Page 34 of Pretending with the Mountain Man
MELODY
Iwake to the sound of rain hammering against the cabin roof, nestled securely in Malik's arms. After our reconciliation, he stayed as promised, just holding me through the night. No demands, no expectations, just his solid presence keeping the fears at bay.
His breathing remains steady, but the tension in his body tells me he's awake too, listening to something beyond the rain. A crunch of gravel outside. Headlights sweeping across the windows.
"Someone's here," he whispers, already moving. He slips from the bed with practiced silence, pulling on jeans and retrieving something from his bag. A small handgun that he tucks into his waistband at the small of his back, hidden beneath his t-shirt.
"Stay here," he instructs, voice low but commanding.
I sit up, heart racing. "Malik, what if it's?—"
"I'll handle it." His eyes meet mine in the darkness. "Lock the bedroom door behind me."
He disappears into the hallway. I scramble into leggings and a sweatshirt, then hurry to the door and turn the lock as instructed. Through the thin wood, I hear Malik moving through the cabin, his footsteps nearly silent despite his size.
A sharp knock at the front door. Silence. Then another, more insistent.
"Washington residence," Malik's voice, deceptively casual.
"I'm looking for Melody." The voice that responds sends ice through my veins.Jason.Here. Now.
"It's three in the morning," Malik replies. "Come back during business hours."
"Who the hell are you?" Jason demands, his entitled arrogance evident even through the door.
"Security." Malik's answer is simple, factual. "Ms. Washington is not available."
"Bullshit. Her car's outside. I know she's in there." Jason's voice rises. "Melody! We need to talk about the ring!"
I press my hands against the door, trembling. The sound of his voice catapults me back to Toronto, to the shouting, the manipulation, the fear. But something is different now. I'm not alone.
"Last chance to leave peacefully," Malik warns, his tone dropping to that dangerous register I recognize.
"Or what? You'll call the cops?" Jason laughs. "Do you have any idea who I am? Who my family is?"
The sound of the door opening. Heavy footsteps. I can picture Jason barging in, thinking his wealth and privilege shield him from consequences as they always have before.
"I don't give a fuck if you're the king of England," Malik says, his voice deadly calm. "You're trespassing."
"I have every right to speak to my fiancée."
"Ex-fiancée," Malik corrects. "And she's made it clear she doesn't want to speak to you."
A scoff from Jason. "Let me guess. You're fucking her now? What are you, her bodyguard with benefits?"
My breath catches at the echo of my own cruel words from our fight. I unlock the bedroom door and step into the hallway, unable to hide while Malik faces my demons.
The scene in the living room freezes as I appear. Jason stands near the door, impeccably dressed even at this hour, his handsome face contorted with smug disdain. Malik stands between us, his stance casual but ready, a wall of muscle and controlled rage between me and my past.
"Jason," I say, voice steadier than I feel. "Leave. Now."
Jason's eyes narrow. "Not until we discuss what you did with my grandmother's ring."
"I left it on your kitchen counter with a note. If it's missing, that's not my problem."
"You expect me to believe that?" He takes a step forward, and Malik shifts subtly to block his path. "You're going to be in serious trouble, Melody. My father's lawyers?—"
"Are building a case for insurance fraud," I interrupt, finding courage in Malik's presence. "We know about the claim you filed. We have witnesses who saw me return the ring."
