If Celeste is ambition in heels, Malachi Owens is resistance—in Ferragamos or a hoodie, depending on the day.

He can hold court in a strategy meeting or a barbershop, break down equity metrics or city corruption over bourbon, and still show up to Sunday dinner with foil-wrapped leftovers and a perfectly grilled pan of jerk chicken.

He’s 33, born and raised in Langston Heights, and if you ask him what he does for a living, he’ll probably shrug and say, “I try to make the city better.” But don’t let that modesty fool you—Malachi is a disruptor. A thinker. A man with fire in his belly and Baldwin in his back pocket. He used to run with Wall Street’s elite—until the shine wore off and he realized success built on silence wasn’t worth the price.

Now? He’s a nonprofit executive who works alongside community leaders, upstart politicians, and anyone willing to build something real—not performative equity, but actual justice. And while he may not crave the spotlight, his presence alone shifts the air in a room. He’s not loud. He doesn’t need to be.

Malachi is the kind of man who listens. Who waits. Who watches. And when he finally speaks? You feel it.

He’s got deep-water energy. The kind of man who’ll argue with you on Monday, show up to fix your sink on Tuesday, and then vanish for three days to clear his head in the woods. He’s strategic. Stubborn. Passionate to the point of obsession. Especially when it comes to what’s right. Especially when it comes to her.

And yes, we’re talking about Celeste.

Their dynamic? Whew. It’s layered. It’s messy. It’s all fire and friction and feelings neither of them wants to name. She challenges his politics. He calls out her perfectionism. They speak in glances, trade barbs like foreplay, and still can’t figure out how to leave each other alone.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Let’s talk about who he is underneath the politics.

Malachi’s idea of a perfect Sunday? A morning run, reading Baldwin in the backyard, jazz spinning low in the background—then heading across town for dinner at his parents’ place. He’s family through and through—his mom still tries to send him home with leftovers like he’s not grown. He loves all of it.

Because for Malachi, this is what it’s about—his people, his roots, his city. Langston Heights isn’t just where he’s from. It’s where he’s invested. It’s what grounds him when the fight gets heavy. And make no mistake—under all that cool restraint? He’s the quintessential Scorpio. Intense. Loyal. Private. Protective. Once you're in, you're in for life. Cross him? He’ll remember. Apologize? He might even forgive—but he won’t forget.

He mentors local teens—not for show, but because he was them. He grills jerk chicken like it’s a spiritual practice. And somewhere on every device he owns, Crooklyn is downloaded—because to him, that’s what community feels like. It’s memory. It’s home. It’s the blueprint.

His beard is clean, his fade is sharp, and his bookshelf is full of Baldwin, Coates, and Kiese Laymon. He’s not loud. He’s not flashy. But you will feel his presence. And if he looks at you too long? You’ll probably feel that, too.

I didn’t set out to write a perfect male lead. I wrote Malachi.

The man who walked away from power to reclaim purpose.

The man who loves his city the way some people love a person—fully, imperfectly, and without conditions.

The man who’s been burned by love a time or two—but still believes it’s worth the risk.

And the man who sees Celeste clearer than anyone ever has… and refuses to look away.

Crossing Lines at City Hall drops August 19, and Malachi Owens is coming in hot.

Until then, come hang with me on Instagram @chareseinlove—where I’ll be sharing more about the world of Langston Heights, my favorite steamy snippets, and why Malachi is the kind of man you’ll root for, rage at, and maybe fall a little in love with.

Until next time—

xoxo,

Charese