Keisha looked at the money but shook her head. “I don’t need cash. Just the milk.”
Grayson’s voice softened. “What if I gave you more than milk?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
He stood, something sparking in his gaze. “Like a life.”
He picked up the milk, returned the money to his wallet, and told the cashier, “She’s leaving with me.”
The man sputtered. “You can’t just—”
“Call whoever you want,” Grayson said sharply. “Manager. Media. Doesn’t matter. I’m not abandoning her.”
Keisha blinked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
He looked at her for a long moment, his voice low and steady. “Because once, a long time ago, I was just like you.”
Keisha had never ridden in a vehicle so luxurious. Clutching Malachi tightly, she sat stiffly in the leather seat of Grayson’s SUV.
Beside her, Grayson was already making phone calls—calm, decisive. A pediatrician was on his way to his penthouse. Legal staff were preparing emergency guardianship forms. A private chef was warming a bottle.
But what struck Keisha most wasn’t the wealth. It was the silence. The calm. For once, she didn’t feel terrified.
