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Chapter 16 — Something Real

Author: Gbohunmi
last update publish date: 2026-06-29 22:44:06

I had not cooked properly in three years.

Not since before everything with the agreement, before the negotiations and the wedding preparations and the slow dismantling of the life I had been building independently. In the years after my father’s death I had cooked often it had been one of the ways I had held myself together, the physical act of making something with my hands when everything else felt like it was coming apart. But somewhere along the way I had stopped, and the stopping had happe
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  • MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON   Chapter 72 — Adrian and Diana

    Diana was awake when we got back to the penthouse.I had expected her to still be sleeping fourteen hours was what she had needed, what she had taken, and I had assumed the evening would find her still in the guest room with the door closed and the particular quality of someone who had earned their rest and was taking it without apology.Instead she was in the kitchen.She had made tea the strong, dark blend, which she had learned from my mother at some point in the past months and had adopted without comment. She was sitting at the counter with her cup and the particular composed stillness of a woman who had slept enough and was now ready for the conversation she had been postponing.She looked up when we came in.At Adrian specifically. The particular look not assessing, not managing. Simply open. The most open I had seen her outside of the hospital room with Emmanuel.“Sit down,” she said. To him. Quietly.I took Emmanuel to the nursery. I did not ask whether I should give them pri

  • MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON   Chapter 71 — The Afternoon

    We went home at three.The penthouse received us the way it always did the skyline in the windows, the kitchen counter, the particular quality of a space that had become genuinely inhabited over the past two years. The listening devices had been removed by the security team the previous evening. The rooms felt different without them not because anything visible had changed, but because the knowledge that they were gone changed the quality of being there. The rooms were simply ours again. Private in the way they were supposed to be.Diana was asleep in the guest room. The door was closed. We moved quietly past it.I went to the nursery.Emmanuel was awake. Mrs. Harrington, the nurse, was sitting in the rocking chair reading she looked up when I came in with the warm, professional ease of a woman who had been doing this for twenty years and had learned to read the quality of returning parents accurately.“He’s been fed,” she said. “Changed. He had a good morning.”“Thank you,” I said. “

  • MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON   Chapter 70 — Osei and Nadia

    We left the apartment at two in the afternoon.Not all at once the particular dispersal of people who have been through something together and are returning, carefully, to their separate lives. Brennan left first, with Dana, to meet with the DOJ contacts she had been cultivating for two years and who had called at twelve-fifty requesting an urgent meeting. Diana left with Marcus…Adrian had insisted, and she had accepted without the argument she might have made on any other day, which told me how tired she was. She would sleep at the penthouse and we would talk properly in the evening.Osei stayed.He sat at the table after the others had gone with the particular stillness of a man who had somewhere to be and was not yet ready to go there. I understood what it was. He had been carrying a phone number in his wallet for three months, Nadia’s last known number, the one that had stopped being answered in March. He had looked at it every day and had not called.Today he was going to call.I

  • MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON   Chapter 69 — The Story Goes Out

    Dana published at eleven-fourteen on a Thursday morning.Not with a dramatic announcement. Not with the particular fanfare that significant things sometimes gathered around themselves. She pressed a button on her laptop in a borrowed apartment on the Upper West Side and the story moved into the world the way all true things moved when they were finally allowed to quietly, completely, without asking permission from anyone.The headline was simple.The Pemberton Network: Forty Years of Fabricated Justice and the Families Who Paid for It.Beneath it, in the standfirst, three sentences.A Liechtenstein bank. A secondary identity. And the systematic destruction of individuals who threatened a criminal financial empire that has operated, unseen, since 1983. Tonight, for the first time, it has a name.I read it on Dana’s laptop while she watched me read. The apartment was full of people who were exhausted and had not slept and were carrying the weight of a very long night and who were, despi

  • MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON   Chapter 68 — Six-Fifteen

    Brennan’s flight landed at six-fourteen.I know because Adrian was watching the arrivals board on his phone from the moment we arrived at the terminal the two of us standing near the international arrivals exit at JFK at five-fifty in the morning while the airport moved around us with the particular purposeful quiet of a large space operating at its minimum volume. The cleaners. The early shift staff. The occasional traveller moving through with the focused economy of someone who knew exactly where they were going.Marcus was outside with the car. Dana was at Osei’s apartment with Osei, the documents spread on the table, waiting. We had left them there because two people at an arrivals terminal at six in the morning were less conspicuous than four.Diana’s flight had landed twelve minutes earlier.Adrian had received the message at five-forty-two a text from a number he did not recognise, which was Diana’s neighbour’s phone, which said simply: On the ground. Customs. Twenty minutes.

  • MARRIED TO MY ENEMY’S SON   Chapter 67 — Moving

    We left the penthouse at eleven-fifteen.Not dramatically. Not with the particular urgency of people running from something that was not how Adrian moved when things were serious, and I had learned from him that the appearance of calm was often the most useful tool available. We took the elevator down, crossed the garage, got into Marcus’s car with the efficiency of people who had decided on a direction and were implementing it.Osei came with us.He had not been asked he had simply stood when Adrian stood, put on his coat, and been at the door. Neither of us had said anything about it. The particular solidarity of a man who had been trying to do the right thing for fourteen years and had been given, finally, a night in which to do it.Marcus drove. The city moved around us in its late-night version quieter, more specific, the particular New York of the hours after midnight when the daytime noise had stripped away and what remained was the essential character of it. Still. Still movin

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