Page 77 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

In the blink of an eye, he sees Jessica the moment she got the phone call on Sunday morning. He sees the pain in her eyes when she came to meet him on Monday night. He hears Adams telling him, Jessica Chapman lives in an apartment with her mother in Brooklyn; that he sat on it Tuesday night and she neither came nor went.

He acts instinctively, not bothering to question Stefano or himself. Placing a hand on the man’s bony shoulder, Khalohn pushes his way into the apartment. Stefano protests, but he doesn’t lift a hand to stop Khalohn. The one-bedroom unit is small enough that it doesn’t take him but a second to realize, if she’s not in the little living room he barged into, there are only a couple other places she can be.

He veers right, steps into the narrow hallway, and sees her instantly. She’s curled up on the bed, her beautiful, dark eyes swollen and red rimmed, staring straight at him. Her face is pale, and her hair is a mess—like she hasn’t even thought about leaving that bed all day. She doesn’t move or speak; but when she blinks, silent tears crawl across the bridge of her nose and seep into the pillow underneath her cheek.

Khalohn’s chest tightens as he stares at her. He acknowledges the ache he feels at the sight of her brokenness. But it’s not justherhe sees. In her devastated eyes, he sees a version of himself he hasn’t seen in a really long time. A version of himself he thought he’d drowned in a bottle of bourbon nine years ago. He sees a heart—vulnerable, exposed, and completely raw. He sees someone who chose to love wholeheartedly; someone who lost that love and is crushed because of it.

Staring at the grieving woman in front of him, he also sees a choice. He understands that right here, right now, he can turn around and walk away. He can leave Jessica Chapman behind, believing the lie of Bryn van Doren. Or—he can choose Jessica. He can forget the fantasy, forget the concept of taking her body without accepting responsibility of her heart. He can allow himself to want her, all of her, because that’s the kind of man he is, no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

Jessica’s eyes follow him as he crosses the threshold, stepping into the bedroom. Without a word, he removes the covers from over her body and finds her fully clothed underneath them. His eyes connect with hers again as he leans down and scoops her up into his arms and against his chest. She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t speak a word. She merely rests her head on his shoulder, reaches up to grip hold of the lapel of his suit jacket, curls into him, and sobs quietly.

“What—what are you doing? Where are you going?” Stefano demands to know as Khalohn carries Jessica into the living room. She’s shaking, and all he wants is to get her out of there.

“Her purse. Where is it?”

“Mr. Morgan—”

“I’m not leaving her here,” he insists. “Her bag. Either it comes with us and she’ll call you when she’s ready, or I walk out of here without it.”

He hesitates, his eyes darting between Jessica and Khalohn. When he relents, his whole body deflates before he goes to retrieve Jessica’s purse.

When he’s got everything he needs, Khalohn meets Stefano’s eyes and assures him, “I’ve got her.”

He carries her out of the building, not the least bit worried at the sight they must be as he makes his way to the Maybach. Atzel climbs out of the driver’s seat, his eyes widening when he spots the woman in Khalohn’s arms, but he speaks not a word. He simply opens the door to the backseat, allowing Khalohn to fold himself inside. He manages to do so without letting go of Jessica.

As soon as Atzel is behind the wheel, he clears his throat and then inquires, “Uh, will we be on our way to Tribeca, sir?”

“No. The penthouse.”

Jessica wakes ina fog. She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep, but she’s still weighed down by an exhaustion so heavy, it’s as if her limbs have been filled with sand. As she blinks her eyes open, she fights a groan. It takes her a moment to get used to the painful sensation of using her sight. She feels how her eyelids are swollen and raw, like she rubbed salt into her eyes. As easy as it would be to simply sink back into the darkness of slumber, to escape to a place where her agony is a little more manageable, her whole body seems to protest even the idea of more sleep.

Tuning into her body, the first thing she notices is she’s extremely comfortable. This doesn’t make sense to her. Still not entirely cognizant of where orwhenshe is, she forces herself to focus on her surroundings. The bed she’s in molds around her body perfectly, the sheets tangled around her bare legs incredibly soft. She tries to remember taking off her pants, but she can’t. To confirm she really isn’t wearing any, she lifts the sheet and blanket under which she lays. That’s when she smells him.

Khalohn.

An ache she can’t quite identify threatens to drag her back into the darkness, but she seals her eyes shut and forces the feeling away. When she sucks in a breath through her nose, she not only smells Khalohn, she remembers him lifting her into his arms and carrying her away from her apartment. Away from her mother’s bed. She still doesn’t understand how he could have been there; but rather than question what was, she decides to save what little energy she has to figure out whatis.

When she pushes herself up into a seated position, her head spins. She buries her fingers in her hair and waits for the room to settle before she drops her hands into her lap. Glancing down at her chest, she sees part of the reason she still feels so comfortable. She’s wearing a NYU hoodie, the material worn thin from years of use. It doesn’t take her but a moment to realize this is about all she’s wearing, along with her panties. The thought of Khalohn changing her out of the clothes she’d had on since she was at the hospital causes that ache in her chest to return. Again, she shakes it off and tries to focus on something else.

She can tell, by the sheer size of the room, she’s in a master suite. Aside from the king size bed she’s in, flanked by a couple of nightstands, there’s what appears to be a sleek, modern looking, gray suede, armless couch angled in the corner nearest her, complete with a coordinating coffee table. On the opposite side of the room, there’s a fireplace built into the wall and an entirely separate seating arrangement. There are windows all around her, but he’s drawn all the drapes closed, so the room is almost dark. Jessica has no idea what time it is, but she knows the sun is up by the way light is fighting its way into the room.

A single swallow brings her mental focus back to her body. Her throat is dry, and simply acknowledging how that feels triggers an all-consuming need for water. She can tell her legs are unsteady before her feet even meet the rug beneath the bed, but she curls her fingers around the edge of the mattress and eases her way to standing. As soon as she’s upright, she sees the glass of water on the nightstand and her knees act of their own accord. Her backside resting against the bed, she reaches for the water and guzzles it until its gone. When she puts the glass back where she found it, she spots her phone. With no interest in contacting the outside world—the world where her mother no longer exists—she stands to her feet again and goes in search of the door.

She finds three closets, one of which appears empty, before she finds the door that leads out of the room. The minute she passes into the hallway, she squints. The light of day, pouring in through the windows at the end of the galley, hurts her already aching eyes. It’s not bright, hinting at either dusk, dawn, or merely a cloudy day. She’s not sure which. Slowly, Jessica ventures down the hall. Khalohn’s place is so quiet, she wonders if he’s left her all alone. She walks by what appears to be two separate guest rooms and then finds the stairwell. Holding on to the handrail, she descends a flight of stairs, overwhelmed by what she sees when she reaches the bottom.

Jessica knows Khalohn is wealthy. She’s seen the designer brands sewn into his suits. She’s slept in an apartment paid for and furnished by him. Moreover, just about every dime she has to her name is because he gave it to her—but seeing his home adds a whole new dimension to his status. When she hears the sound of his voice, the deep tone barely audible as he talks softly, she clings to the distraction. She doesn’t want to get lost in his penthouse. She doesn’t want to think about his wealth. She can’t handle that right now.

“I’ll take it from home,” she hears him say as she practically hugs the wall, following the sound of his voice. “Just the one call, and then I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the day.” He pauses and then informs the person on the opposite side of the line, “It’s likely I’ll be working from home for the next week. Please adjust my schedule accordingly.” Another pause. “One more thing. In a couple hours, you’ll receive an email from Brett Adams. In it, you’ll find the information required to make arrangements for a funeral.” He pauses and then, “Bethany Chapman.”

Jessica’s breath catches in her throat at his words just as she reaches the open doorway of what is obviously his home office. Khalohn is standing with his back to her, his gaze trained out the tall window. When the ache she felt a few minutes ago returns, she can’t shove it aside. It invades her chest, making it difficult for her to pull in a deep breath. She wraps her hands around the doorjamb, clinging to it as her legs start to tremble.

“I trust your taste, Maribelle. Spare no expense.”

Jessica tries again to fill her lungs as her eyes fill with fresh tears. Khalohn notices, and he turns to face her directly, but she can’t make out the expression on his face—her watery eyes making it nearly impossible.

“As soon as you have an update, I want to know. I have to go.”

He ends the call, sliding his phone into the pocket of his athletic shorts. Jessica blinks, and the image of Khalohn—in a plain white t-shirt, a pair of shorts, his hair disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it—becomes overwhelmingly clear. As he begins to close the distance between them, the ache in Jessica’s chest expands, and a knot of emotion clogs her throat.

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