Page 77 of Vega

I was also relieved to be away from my sister. Nia meant well. She had cooked, cleaned, reminded me to drink water, and watched me as if grief might convince me to stop breathing when she turned her back. I loved her for taking care of me during the worst moment of my life. Still, I needed space. I wanted to cry without someone trying to soothe me. I wanted to lie in bed without being checked on every thirty minutes. I wanted silence, even if silence meant being alone with memories of Kash.

The house gave me that. It was modern, fully furnished, and protected by cameras, alarms, and a gate at the front of the small development. It smelled brand new, as if the owner had given it a fresh coat of paint for me. There were no family photographs, mail, or personal items left behind, so I figured this had been a vacant home before I arrived.

I unpacked the two suitcases I had brought from home and placed Kash’s sweatshirt across the bed. His scent had almost faded, but I still slept with it near me.

I refused to let grief make me helpless. So, that morning, I had scheduled my first prenatal appointment.

I was folding clothes when the front door opened.

My entire body froze.

Nobody had told me anyone else was coming.

The security system chimed, confirming that someone had entered with a code.

I slipped out of the bedroom barefoot and grabbed a heavy decorative vase from the hallway table. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but it could crack a skull if I swung hard enough.

Bags rustled near the kitchen.

I moved carefully toward the sound, gripping the vase with both hands.

A man stepped around the corner carrying grocery bags, packages of bedding, toiletries, and cleaning supplies.

He stopped when he saw me.

His eyes dropped to the vase raised near my shoulder.

I tightened my grip. “Who are you?”

“Prodigy.”

Recognition came a second later. He was the man who had spoken to me in the kitchen at the Cartier estate. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him that day. Tears had blurred most of the room, and grief had made everybody around me feel unimportant.

Now, I saw him clearly. Prodigy was tall and built like he spent more time lifting weights than resting. A black button-down shirt hung open over a broad, heavily tattooed chest, and more dark ink covered his neck and muscular arms. His rich brown skin looked kissable, and his sharp haircut faded neatly into short curls. Thick eyebrows framed warm brown eyes. A full black beard covered his jaw, trimmed clean enough to emphasize his mouth and the strong shape of his face. Diamond studs flashed in both ears, and a silver chain rested against the tattoos covering his chest.

He was dangerously attractive, and not in a polished, pretty way.

“I own the house,” he added.

I lowered the vase a few inches. “You could’ve knocked.”

“The Cartiers asked if you could stay here. They told me you were moving in today. I didn’t know you had already arrived.”

I finally lowered the vase. “I remember you from the estate. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Kash was loyal to the Cartiers. Making sure you’re protected is the least anybody can do.”

His name reopened the ache inside me. Prodigy seemed to notice because he didn’t keep discussing Kash or force me to respond. He carried the bags into the kitchen instead.

“I brought groceries, toiletries, fresh bedding, and a few other things,” he told me. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I bought options.”

Then he showed me the security panel, helped connect my phone to the cameras, and explained which codes controlled each section of the property.

Then he checked every window and exterior door.

When he tested the lock at the back entrance, he frowned when he realized it was loose. “I don’t trust this.”

He retrieved a lock and small toolbox from one of the bags, then replaced it. He didn’t brag about owning the house, mention how much anything cost, or behave as if helping me entitled him to my gratitude. That made his attractiveness harder to ignore. I had noticed it at the estate, even through swollen eyes and tears. Without grief blurring his face, the man was almost distracting.