Chapter 232

Chapter 232
Sadie's POV

After a month, Mom's text came through while I was in the middle of calculus homework.

Back in town. StarNet at 3? Missed you, baby.

I stared at the screen, my pencil frozen mid-equation.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second before I typed back: I'll be there.

The glass door of StarNet Café felt heavier than I remembered when I pushed it open a few hours later. The familiar chime cut through the hum of gaming PCs and lo-fi beats playing overhead. The smell hit me first—old carpet, energy drinks, that specific scent of a place that's been running non-stop for years.

Mom's place. The closest thing to home I had right now.

She was behind the front desk, perched on that same ratty high stool she'd had since I was fourteen, talking to Mia about something on the computer screen. She looked different. Tanned, maybe. Relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in years. Her hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail, and she was wearing a soft cream sweater that looked expensive. New.

Richard's influence, probably.

Then she looked up and saw me.

Her whole face transformed. The professional mask dropped, and suddenly she was just Mom, eyes going wide and bright as she practically launched herself off the stool.

"Sadie—"

I dropped my canvas bag. Didn't even think about it.

She rushed around the desk with her arms already opening, and I crashed into her, burying my face in her shoulder. She smelled different too—jasmine and something floral and expensive, not the usual coffee and vanilla. But underneath it all, she still smelled like Mom, and my throat went tight.

"Baby." Her voice cracked as her arms wrapped around me. "My baby girl."

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding on tighter than I probably should have. "Mom. God, I missed you."

Her hand rubbed circles on my back, the way she used to when I was little and couldn't sleep. "I missed you too. So much. Every single day."

I nodded against her shoulder, not trusting my voice. Behind me, I heard Jake shift his weight near the door, giving us space, and somehow that made my chest feel even tighter.

When Mom finally pulled back, her eyes were wet. She cupped my face with both hands, studying me like she was checking for damage. Cataloging changes.

"Look at you." Her thumb brushed my cheek. "You look good, sweetheart. Really good."

"So do you." I managed a smile. "London was good to you."

"It was wonderful." Her eyes sparkled. "But I'm so glad to be home. I have so much to tell you—"

That's when her gaze slid past my shoulder.

Her whole expression shifted. The warmth didn't disappear exactly, but something guarded crept in around the edges. Her hand was still on my shoulder, and I felt her fingers press down just slightly.

Protective.

Jake stepped forward, hands in his pockets. No cocky smile, no quarterback swagger. Just quiet respect and something that looked almost like nerves.

I'd never seen him nervous before.

"Mrs. Brooks." He nodded, formal. "Welcome back. It's good to see you."

Mrs. Brooks. Not Emma, not Ms. Emma like he used to call her back when we were kids and he'd show up at our old apartment looking for me. The formality was deliberate, acknowledging the distance, the years, everything that had happened.

Mom's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Jake Montgomery." Her voice was even. Carefully neutral. "Yes. It's been a while."

The silence stretched.

I glanced between them, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the space. Mom knew. She'd always known how I felt about Jake, had held me through every tear after he forgot me, had watched me try to move on for three years.

And now here he was, standing in her café, holding my hand like he had every right to.

"Mom." I touched her arm gently. "Can we talk? Somewhere quieter?"

She looked at me for a long moment, something complicated moving behind her eyes. Then she sighed, her expression softening just slightly.

"VIP room." She squeezed my shoulder once. "Come on."

---

The VIP room was exactly how I remembered it—mismatched furniture, a decent gaming setup, posters from tournaments Mom had sponsored back in the day. She closed the door behind us, and suddenly the space felt very small.

We all sat down, the coffee table between us like a barrier. Mom folded her hands in her lap, waiting, and I could practically feel Jake gathering himself beside me.

Then he moved.

No small talk, no easing into it. He reached into the black messenger bag he'd been carrying and pulled out a dark leather folder, setting it on the coffee table with careful precision.

"Mrs. Brooks." His voice was steady, but I caught the slight tension in his shoulders. "I want to marry Sadie. And I wanted to ask for your blessing in person."

Mom's eyebrows shot up. I felt my own breath catch.

He opened the folder.

Inside, neatly organized in plastic sleeves, were documents. A lot of documents. Property deeds—I caught glimpses of addresses in Lincoln Heights, Boston, Manhattan. Black credit cards with his name already signed on the back, authorization lines blank and waiting. And what looked like a legal contract, dense with text and official letterhead from Montgomery & Associates.

"These are properties in my name." Jake's finger traced over the deeds, not quite touching them. "A house here in Lincoln Heights, an apartment in Boston's Back Bay, a loft in Manhattan. Before we get engaged, I'm transferring all of them into Sadie's name. Solely hers."

He pulled out the black cards. "Bank accounts. No limit. She'll have access to everything."

Then the contract. "Thirty percent of my trust fund and equity in two tech companies my family owns. It's all going to her before any engagement is official. The lawyers have already drawn it up—it's irrevocable, completely independent of our relationship status."

He paused, jaw working. "Even if things don't work out, it's hers. No strings."

I stared at him. At the papers. At my mom's unreadable expression.

"Jake—" I started, but he turned to me, and the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

"If you won't let me do this," he said quietly, "I'll take it as you not wanting to get engaged."

My protest died in my throat.

He wasn't trying to buy me. I knew that, could see it in every tense line of his body, hear it in the careful control of his voice. This was him doing the only thing he knew how to do—providing, protecting, making absolutely sure I'd never be vulnerable again the way I'd been when we were kids.

When I'd had nothing and he'd had everything.

Mom's fingers drummed once against her knee. Her therapist tell, the one she did when she was processing something big.

"That's a lot of money, Jake."

"It's not enough." His response was immediate. "Nothing I own could ever be enough to deserve her, Mrs. Brooks. But it's what I have to offer, and I want her to have it. All of it."

God, he was going to make me cry in front of my mother.

I felt the words building in my chest—the protest, the you don't have to do this, the I don't need any of that. But then I looked at his face, really looked, and saw the quiet desperation there. The need to prove himself. To my mom. To me. Maybe to himself.

So instead, I let my fingers trail across his palm where his hand rested on his knee. Light. Teasing.

"Free money?" I said, injecting brightness into my voice. "Why would I say no to that? Jake Montgomery, I'm going to be the richest girl in Lincoln Heights."

The tension cracked. Just a little.

Jake's mouth curved, that almost-smile that meant he knew exactly what I was doing. Mom made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been exasperation, I couldn't tell.

"You two," she muttered, shaking her head.

But then she looked at Jake again, and her expression shifted. Became serious in a way that made my stomach drop.

"Jake." She leaned forward slightly. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."

He straightened. "Of course."

"Do you blame her?" Mom's voice was soft but unflinching. "For what her father did to you. The scar. The—" She gestured vaguely. "All of it. Do you hold that against her?"