Chapter Seventy Two

Chapter 72  



“Do we have to do this?” Jay inquired as Jemima helped him button up his shirt. He was still uncomfortable with the idea of them going to meet Alan when it felt like an obvious mistake. 



“Babe, we don’t have any other choice. If you don’t want to come with, you can sit this one out,” Jemima stated, clasping the last set of buttons. She crossed her arm around his neck while he slithered his arm around her waist. 



“I can’t let you do this alone Jem, it’s just so sudden,” Jay tried again, another attempt to dissuade her but Jem was as stubborn as a deer was her mind was made up. 



“That’s why you’re coming with me,” She pointed out, pecking him lightly on his cheek but he moved so that the peck would land on his lips. 



“I love you Jem,” Jay confessed, causing Jemima to smile sheepishly. Jay rarely said it so when he did, he meant it. They deepened their kiss- a reminder that no matter the obstacle, they had each other. 



“Let’s go,” Jemima whispered breezily after breaking out from the kiss. Jay plastered a smug look on his face and winked at her. 



“Get dressed, I’ll call Alan and arrange a meeting.”



Jemima nodded at Jay’s polite order. He exited the room to make the call and Jemima was left alone to ponder on her decision. 



She sighed heavily and hoped she was making the right decision. One small mistake and she could be history within the blink of an eye. 



“Can’t turn back now.”



Three hours later, Jay pulled up to the secluded region of the house. Of course, a typical mafia boss would choose to stay in a secluded area but Alan took it overboard. 

His house was a mile away from civilization.



“This is creepy as hell!” Jemima murmured, gazing at the gigantic building as it towered over them. 



Jay scoffed, “It’s not too late to turn back now you know.”



Jemima rolled her eyes as she unbuckled her seat belt, “we’re here already, might as well get over it.”



They alighted from the vehicle and walked over to the door. Jemima's hand hovered over the door handle of Alan's penthouse, her pulse quickening with each passing second. Jay stood beside her, his tall frame tense, radiating a protective energy. He didn't want her here, but he understood why she felt compelled to confront Alan. Jemima glanced at him, and he gave her a slight nod, signaling his readiness.  



"You sure about this?" Jay asked, his voice low but firm.  



"I need answers, Jay," Jemima said, steeling herself. "If I don't face him, I'll never know why he hates me this much. I need to understand. There has got to be a reason why.” Jemima stated, trying to reassure herself that this was not such a bad idea. 



There was only one way to find out and that’s if she confronts Alan. She’ll never know unless



Jay sighed but didn't argue further. There was no use and he knew there was no stopping Jemima when she'd made up her mind.  



Jemima knocked twice. The sound echoed ominously in the corridor. Seconds stretched into eternity before the door finally creaked open, revealing a bodyguard. 



Immediately the bodyguard saw Jemima and Alan, he pulled out his pistol and in a flash second, they were all pointing guns at each other. 



“We’re here to see Alan Ross,” Jemima announced, gripping her gun firmly and aiming it at his head. Jay too took his stance and held his gun at his head, his gaze stern. 



“Easy boys! They’re my guest!” Alan called out, a smug expression plastered across his face. 



“Why are you men pointing their guns at us?” Jay inquired through gritted teeth. 



“Relax, they are only doing their job,” Alan snapped, snapping his fingers and prompting the rest of the bodyguards to drop their weapons. 

Alan motioned for them to be left and they walked in, following him closely. 



Jemima took note of his appearance and noticed he looked disheveled, his usually sharp suit replaced by a loose shirt and jeans. His eyes, however, were as sharp and calculating as ever.  



"Welcome Jemima," Alan said, his tone flat. His gaze flickered to Jay, and a faint smirk appeared. "To be honest when Jay called and said you needed to talk, I didn’t think he was serious. You were always so impulsive.”  



Jemima ignored the jab. "We need to talk, Alan."  



"Talk?" Alan stepped aside, gesturing for them to have a seat. "By all means, please sit. Let's have a nice chat. That’s the reason why you’re here ain’t it?”



Jay hesitated but followed Jemima inside. The apartment was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the daylight. The air felt heavy and oppressive.  



"Nice place," Jay said sarcastically, his eyes scanning for potential threats.  



Alan ignored him, his focus entirely on Jemima. "So, to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit? Come to beg for your life, perhaps?"  



Jemima flinched but stood her ground. "Why, Alan? Why do you hate me so much? What did I do to deserve this?"  



Alan laughed—a cold, hollow sound. He moved to the bar in the corner of the room and poured himself a drink. "Hate you? Oh, Jemima, you give yourself too much credit. This isn't about hate. It's about justice."  



"Justice for what?" Jemima demanded, her voice rising. "What have I done to you?"  



Alan took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. "You don't know, do you? That's the funny part. You walk around with no idea of the destruction you've caused. No idea of the lives you've ruined."  



Jemima felt her stomach twist. "If I've hurt you, Alan, tell me how. Tell me the truth."  



"The truth?" Alan's voice turned icy. He set his glass down with a sharp clink. "You want the truth? Fine. Let's start with your dear mother, Diane Valerian."  



Jemima stiffened at the mention of her mother. Jay moved closer to her, his hand brushing hers in silent support.  



"What about her?" Jemima asked cautiously.  



Alan leaned against the bar, his expression unreadable. "She didn't just sell you to the mafia, Jemima. She sold all of us. Me. Jon. Marcus. She sacrificed her entire family for her survival."  



Jemima's breath caught. "That's not possible. I thought it was a dream! She loved me, she loved us. Marcus and I…"  



"She loved herself," Alan interrupted, his tone venomous. "And when the pressure came down, she threw us all to the wolves. Literally, in your case."  



Jemima staggered back as if he'd struck her. "You're lying. Weren’t you guys already part of the mafia? How did she sell you? Your dad, wasn’t he the one who bought me?



"Am I?" Alan sneered. "Ask your father. Oh wait, you can't, can you? Because you killed him. Convenient."  



“I killed him? But he was… I thought…” 



“Are you living in a delusion? Even Ava was in on it, she chose herself over you and Marcus”



Jay stepped forward, his voice sharp. "That's enough, Alan. If you've got proof, show it. Otherwise, shut up."  



Alan's smirk widened. "Proof? Do you want proof? Fine."  



He walked over to a drawer, pulled out a folder, and tossed it onto the coffee table. "There. Read it. See for yourself what kind of woman your precious mother was."  



Jemima hesitated before picking up the folder. Her hands trembled as she flipped through the pages. Each document was worse than the last—signed agreements, bank transfers, incriminating letters. It painted a picture of Diane Valerian as a cold, calculating woman who had betrayed her family to save her skin.  



"No," Jemima whispered, her voice cracking. "This can't be true."  



Alan's expression softened, just for a moment. "I didn't want to believe it either. But the truth doesn't care about what we want to believe."  



Jemima sank onto the couch, her mind reeling. Jay knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder. "Jem, we'll figure this out. Don't let him get into your head."  



Alan chuckled darkly. "Oh, I'm already there, Jay. And she knows it."  



Jemima looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "Even if this is true, why are you blaming me? I didn't do any of this."  



Alan's smile vanished. "Because you're just like her. Manipulative. Self-serving. Dangerous. And I won't let you destroy anyone else."  



Before Jemima could respond, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the apartment. All three of them turned toward the noise, tension crackling in the air.  



"Expecting someone?" Jay asked, his voice low.  



Alan frowned. "No."  



Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows—Jon Ross. His presence filled the room with an almost palpable menace.  



"Alan," Jon said, his voice calm but commanding. "What's going on here?"  



Alan's shoulders stiffened. "Just a friendly chat, father. Nothing to worry about."  



Jon's gaze shifted to Jemima, then to Jay. His expression was unreadable. "Jemima. I was wondering when you'd show up."  



Jemima stood, her knees shaky but her resolve firm. "I want answers, Jon. No more lies. No more games. I need to know the truth."  



Jon studied her for a moment before nodding. "Very well. But you might not like what you hear."  



He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, mirroring Alan's earlier movements. "Your mother," he began, "was a complicated woman. She made choices that tore this family apart. But she wasn't the only one."  



"What do you mean?" Jemima asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  



Jon took a sip of his drink and then set the glass down. "Your father, Damien, wasn't the man you thought he was. And neither am I."  



The room fell silent as Jon's words hung in the air.  



"What are you saying?" Jemima demanded, her voice trembling.  



"I'm saying," Jon replied, his tone heavy with regret, "that you're not just a victim in all this, Jemima. You're a player. And it's time you remembered your role."