Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
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The hospital doors slid open, and the cold air outside bit at my skin as I stepped out. The weight of my mother's death pressed on me like a stone, suffocating, unmovable. My arms ached from holding my babies too tightly, as if I was afraid they'd disappear just like she did.
Chris stood beside the car, waiting. His usual sharpness was dulled, his posture tense, but for once, there was no arrogance, no demand in his stance. Just silence. He opened the car door for me, and without a word, I slid inside, my heart as heavy as my limbs.
The drive home was quiet.
I stared out the window, my fingers tracing patterns against the glass, watching the city blur past. Chris's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, but he said nothing. Maybe he knew words wouldn't fix this. Maybe, for the first time, he realized that there was nothing he could do to make it better.
And yet, he tried.
"Me know seh losing yuh mother rough, she would a wah yuh fi be happy fi har enuh Mama," he said softly.
I clenched my jaw, my throat already tightening.
"She finally free from the pains that she did a guh through Zuri." His voice was steady, careful, as if one wrong word would break me further. "She loved you and we babies. She neva would a want to—"
A sob wrenched its way from my chest, sudden and sharp, cutting him off. I pressed my hand to my mouth, but the tears came anyway. Deep, broken cries that shook my whole body.
Chris exhaled harshly, his hand leaving the wheel for a second before gripping it again.
By the time we pulled up to the mansion, I was still crying.
Chris parked the car and didn't move. Neither did I. The silence between us was thick, filled only with the sound of my choked breaths. Then, without a word, he opened his door, came around to my side, and pulled me into his arms.
I didn't resist.
His warmth surrounded me, and I collapsed against him, my fingers clutching his jacket, burying my face into his chest as I wept. He held me tightly, one hand on my back, the other cradling my head, rocking me slightly as if I were one of our newborns.
"Everything ago be alright," he whispered, even though we both knew it wasn't.
For a long time, we stood there in the cold, wrapped around each other like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
