CHAPTER 9

Jayde POV

It’s strange how silence can be louder than any argument.

The past few days have been too quiet. No calls, no knocks at the door, no reminders that I almost married into madness. Just me, Mom, and the hum of our old refrigerator trying to keep up with the heat.

You’d think peace would feel good after everything that’s happened but it doesn’t. It feels like waiting for another blow.

Mom is humming again, a soft tune she used to sing when Dad was still alive. I sit by the window, tracing circles on the fogged glass with my finger. Outside, the world looks the same kids chasing each other down the street, a vendor calling out prices for tomatoes but somehow everything feels different.

I’m different.

“Jayde,” Mom calls from the kitchen, “you’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“I’m not that hungry,” I murmur.

She walks in, holding a spoon like it’s a weapon. “You’ve said that every morning this week. You think I don’t notice?”

I smile faintly. “You always notice.”

She sits beside me, her eyes soft but searching. “You’re thinking about him again.”

I look away. “No, I’m not.”

She raises an eyebrow the kind of look only a mother can give.

“Okay,” I admit quietly, “maybe a little.”

The truth is, I’ve been thinking about Henry more than I should. The way he looked at me after defending me at the coffee shop like I wasn’t a mistake, like I was someone worth standing up for. No one’s ever looked at me like that. Not even before life got messy.

Mom sighs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Then stop thinking and start living. You can’t keep waiting for your life to start.”

Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. Unknown number.

My heart stumbles.

Henry: Morning. I heard Carter Street Market is beautiful this time of year. Any chance you’d show me around? No suits, no reporters. Just coffee and chaos.

I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. I read the message twice, then again.

“Who’s that?” Mom asks, already peeking before I can hide the screen.

“Just someone asking for directions,” I lie.

Her grin says she doesn’t believe me. “Then give him the right ones.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you,” she says, tapping my arm, “need to stop pretending you don’t care.”

The Carter Street Market is alive long before we get there—music from a nearby stall, vendors shouting over one another, children darting between tables. The air smells like roasted corn and diesel fumes, the kind of mix you either love or hate.

Henry stands near the entrance, looking painfully out of place in jeans and a plain grey sweater. His hair’s messy, his sleeves rolled up, and there’s something so human about him that it startles me.

“You came,” I say, unable to hide my surprise.

He grins. “You doubted me.”

“I just didn’t think a man who owns half the city would survive the other half.”

He laughs, the sound easy and real. “I’ll take my chances.”

We weave through the crowd. He buys roasted corn and holds it awkwardly, like he’s not sure how to eat it. I show him, biting into mine and smiling when he imitates me—terribly.

“Don’t laugh,” he warns. “This is a cultural experience.”

“Oh, it’s an experience, alright.”

We end up sitting on a low wall near a fruit stand, watching the chaos. For a while, there’s no pretense—no billionaire, no barmaid, just two people sharing the same air.

“This is what normal looks like,” I say softly. “Messy, noisy, imperfect.”

He nods. “It’s… beautiful.”

The word hangs between us. Beautiful. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the market or something else.

Then, just as I start to feel safe again, I notice it. A man leaning against a kiosk, camera phone aimed directly at us. The kind of stillness that only comes from someone pretending not to be watching.

“Henry,” I whisper, “we should go.”

He follows my gaze, frowning. “Paparazzi?”

“Maybe. Or worse.”

We walk quickly toward the exit, pretending it’s nothing. But as we reach the street, my chest feels tight.

I know that look. I’ve seen it before people watching, waiting, calculating.

And somewhere deep down, I know this quiet moment of happiness won’t last. It never does.