Chapter One Hundred And Twelve

Chapter 112

The world was quiet again, though the silence felt unnatural. For years, chaos had been the soundtrack of Jemima's life—gunfire, sirens, shouts in the night. Now, as the sun began to rise over the horizon, it felt like she was finally seeing the end of a long, dark tunnel.

The weight of it all sat heavily on her chest, though, as she sat on the back porch of the safe house. Jemima breathed in the fresh scent of lilies that surrounded her at that moment— a reminder that the chaos was finally behind her. The wool blanket around her shoulders did little to fend off the chill that crept into her bones. She stared out at the dew-covered grass, her thoughts a storm she couldn't quite calm.

Vanessa's face kept flashing in her mind. Where are you? Are you even alive?
Vanessa’s betrayal had cut deep because they had been best friends right from childhood and she never fathomed that of all people, Vanessa would betray her in such a brutal manner too.

Even though Vanessa had betrayed her, she wanted to know why. She wanted to hear her, even if it was going to be just an excuse. Jemima sighed heavily as her thoughts spiraled. She closed her eyes, a weak attempt to shut out the incessant voice in her head.

Maybe if she knew whether Vanessa was alive or not, it’d ease things up.

She hadn't spoken much since Jon's body hit the ground. Alan had delivered the final blow—a shot to his father's head, clean and decisive. No hesitation. No regret. At least none that Alan would show. But Jemima knew what it meant. Alan Ross had killed the man who had shaped his entire life. And in doing so, he had shattered the unspoken rules of their bitter family feud.

“It’s over!” Jemima whispered to herself as she raked her fingers through her hair. A lone tear fell from her eyes and she knew it wasn’t tears of frustration, sadness, or anger. Rather, it was tears of relief and freedom— a sigh that she could finally walk the streets of New York without looking over her shoulder multiple times.

The door creaked open behind her, and Jay stepped out, his familiar presence grounding her. He carried two mugs of coffee, steam curling up into the crisp morning air.

"Thought you could use this," he said, handing her one.

"Thanks," she murmured, her fingers brushing his as she took it. The warmth seeped into her hands, a welcome contrast to the cold gnawing at her skin.

Jay sat beside her, his legs stretched out in front of him. "You've been out here for a while."

"I needed some air," she said, her voice soft. "Everything feels... well, not so heavy anymore."

Jay nodded, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's bound to. We've been fighting for so long. It's hard to believe it's over."

Jemima let out a bitter laugh. "Is it? Jon's dead, but the scars he left behind are still here. Vanessa is still missing or probably dead. And Alan..." She trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Jay's jaw tightened. "Alan made his choice. He did what needed to be done."

"He killed his father, Jay," she said, turning to look at him. "Do you know what that means? For him? For us?"

Jay's gaze met hers, unwavering. "I know exactly what it means. But Jon had to die. And Alan knew that better than anyone else. We spared him the last time and sparing him this time wouldn’t have made any sense.”

Before she could respond, the door opened again, and Alan stepped out. His presence was a sharp contrast to Jay's steady calm—his shoulders tense, his movements rigid.

"Am I interrupting?" Alan asked, his voice neutral, though there was a sharpness to it that Jemima didn't miss.

Jay's posture stiffened, but he forced a casual shrug. "Not at all. Just talking about how we move forward."

Alan stepped closer, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Forward. That's rich coming from you."

Jay grunted, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Alan scoffed.

Jemima's brow furrowed, sensing the tension simmering between the two men. "Alan, we were just—"

"Talking about me?" Alan cut in, his dark eyes locking onto Jay's. "Don't stop on my account."

Jay stood, his mug abandoned on the step. "No one's talking about you, Ross. We're trying to figure out what comes next. You know, the part where we clean up the mess your father left behind."

Alan took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "My father's mess? Don't act like your hands are clean, Black. You've done your share of damage."

"Enough!" Jemima's voice cut through the tension, her green eyes blazing. She stood between them, her blanket falling to the ground. "This isn't the time for this. We're all on the same side now, remember?"

Alan's gaze softened as it shifted to her, though the anger didn't fully leave his face. "Are we, Jemima? Because last I checked, your family and mine were sworn enemies. And just because Jon's gone doesn't mean that changes overnight."

Her heart clenched at his words, the weight of their shared history pressing down on her. The Valerians and the Ross had been locked in a blood feud for generations. She and Alan had grown up as enemies, their lives shaped by the hatred between their families. But somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred.

"I know our history, Alan," she said quietly. "But we're not our families. We've proven that."

Alan's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Have we? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like I'm the only one who lost everything tonight."

Jemima flinched, his words cutting deeper than she expected. Before she could respond, Alan turned and walked away, disappearing into the house.

Jay watched him go, his jaw clenched. "He's not wrong," he said after a moment.

She turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means he lost his father tonight. No matter how twisted Jon was, he was still Alan's blood. And Alan didn't just lose a father—he lost his identity. The Ross name, the empire, everything he's known is gone. And now he's standing here, looking at us—at you—and wondering where he fits in."

Jemima sank back onto the steps, her head in her hands. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."

Jay crouched in front of her, his hands resting on her knees. "I know you didn't. But it's here. And we have to deal with it."

She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his face. "How? How do we deal with this?"

His expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "We start by taking it one step at a time. Together."

Her breath hitched at the tenderness in his voice, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Jay."

"You won't have to find out," he said softly, his forehead resting against hers.

For a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them. But even as her heart swelled with the promise of his words, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered a warning.

Alan's words lingered, the weight of their shared history casting a shadow over the fragile peace they had found.

Jay's hand slid to the back of her neck, his touch warm and steady. "No matter what happens, Jem, I'm here. Always."

She nodded, her eyes closing as she let herself believe him. For now, that was enough.

But deep down, she knew the scars of the past weren't so easily healed.

As the sun rose higher, casting its golden light over the world, Jemima couldn't shake the feeling that the hardest battles were yet to come.

Later that evening, as the safe house settled into an uneasy calm, Jemima found herself in the small garden behind the house. The stars above were bright, their light untainted by the city's usual haze.

Alan stood a few feet away, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the moon. He didn't turn when she approached, but she knew he was aware of her presence.

"Alan," she said softly.

He glanced at her, his expression guarded. "What is it, Jemima?"

She hesitated, the words she wanted to say tangling in her throat. "I just... I wanted to thank you. For everything."

His laugh was bitter, his gaze returning to the sky. "Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you."

Her chest tightened, but she pressed on. "Then why? Why did you pull that trigger?"

Alan's shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. But then he turned to face her, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made her heartache.

"Because I couldn't let him hurt you anymore," he said, his voice low but fierce. "Because no matter how much I hate you, I can't stand the thought of losing you."

The confession hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless. "Alan..."

He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Don't. Don't say anything. Just... go back to Jay. He's the one you've chosen. I'm just the guy who killed his father to save you."

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone beneath the stars.

As she watched him go, a single tear slipped down her cheek, the weight of his words settling deep in her heart but she knew he was right. No matter how much she tried, Jay was the one who had always been with her. Jay was the one her heart beat for and she could not fathom a life without Jay.

“But what if Alan was meant to be?”