Chapter Sixty One

Chapter 61

Jemima's palms grew clammy as Alan's handshake lingered. His piercing gaze held hers for a beat too long, sending a jolt of unease through her. It wasn't just his presence that unsettled her—it was the nagging feeling of familiarity, like a distant echo of a memory she couldn't grasp.

A strong sense of Deja vu surged through her veins and she could not shake it off. Why did it feel as though, she was seeing Alan. What was the probability that the people in her dream were real?

“And you must be…” Alan reiterated, causing her to blink back severally.

"Jemima Valerian," she finally managed, her voice steady but her heart hammering in her chest. She slipped her hand free from his grasp and forced a smile. "We're honored to have you and the commissioner here today."

Alan's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The honor is ours," he replied, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. "My father and I have followed your work with great interest. Your story is... inspiring."

Jemima stiffened. The way he said it felt wrong, as if he knew something he shouldn't. Her gaze flickered to Jon Ross, the commissioner, who stood a few feet away, exchanging pleasantries with Marcus. His expression was unreadable, but there was a strange glint in his eye when he glanced at her.

"Shall we?" Alan gestured toward the building's entrance, breaking the tension.

Jemima remained immobile, her mind reeling with different thoughts. She suddenly felt sick.

“Are you okay?” Marcus questioned, nudging her a little bit. His twin intuition was spot in and Jemima knew better than to lie.

“I just feel nervous,” she opted for a different truth instead. That way he won’t query her too much.

“It’s fine, let’s go.”

Jemima nodded briskly, shaking off her discomfort. This was a day of celebration—a milestone she and Marcus had worked tirelessly to achieve. She wouldn't let a stranger's unsettling presence overshadow it. Even though that stranger felt strangely familiar.

As they walked through the glass doors of JEMARC, the air buzzed with anticipation. Guests milled about, admiring the sleek, modern interiors and the bold mission statement emblazoned on the wall:

“A Voice for the Voiceless. A Shield for the Unprotected.”

Jemima paused to let the words sink in. For a moment, pride swelled in her chest. Whatever shadows lingered in her mind, this was real. This was hers.


Marcus nudged her gently. "Hey, you okay?"

“We did this Marcus, we actually pulled this off!” Jemima breathed out in relief.

“It was your idea remember? The mafia world needed a change,” Marcus reminded here.

She forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... taking it all in."

"Good." He grinned, his warm, steady presence grounding her. "Because it's time for your speech."

“No, where’s Jay? He promised he was going to be here just in time,” Jemima asked, her eyes searching around for her boyfriend.

“I’m sure he’ll be here in just a minute. Traffic sucks today,” Marcus reassured but Jemima didn’t sound convinced. She needed Jay- her comfort.

“Come on, let’s go!” Marcus nudged, gently shoving Jemima on stage.

The room quieted as Jemima stepped up to the podium. Cameras flashed, and a hush fell over the crowd. She gripped the edges of the podium, her knuckles whitening as she steadied herself.

"Good afternoon, everyone," she began, her voice ringing clear. "Today marks the beginning of a new chapter—not just for me, but for everyone this agency will touch. JEMARC was born out of a simple belief: that no one should have to face their pain alone. That no one should have to fight in silence."

Her eyes scanned the crowd, landing briefly on Alan. He stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, his expression inscrutable. She tore here gaze from him and her gaze found Jay. He smiled at here and then winked. She smiled back and pushed past the unease and continued.

"This isn't just an agency. It's a promise. A promise to every child, every woman, every man who has ever felt voiceless—that we see you. That we hear you. That we will fight for you."

The applause was thunderous. Jemima exhaled, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She stepped back from the podium as Marcus took her place to say a few words. It was done.

But as she moved to the side, she felt a presence at her elbow.

"Impressive," Alan murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She glanced at him, her guard up. "Thank you."

"I mean it," he said, his gaze steady. "But I have to wonder... how far are you willing to go to keep that promise?"

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Alan's smile was enigmatic. "Let's just say... I've seen promises like this before. They're not always easy to keep."

“She will keep them,” Jay’s voice resonated from behind her, startling her momentarily. She shut her eyes, feeling at peace again.

Jay locked his eyes on Alan, the air palpable with tension.

“Jay this is Alan, the commissioner’s son. Alan, this is…”

“Jay Black, the ruthless mafia leader in all of New York.” Alan completed, extending his hand for a handshake. Jay took it, not breaking eye contact.

“We’ll see around.”

Before she could respond, Marcus called her name, pulling her back into the spotlight. But Alan's words lingered, unsettling her in a way she couldn't shake.

---

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur of handshakes, photos, and congratulations. By the time the last guest had left, Jemima was exhausted. She retreated to her office, craving a moment of solitude.

She was just sinking into her chair when the door creaked open. She looked up, expecting Marcus or Ava or Jay but froze when she saw Jon Ross.

"Commissioner," she greeted, forcing a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"

He closed the door behind him and stepped closer, his presence heavy and intimidating. "You've built something remarkable here, Miss Valerian," he said, his tone conversational but laced with something she couldn't place.

"Thank you," she replied cautiously, waiting for him to expatiate on his impromptu visit.

"But remarkable things often come with a price," he continued, his gaze piercing. "Are you prepared to pay it?"

Her stomach tightened. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

Jon's smile was cold. "You're ambitious, Jemima. I respect that. But ambition has a way of making enemies. And enemies... well, they have a way of digging up things best left buried."

Her breath caught. Was this a threat? Did he know something about her?

"I've worked hard to get here," she said evenly, meeting his gaze. "I'm not afraid of a fight."

Jon chuckled, the sound low and chilling. "I admire your spirit. I just hope it doesn't lead you somewhere you can't come back from."

With that, he turned and left, leaving Jemima alone with her racing thoughts.

What was he implying?

---

That night, sleep eluded her. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of doubt and unease. The dream, the ceremony, Alan's cryptic words, Jon's veiled threat—it all swirled together, blurring the lines between reality and imagination.

“Are you okay?” Jay grunted awake, noticing her discomfort.

“Something strange happens today,” she announced, her voice shaky.

“Do you want us to talk about it now?”

“No, I just want you to hold me,” Jemima muttered, scooting closer to him. He engulfed her in a warm hug and gently kissed her forehead.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and she drifted into a restless sleep.

---

She was twelve again. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke. She was curled up in a corner, her small frame trembling as heavy footsteps approached.

"Jemima," a voice slurred, familiar and terrifying.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to disappear.

"Don't make me come over there."

The voice was closer now, the threat palpable.

Suddenly, a hand gripped her arm, yanking her to her feet. She opened her eyes and screamed—

---

Jemima jolted awake, her heart pounding. Her room was dark, but the terror lingered, suffocating her. She stumbled out of bed, needing air, needing to escape the memories that clawed at her.

She found herself on the balcony, the cool night air grounding her. But as she stared out at the city lights, a figure emerged from the shadows.

"Couldn't sleep?" Jay’s voice was calm, almost soothing.

She spun to face him, her pulse racing. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, leaning casually against the railing. "It’s my house Jem, and you bolted out of the room"

"I'm fine," she snapped, crossing her arms.

Jay studied her for a moment, his gaze probing. "You don't have to do this alone, you know."

Her defenses bristled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He stepped closer, his expression softening. "Whatever it is you're running from, Jemima... it's not going to stop chasing you just because you've built walls around yourself."

She stared at him, her breath hitching. How did he know?

"It’s just these nightmares keep recurring,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jay’s smile was faint, almost sad. "Someone who's been where you are. Someone who knows what it's like to carry secrets too heavy to bear."

Before she could respond, he stepped back into the shadows and disappeared, leaving her alone once again.

But this time, the loneliness felt different. It felt... crowded, as if the ghosts of her past were no longer content to stay buried.

Jemima knew one thing for certain: whatever was happening, it was only the beginning.