A few hours later, we arrived at West's house, a grand, modern home tucked in the outskirts of the city, away from the chaos that usually followed us. The ride had been quiet-not awkward, just... peaceful. For once.
Brixton was the first to jump out of the car, cracking his neck like he had been caged too long. Blue followed after, practically bouncing on her heels, eyes wide with excitement. I stayed seated, taking it all in. This was the first time I'd be meeting West's wife. Wendy.
The house loomed with an elegance that mirrored its owner-calm on the surface, fortified beneath.
Wendy opened the door before we could even knock. She was stunning, in an effortless sort of way. Tall, caramel-skinned with curly hair tucked into a silk scarf, wearing a simple blouse and jeans that looked more expensive than anything I owned. Her smile was immediate.
"Blossom, right?" she asked, arms already extended.
"That's me," I answered, surprised by how warm her hug was.
"Come in, come in. I've been dying to meet the infamous little sister," she said with a playful wink, stepping aside.
The house smelled of rosemary, baked bread, and something rich and tomato-based-home-cooked love. West had really done it. He built a life. A real one.
The others scattered into the living room and kitchen, already comfortable. I hesitated at the doorway, unsure.
Wendy noticed. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just soaking it in."
She grinned. "I get that. First time I came here, I didn't breathe for the first hour. Come on, you're family. Breathe."
That made me laugh.
We settled into the kitchen where she poured me a glass of apple cider and we talked. Really talked.
"So," she began, leaning on the counter, "West told me bits. Not everything. But enough. Are you okay?"
I blinked, startled by the sincerity. "I'm here. I think that's all I can guarantee right now."
"Fair," she said. "If you ever want to talk... I know what it's like. Getting thrown into things. Trying to catch up with your own life."
I glanced around. "He really loves you."
She smiled again, this time softer. "He does. Took him a while to figure it out, but once he did, it was all in. He's a lot like you in that way."
"Stubborn?"
"I was going to say strong-willed, but sure."
We laughed, and for once, I felt at ease. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been since the party. Since the contract ended. Since everything.
Dinner was served a little after. A long table full of family. West and Wendy sat at the ends, Brixton already halfway into a second helping. Blue was rambling about something funny from school, and I... I listened. I laughed. I ate.
There was no danger here. No threats. No secrets. Just the clink of silverware and warm smiles.
---
After Wendy excused herself with a polite smile, the air around the dinner table settled into something a little heavier. The clink of glasses and the gentle hum of the chandelier above us faded into the background as West stood up, clearing his throat.
"Alright," he began, "now that we've had dinner and caught up a little, I think it's time to talk about what comes next."
I straightened in my chair. Blue stopped mid-sip. Brixton leaned forward like he'd been waiting for this.
"This house," West gestured, "Dad left it in my name, but that doesn't mean I get everything. I've been working with a few lawyers to restructure the holdings. It's time we started doing things right-together."
He turned his attention to me. "Blossom, you're getting the real estate company he co-owned in Alberta. Full control, not just shares. You can do what you want with it-sell it, run it, rebrand it. It's yours."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "It's already in motion. Brixton, you're getting some tech investments and a startup portfolio. And Blue-you're not left out. You've got trust funds, and I'm moving a few of the art properties under your name. Plus, your educational fund's been doubled."
Blue squealed. "No way! You're the best, West."
He smirked. "Don't let it get to your head."
I laughed quietly. The tension that had been in the air since I got here was fading.
"We've got responsibilities," West added, his voice leveling. "Dad might've been complicated, but he believed in what each of us could do. I'm just making sure that belief carries weight."
Blue scrunched her nose. "Okay, but this still feels so serious."
"It is," Brixton said, his tone teasing. "But we're serious people now. With, like, taxes and everything."
I shook my head. "God, don't remind me."
Once the laughter faded, I cleared my throat. "Actually... I wanted to share something too."
They all turned to me.
"I've been thinking about starting something of my own. A fashion and makeup label. Sharly wants to partner with me, and honestly, I think it could work."
West nodded. "You've got the money, the contacts, and the face. Why not?"
"I'll invest," Blue said immediately. "As long as I can model some of it."
"You're barely out of high school," Brixton teased.
"I'm photogenic, thank you very much," she retorted.
I laughed. "Let's see how it goes."
West leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "This is good. This is what we're supposed to be doing-taking what he left and turning it into something better. Cleaner."
The way he said it made something in me settle. Maybe this was our version of healing. Of continuing.
---
After the discussions settled, hugs were exchanged and promises were made-promises to stay close, to visit, to try again after so many broken years-we all went our separate ways. Brixton offered a warm goodbye, wrapping me in a surprisingly firm hug before driving off in his newly upgraded SUV. Blue hugged me twice, one quick and joking, the other tighter and laced with something like fear. She wouldn't say it, but I knew she hated goodbyes.
West drove me back, his silence comforting. No pressure to fill the car with chatter, no poking questions about how I felt. Just the soft hum of the engine and the gentle sound of some acoustic indie track on the radio. That was West-solid and silent in all the right ways.
When we finally pulled into the familiar lane of my apartment building, the evening sun was slipping into the horizon like it was exhausted from carrying too much of the day's weight.
"Thanks," I said, gripping the handle but not opening the door yet.
West turned his gaze on me for a brief second. "You'll be alright?"
I nodded, more to convince myself than him. "Yeah. I've got this."
He didn't ask more. He didn't need to.
I stepped out and stood there for a moment, watching his car pull away, the tail lights vanishing like a slowly dimming heartbeat. A part of me wanted to call him back. Not to talk, not to go somewhere-just to not be alone. But I didn't.
Because the truth was, I needed this. I needed to be alone with the mess in my head. And with the ghost still living in my chest.
Vincent.
Even his name burned at the edges of my thoughts like a match held too close to paper. Every second since I stepped out of that mansion, it was like he was tethered to me with invisible thread. Every streetlight reminded me of his eyes in the dark. Every corner of silence echoed with his voice-low, dangerous, and inexplicably soft when he said my name like it mattered.
Little De.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment slowly, each step heavier than the last. I wasn't tired-I was tangled.
When I finally pushed open the door to my apartment, the wave of nostalgia almost knocked the air from my lungs.
This place-this little pocket of normalcy-was where I'd fought so hard to build a new life. Where I told myself I could escape the Mafia, the violence, the legacy my father left. This was the space where I believed I could rewrite my story. But now it felt... small. Smaller than I remembered. Almost like a shell I'd grown out of.
The air was stale, like it had held its breath waiting for me.
I dropped my bag by the door and wandered through the apartment, fingers grazing the furniture, the corners, the forgotten memories.
There was the table I'd eaten microwave dinners on when I first arrived. The arm of the couch where I used to fall asleep binge-watching drama series. The little kitchen where I'd cooked eggs at 2 AM after a crying session, pretending it was just stress and not grief.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, the same bed where I once sprawled out job listings with highlighters and coffee stains. I could still see the ghost of my former self-hopeful, scared, desperate for a clean slate. She had no idea the storm that was waiting.
Vincent had walked into my life like a flame into a forest. Steady, slow-burning... and then everything was on fire. He forced me to face myself. The good, the ugly. The part of me that wanted control and the part that craved to surrender to something bigger, something terrifying-him.
I remembered the first time I saw him, looming and unreadable in a suit that probably cost more than my rent. And then the times after-the slow gestures, the sharp words, the tension. The night he bled and I stayed. The moment he touched my waist like it was a promise and a warning all at once.
He was chaos wrapped in silk.
I let out a shaky breath and dropped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan.
I didn't know what to do now.
This place didn't feel like home anymore. But I wasn't sure the mansion ever was either. That world-Vincent's world-was brutal, cold, and yet... he made space for me in it. With all its darkness, he made it soft for me. Somehow.
I remembered the party. The contract. The day he almost died. The way his voice cracked when he said he wouldn't force me anymore. And that kiss-God, that kiss-like the end of a war and the beginning of something holy.
I rolled over, clutching a pillow to my chest, and let the silence wash over me.
But even here, in my own bed, I could still feel the heat of his hands on my waist. The way he whispered "You don't burn... you rule beside me."
Was I meant to stay here?
Or had I left something I wasn't ready to give up?
The tears didn't come. I wasn't crying. I was feeling. Raw and electric. Everything I had tried to bury was blooming like wildfire under my skin.
I pulled my knees up and let the dark wrap around me.
And in that stillness, I realized something that scared me more than the contract, the kidnappings, even the blood.
I missed him.
Not the mansion. Not the power.
Him.