’t call my father. He’s too busy catering to the whims of Brett Rollins to understand my craving for care and attention. He’d shut me down, and accuse me of being weak or something.

In less than an hour, I find myself outside my girlfriend’s door. The city feels heavy tonight. It seems like every streetlight is a spectator watching me unravel. I stand poised before Naomi’s apartment and stare at the familiar door that I’ve both knocked on and slammed behind me more times than I can count.

The silence between us since the book fair has been unbearable to be frank. I know it’s selfish to want to fix things now simply because I desperately need her company but I can’t feel worse than I already do.

I raise my hand but the door swings open before I can knock. Naomi fills the doorway, and the air leaves my lungs.

She looks ravishing in a simple red dress. The fabric hugs her body, flowing down in soft waves that catch the light on her porch. Thin straps cling to her shoulders, and the neckline dips just enough to be sinful. Gold hoops glint on her ears, a delicate chain resting at her collarbone, and her dark curls are swept to one side, exposing the slope of her neck.

She looks like a painting I am no longer allowed to touch. Where the hell is she going to, and with who?

Her eyes narrow when she sees me. "Alva?"

The sound of my name in her mouth feels formal and strange at the same time.

"What do you want?" she asks with a flat tone.

For a second, I forget how to speak. My throat is tight. All I can see is the faint smear of lipstick at the corner of her mouth and how easily I could wipe it away.

"Nomi I...I’m here to apologize," I manage, "For everything. I know I messed up again. I’m sorry for being an idiot..."

She folds her arms, cutting me off with a look. "You mean for yelling at me in public? For humiliating me? For calling me..."

"Yes," I blurt out. "I’m sorry for all of it, baby."

Her silence burns. I take a small step closer. "Nomi," The nickname is deliberate but she remains unfazed by it. "You were only trying to help. I see that now." She doesn’t respond or blink, and that silence terrifies me more.

"I don’t want to lose you," I continue, the words tumbling out faster. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Without you, my life..." I laugh bitterly. "It’s just empty, trust me."

"You keep saying that but you don’t actually mean it, else, you wouldn’t be quick to shut me out every chance you get."

I gently take her arm and feel a twinge of pain when she wriggles away. "Please, I mean my words this time. I know I have to work on my demons but please, I can’t do it alone. I missed you so much. I don’t think I can function without you by my side."

Her lips twitch. She wants to stay angry but the warm flicker in her eyes betrays her. Taking the cue, I take two steps, slowing backing her into the apartment. The air smells like jasmine and faint traces of her perfume.

"Alva, I don’t think this is the right time..." she starts, but I’m already close enough for her voice to falter.

"Please," I whisper, reaching out, resting a hand at her waist. Her breath catches. "I’m done fighting."

Her eyes close when my thumb grazes her hip. Her breath is a murmur "You think this fixes things?"

"No, but it’s always been a good start."

The silence thickens between us, one of those fragile moments that teeters between restraint and surrender.

"I’ve missed you," I say, meaning every word. "I’ve missed waking up next to you. I’ve missed your voice, your smell, the way you..."

"Don’t," she whispers. "I have somewhere to be."

My fingers trace slow circles on her waist. "Can I ask where and with whom? Or have I lost the right to know?"

Her guard softens and she even beams softly. "I’m meeting a friend, Alva."

A friend? What friend? Someone I know? I swallow the questions on my tongue and continue to skim her body with my fingers even though the vague reply makes my chest tighten. She must have picked it up because she continues.

"You remember the lady you bumped into at the book fair? Demi Branson."

The smile on my face withers instantly at the mention of her name. My hands drop to my sides. My girlfriend is going to see Demi, my half-sibling? What? Since when did they become friends?

Naomi keeps talking, oblivious of the shock I’m going through. She even hooks her arms around my neck cheerfully. "She’s actually really sweet. We’ve been texting. She wanted to meet up today. I think she’s been through a lot, Alva. People say awful things about her family, but she’s not like them."

I take a step back, my pulse hammering.

Of all the people? Of all the cruel jokes the universe could play, it had to be my half-sister and my girlfriend becoming besties? It had to dangle the one person that could expose the secret I had been smothering for years??? And now Demi’s circling the one person I can’t afford to lose?

I force a breath through my teeth. "Baby, I really need you right now. I hate to crash your plans like this but I could really use some company right now." I give her my best, ’I’m going through it’ look and she takes the bait.

She tilts her head warily. "What’s wrong? Is it your book?"

"No. No, it’s just stuff about my dad but nothing I can’t handle." Fuck it. I need something strong to make her cancel on Demi, and judging by her dilated eyes, the mention of my father was the right call. She chucks her purse first and grabs my head.

"Your dad? Alva, I didn’t know you had..."

"I know. I guess I have a lot to tell you but right now, I need you." My lips brush over hers. "I promise to tell you about my complicated relationship with him but first, I need my girl..." She gets my drift. "I’m sure Demi can wait an hour. I need you right now, Nomi. Please...one hour" She nods in agreement and returns my kiss with equal passion.

I scoop her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom. Inside, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across her rumpled sheets. Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging gently.

Her body is pressed flush against mine. I savor the soft curves yielding to my harder frame. Without breaking the kiss, I lower her onto the bed, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opens for me, a quiet moan escaping as our mouths fuse in a slow, hungry dance.

Her hands roam down my back, nails scraping lightly over my shirt, urging me closer. I pull back just enough to yank the fabric over my head, tossing it aside, then help her with hers, peeling the thin dress away to reveal the lace bra hugging her full breasts.

My palms cup them, thumbs circling her nipples through the fabric until they harden into tight peaks. Naomi arches, whispering my name like a plea, her eyes dark with the same need burning in my veins.

Skipping the tease, I cover her body with mine and gently guide myself to her entrance. The tip nudges her slick folds, and I push in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me tight, warm and perfect. Naomi’s legs hook over my hips, pulling me deeper, her nails raking down my back as I bottom out, fully sheathed inside her.

We both still for a moment, breaths mingling, foreheads pressed together.

’I love you,’ I murmur, starting to move, long, deep thrusts that grind against her clit with each roll of my hips.

The rhythm builds, passionate and unhurried as we chase that connection. She meets every thrust, her pussy gripping me like a vice, pulling me in deeper. I kiss her neck, her collarbone, capturing her mouth again in a searing kiss as I angle my hips to hit that sweet spot inside her.

Naomi’s moans grow louder, her hands clutching my ass, urging me faster. I oblige, pounding into her with controlled force, the bed creaking beneath us, the air thick with the scent of our arousal.

She shatters, crying out my name, her inner muscles pulsing around my cock, milking me toward the edge. I follow seconds later, burying myself deep as I come, spilling inside her in hot spurts.

My body tenses with the force of it. We collapse together, tangled and spent. I wrap my arms around her and press a soft kiss to her temple, whispering apologies and promises into her hair. Her anger from before is forgotten in the warmth of my embrace.

***

When the world stops spinning, the room is dim. Naomi sleeps beside me, hair fanned across the pillow, her breathing slow and steady. Her skin glows faintly in the half-light.

For a moment, I almost believe this is peace. Almost, until I spot the blink of light from her bag on the floor. Reality dawns on me afresh. Demi and Naomi! No, that can’t happen.

I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her. My body aches in pleasant ways, but my mind is already working, sharp and cold again. I find her phone easily. The screen lights my face with a ghostly hue as I unlock it. It’s just as I expected. Two missed calls from Demi Branson and a couple of texts.

I stare at the name in ire. Calmly, I delete the messages, block the number and rename the contact Unknown Caller. Then, I use one of my private lines — the one I never use except when I need to vanish, to save as Demi. That way when Naomi tries to call Demi later, she won’t get any response and eventually, she’ll stop trying.

I slip the phone back into her bag just as she stirs in her sleep.

Her hand reaches for me in her sleep, fingers brushing empty sheets. I freeze, then ease back into bed before she wakes fully. She opens her eyes, and smiles as she finds me, a slow, lazy smile that makes my guilt deepen.

Then her gaze shifts to the clock on the wall.

"Oh my God." She sits upright, clutching the sheet. "It’s been over two hours! Alva, you said—"

"I know," I cut in, laughing softly. "I couldn’t help myself."

She glares, torn between outrage and affection. "You’re impossible."

"Maybe," I murmur, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. When she grabs her phone, confusion crosses her face. "Weird. No missed calls." She dials Demi quickly but her frown only deepens. "She’s not picking up."

"Maybe she’s busy," I offer, kissing her shoulder. "Or maybe she changed her mind. People like her—celebrities, they make promises they don’t mean."

Naomi hesitates. "She didn’t seem fake. Just... distracted, like she was forgetting things mid-sentence."

My stomach turns. Of course she was. Demi recently lost her memories. I school my face into calm. "Maybe that’s why she bailed on your appointment. Maybe she just needed space. Don’t take it personally."

Naomi sighs, sinking against me. "You’re probably right."

I brush a kiss against her hair. "I hate seeing you doubt yourself. You’re worth more than that, and you don’t need to be friends with the likes of Demi Branson to prove anything."

She smiles faintly, closing her eyes. "She’s just another regular lady to me. It wasn’t about that."

"Maybe Demi doesn’t see it that way. Best to keep your distance so you don’t get roped into that infamous family’s drama, okay?"

She hums softly and within minutes, she’s asleep again. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling.

The satisfaction curdles into something darker. Maybe Demi really should leave Danvarr. Maybe I need to get Marcus to take her far away from my girlfriend. It’s time the Bransons stopped haunting this city. I can’t afford Naomi being pulled closer to my dark secret.

I’ll have to make sure Demi leaves, one way or another.