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msbigredmachine · 4 months ago

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Finding Angel: 3

MASTERLIST

Naima steps out of her sleek Mercedes-AMG GLE, her heels clicking against the pavement as she strides toward Exotica’s grand entrance. The valet, a young man who always greets her with awe-struck eyes, rushes to open the door for her.

“Miss Angel,” he says with a slight bow, addressing her by her stage name. She flashes him a dazzling smile, handing him the keys to her car, along with a crisp twenty dollar bill tucked between her manicured fingers.

Inside, the air is electric. The regulars at Exotica know when Angel’s in the building. Heads turn as she passes by, her aura commanding attention without effort. Tonight, she’s in a custom sequined jumpsuit gifted by a devoted patron who insisted she have it after seeing her in an ad for Exotica’s marquee events. The outfit sparkles under the club’s low light, clinging to her every curve like a second skin.

Within moments of settling down at the bar, the bartender slides a chilled flute in front of her. “Compliments of Mr. Wellington,” he says, nodding toward a gray-haired man in a three piece suit sitting in the VIP section. Naima lifts her glass in acknowledgment, her smile polite but distant.

In her five years working at Exotica, she’s grown accustomed to the gifts and attention that come with being the top attraction in town. Regulars and high-rollers compete for her favor, sending her everything from designer handbags and Louboutins to exotic perfumes and expensive jewelry. Just last month, a tech guru flew in from Silicon Valley and asked her to have dinner with him. Naima declined, but his offer still made its way to her email, along with an invitation for a private jet tour of Napa Valley.

Her semi-private dressing room at Exotica feels more like a boutique than a functional space. Flowers arrive monthly; roses, orchids, even rare blooms from overseas, with notes scribbled in admiration. Tonight, a black velvet box sits on her vanity. Inside, a delicate diamond bracelet catches the light. The attached card reads: “To Angel, because you shine brighter than all my diamonds.” The sender is a regular from Houston, a Chevron executive who flies in once a month just to see her perform.

But the perks aren’t just material. There’s power in her position; the ability to command a room, to captivate a crowd with a single glance, to turn heads and elicit envy even among the other dancers. The DJ ensures her setlist is flawless, and the club manager, Khalil, gives her the prime spot on every lineup without question.

By the time she steps onto the stage, the crowd is buzzing with anticipation. This is her domain. Every move she makes is calculated yet effortless, her body moving in perfect sync with the music. Hundred-dollar bills rain down from the VIP section, where a mix of regulars and new faces vie for her attention. She gives them just enough; a sultry smile here, a lingering glance there; but her focus remains sharp.

As the music fades and she slides back down the pole, she gathers the bills strewn across the stage and leaves. Naima knows she’s not quite just a dancer; she’s a brand, a name synonymous with allure and excellence in Atlanta’s nightlife. The glamour, the gifts, the admiration…They’re all part of the life she’s built. And tonight, like every other night, she owns it.

All of that are the fun, glamorous parts.

The not-so-glamorous parts?

That’s a whole other story that she does not enjoy delving into. Ever. She’d much rather prefer to dwell on positives.

Like Roman.

It’s been days since he left town, but his presence still clings to her like a scent that won’t fade. His voice, his touch; both lingering distractions. And it’s not just the physical connection, though that was electric. It’s the way he looked at her, the way he listened, how he treated her like she was more than just the persona she slips into under the club’s lights.

And the sex…Damn, the sex.

Fire and passion, raw and unrelenting, the kind that still makes her breath hitch when she thinks about it. The way his strong hands gripped her hips, the deep growl rumbling in his chest when she arched beneath him, the way he whispered in her ear, telling her how fucking good she felt. He didn’t just touch her—he consumed her, made her feel cherished, claimed in a way no one ever has. Their goodbye still echoes in her mind. Or, as he put it, see you soon—a promise that this, whatever this is, is only beginning.

Still, doubt lurks at the edges of her thoughts. How realistic is this, really? They come from completely different worlds. Can those worlds ever truly align?

Seated at her vanity in the dressing room, Naima applies a fresh coat of ruby-red lipstick with practiced precision, though her mind is miles away. The distant thump of the club’s music and the low murmur of the other girls barely register. Beyond the door, in the general dressing area where the others get ready, the usual pre-shift chatter hums in the air, but she’s separate from it, tucked away in the private space she claimed as their own. Her reflection blurs as she loses herself in memories, replaying that night with Roman over and over again.

“Girl, is you deaf?”

The sharp voice yanks her back to reality. Whatever small smile had ghosted her lips vanishes, replaced by a sigh as the world she’s actually in comes crashing back. This isn’t where she wants to be tonight. But it’s where she is, unfortunately.

In the mirror, she catches the other woman’s reflection as she saunters in. Out of all the girls here, Brandy Rivera is the only one she trusts, the only one who keeps it real and makes her dire days that much brighter. Right now, she’s dressed down in an oversized sweatshirt and skintight leggings, but nothing about her is ever low-key. Her bubblegum-pink wig cascades in sleek waves down her back, glossy and vibrant, a candy-coated fantasy come to life. Plump, glossed lips, high cheekbones, and a body built for sin, she looks every inch the Lollipop she embodies on stage. Sweet on the surface, but with just enough bite underneath to keep things interesting.

“What?” Naima demands, frowning.

Brandy leans against the vanity, crossing her arms. “I said, you’ve been walkin’ around here lookin’ like a love-struck fool. You better spill, ’cause I know it ain’t work puttin’ that goofy ass look on your face.”

Naima groans and turns back to the mirror. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-uh,” Brandy says, walking past her own side of the room and leaning against Naima’s vanity. “Don’t even try it. You’ve been glowing since that big-ass Jason Momoa lookin’ dude came in here last week.”

Naima glares at her. “You so annoying.”

Brandy smirks. “And you’re dickmatized already. I know he smashed. Don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been acting all dreamy and distracted.”

“I’m not dreamy,” Naima protests, rolling her eyes.

“Girl, you practically floatin’,” Brandy shoots back. “Is it heavy? I bet it is.”

“Brandy!” Naima hisses, glancing toward the wall where some of the other girls are no doubt eavesdropping.

“What?” Brandy laughs, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m just asking. Plus, he look like he got stamina for days. Bet he left you walking funny.”

Naima rolls her eyes, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck. “You’re impossible!”

“And you’re deflecting.” Brandy smirks, leaning in. “Come on, at least give me somethin’. I’m dying here.”

Naima exhales slowly, fingers grazing the edge of the vanity as if the polished wood might ground her. She keeps her tone even, detached—like this is nothing, like he’s just another man. “It was…good.” A small shrug. “Real good. But that’s all it was. Just a night.”

Brandy’s brow lifts. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Naima ignores her, forcing a casual flick of her wrist. “I mean, he’s Roman Reigns. WWE, big-time, all that. I’ve dealt with big-timers before. No big deal.” A pause, a slight waver. “It’s just…he’s different.” She frowns, like she’s annoyed with herself for even admitting that much. “And I don’t know if I like that.”

Brandy studies her, unimpressed. “Girl, don’t do that shit.” She shakes her head. “You’re Naima fucking Murphy. Atlanta’s finest and baddest. Period. And that man knows it. Hell, he’s probably somewhere thinkin’ about you right now.”

Right on cue, Naima’s phone buzzes on the vanity, cutting through the moment. She hesitates before picking it up, her heart skipping when Roman’s name lights up the screen.

“Told you!” Brandy says, smirking. “What’d I say?”

Naima opens the text, her cheeks warming as she reads it.

Roman: Been thinkin bout you all day, beautiful.

Brandy peers over her shoulder. “Ohhh, what’s he saying? Is he sexting you? I bet he’s good at it.”

Naima laughs, swatting her away. “Bitch, get outta my business!”

Brandy cackles, standing up straight. “Fine, fine. Tell him I said hi. Or don’t. You know what, don’t. He don’t need to know who I am.”

“Bye, Brandy,” Naima waves her away, shaking her head as her friend strolls out of the room.

When she’s alone again, she stares at Roman’s text for a moment before typing a response.

Naima: Oh really? I’m sure you say that to all your women 😒 😂

His reply is immediate.

Roman: 🙄 I don’t have “all my women.” Just one who’s been driving me crazy since the moment I saw her.

A small smile tugs at her lips, warmth spreading through her chest.

Naima: Is that so? 😏

Roman: 😏 You know it is, don’t play with me. I’m counting the days until I see you again.

Naima: Counting the days? 🤔 That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?

Roman: Not when it’s true. You’re unforgettable, baby.

Naima sets her phone down, her heart fluttering. Wow. The sweet talk isn’t new to her; many clients have tried to rizz her up on many occasions and all were swiftly rebuffed.

This one though? For some reason, she’s eating this up. She has an inkling why, but she’ll keep it to herself for now.

Two nights later…

The city pulses with life as Naima adjusts the strap of her duffel bag, staring out at the Atlanta skyline. Neon lights blur against the twilight sky, reflecting her muddled thoughts. She stands by Brandy’s Lexus hybrid SUV, which idles behind Exotica’s loading dock. The smell of gasoline mixes with the faint aroma of the club’s signature vanilla incense that lingers even in the parking lot.

Brandy leans casually against the hood of the car, scrolling through her phone. Her nonchalance is almost enviable.

“You good, girl?” Brandy asks, her voice cutting through the hum of the city.

Naima sighs, running her fingers through her bone straight wig. “Yeah…just tired, I guess.”

“Liar,” Brandy quips, shooting her a knowing look. “It’s that man, ain’t it? Mr. Fine-Ass wrestler got you all twisted up. What’d he say when you told him about this gig?”

The memory of Roman’s call just last night plays in her mind. She’d been lying on the couch, the throw blanket still faintly smelling of him, when her phone buzzed.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft.

“Hey, beautiful,” Roman replied, his deep, smooth tone wrapping around her like a blanket. “What’s up?”

“Not much. You?”

“Thinking about you,” he admitted. “I wanna see you again. Soon. I’m thinking about flyin’ in this weekend.”

Naima hesitated, her heart tugging in two directions. “I can’t this weekend. Brandy and I have a private party booked. It’s work.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched like a taut wire. “What kind of party?”

“Bachelor party. It’s just a job, Roman. You don’t need to worry.”

His voice turned hard, laced with frustration. “I’d be lying if I said I was the biggest fan of you doin’ this stuff, Naima.”

“Well, it’s not your call to make,” she said, sharper than intended. “This ‘stuff’ is how I pay my bills. I can take care of myself.”

Naima smirks faintly. “He wasn’t happy. Told me he wanted to come back to see me this weekend.”

Brandy lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Man just left and already tryna come back? He’s hooked, huh?”

Naima shrugs, her chest tightening. “Yeah, but…he shouldn't come in here tellin’ me what to do. This is my life, ya know? It ain’t always glamorous, but I can handle myself. I been doin’ this long before he showed up.”

Brandy nods, her playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. “Damn straight you can handle yourself. But if tonight’s anything like the last party we did? Stay ready.”

“Always,” Naima replies, forcing a small smile. But the knot in her stomach doesn’t ease as they drive toward the glitzy high-rise downtown.

The elevator ride is silent except for the soft dinging of floors passing. Naima smooths down her dress, while Brandy adjusts her heels, her expression a mix of anticipation and mild irritation at the extra effort these gigs demand. But the payout is worth it. It usually is.

When the doors slide open, the penthouse is alive with bass-heavy music, the glass walls trembling under its pulse, offering a dazzling view of the city skyline. The air is thick with the scent of liquor, expensive cologne, and indulgence.

At the center of it all, Trey Mitchell lounges with the effortless arrogance of a man who already has the world in his hands. A top NBA prospect with a multimillion-dollar contract on the horizon, he’s young, cocky, and weeks away from locking himself into a marriage that doesn’t seem to be slowing him down tonight.

Dressed in designer clothes from head to toe, Trey cradles a glass of champagne as his gaze sweeps over them, lingering on Naima with blatant interest. His grin stretches slow and wolfish.

“Damn,” he drawls, tilting his glass in their direction, the diamonds from the pimped out Rolex nearly blinding both women. “Y’all look even better than the pictures. ‘Specially you, sweet thang.” His attention locks onto Naima, his grin wolfish and eyes dark with intent.

She forces a polite smile, ignoring the way her skin crawls under his gaze. “Thanks.”

Brandy isn’t as diplomatic. “Uh-huh,” she snips, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Where’s our space?”

Trey laughs, waving them toward the center of the room, where his equally rowdy friends are gathered. The night starts smoothly enough, with Naima and Brandy sticking to their routine; dancing, collecting tips, dodging wandering hands with practiced ease.

The penthouse is soon reeking of excess. Expensive champagne bottles litter the marble countertops and the faint, chemical tang of cocaine hangs in the air. Trey and his crew are gathered around the glass coffee table, lines of white powder meticulously laid out.

“Y’all want a bump?” he asks casually, gesturing toward the table as Naima and Brandy move through the room. His tone is lazy, but there’s a sharp edge of entitlement lurking beneath.

Naima shakes her head firmly. “No thanks. We good.”

Brandy snorts. “Yeah, we here to dance, not catch a charge.”

One of Trey’s friends, a lanky guy with dreads and bloodshot eyes, leans back and laughs, shaking his head. “Man, they shoulda sent y’all’s fun sisters or something. This supposed to be a party.”

“Yeah, for real,” Trey chimes in, his words slurring slightly as he takes another sip of champagne. “Frigid ass strippers. Ain’t nobody tryna vibe with that.” He makes a ‘shoo’ motion with his hand.

Naima clenches her jaw but says nothing, keeping her movements controlled and professional. She feels Brandy’s anger simmering beside her.

“Frigid, huh?” Brandy mutters under her breath, her tone dangerously low. “Yeah, keep talkin’, assholes.”

The night is already spiraling, the air thick with disrespect and bad intentions. Naima can feel it, that electric tension that always comes before something goes terribly wrong. And she is right. Trey’s arrogance becomes more apparent with each passing hour, his confidence growing bolder with every sip and every snort.

“Come on, baby,” he slurs, leaning in far too close to Naima as she dances. She steps back, keeping her movements fluid but firm.

“Look, Trey, just enjoy the show,” she says, her tone light but edged with warning.

He laughs, unbothered, and reaches out to grab her ass. Naima sidesteps him smoothly, but her patience wears thin.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, sharply this time.

“Why not?” he challenges, his grin turning mean as he grabs her arm so hard she winces, his untrimmed nails scraping at her skin. “I paid you to entertain me right? So entertain me. Make me happy.”

Before Naima can respond, Brandy cuts in, her voice sharp as a blade as she shoves him backwards. “Back the fuck off, Trey! She said no!”

Trey turns on her like a disturbed predator, his drunken swagger unshaken. “The fuck is your problem, bitch?”

“My problem?” Brandy barks, stepping between him and Naima. “My problem is you actin’ like you bought us. You didn’t. So sit your big ass down before I make you!”

The room goes quiet, tension crackling like static electricity. Trey smirks, but his eyes are hard. “Or what? What you hoes gon’ do, huh?” He reaches over again and slaps Naima’s ass hard. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, fuckin’ whores.”

That’s all it takes. In one swift motion, Naima lashes out and swipes her nails across his face, splitting his skin. Trey screams, stumbling back and clutching his face.

“You crazy bitch!” he yells, his voice muffled as he doubles over.

“I told you to keep your fucking hands to yourself!” Naima shouts, landing a punch that sends him sprawling onto the couch. The room erupts as Trey’s minions rush to his side.

“Okay stop, stop, Nai, you got ‘em!” Brandy cries, grabbing her friend’s arm and yanking her back when she tries to descend on Trey again.

“Fuck that!” Naima spits, still fuming. “He had it coming!”

It’s chaos. Trey is bleeding, his friends shouting, demanding that Naima and Brandy get the hell out. In the midst of it, the one with the dreads—the same loudmouth from earlier—sees an opening and grabs for Brandy, his intentions clear and unwelcome.

But she’s faster. Her knee snaps up hard into his crotch, and he crumples instantly, a choked gasp replacing his cocky attitude.

Naima grabs their bags, her hands trembling as she drags Brandy toward the elevator. The ride down is silent except for Trey’s and his punk friend’s muffled howls and curses echoing in their ears.

The burly man leans back in his oversized leather chair, a smug sneer plastered across his face as he eyes Naima and Brandy like a cat about to pounce on a pair of trapped mice. His black eyes glint under the dim light of the office, tucked away in the bowels of Exotica’s building, and the faint haze of stale cigar smoke clings to the air, mingling with the sharp notes of his cologne. His stocky frame is clad in a black velvet designer tracksuit with the name ‘Khalil’ emblazoned in gold on his left chest, shimmering under the office’s dim light. His face is hardened with a permanent scowl, accentuated by a neatly trimmed goatee and piercing, judgmental eyes. A thick gold chain gleams around his neck, and his fingers, adorned with chunky rings, drum impatiently on the mahogany desk as he glares at the two women.

“You know what y’all problem is?” he starts, his voice low but edged with venom. “Y’all think you can just do whatever the fuck you want and not bring it back on me. I don’t give a fuck what that asshole Trey did. Angel, you scratched up a VIP, and Lollipop, you beat the shit outta his friend. And now they people blowin’ up my phone, talking about lawsuits and refunds. You messin’ with Exotica’s reputation!”

Brandy crosses her arms, glaring back at him, but Khalil’s gaze remains on Naima. His eyes linger a little too long on her, like they always do, sliding over her curves like he has every right to. She shifts uncomfortably under his leer, but he doesn't stop, the corner of his mouth curling into a sickening grin. “And you, Angel. You used to be the quiet one, huh? But now you bringin’ me problems too? You might be my best bitch, but you know how much I’ve done to keep you in this place? Could’ve fired you ten times over, but I didn’t.”

Her stomach twists at the implication. She hates the way he still acts like she owes him something. Hates the way his eyes make her feel stripped bare even when she’s fully clothed.

Brandy bristles. “Khalil, we ain’t here for a lecture, and we sure as hell don’t owe you an apology. That dude was out of line! High as hell, putting hands on us. What were we supposed to do? Smile and take it?”

Khalil slams his palm down on the desk, silencing her. “I don’t give a fuck what he was doin’! Your job is to make ‘em happy, not piss ‘em off. If you can’t handle the work, there’s the fucking door!”

Naima’s chest tightens, her eyes stinging with tears she refuses to let fall in front of him. “We don’t deserve this,” she murmurs, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

Khalil leans forward, his grin gone, replaced by a cold sneer. “You don’t deserve this?” He laughs, humorless and sharp. “You chose this, Angel. You said yes. This means you gon’ play by my rules. Both o’ y’all been here long enough to know this shit. Now get the fuck outta my office before I change my mind about letting y’all keep your jobs.”

As they turn to leave, his voice follows, dripping with fake charm.

“And Angel? Don’t act brand new. You and I both know how…good…you used to be at followin’ orders. Don’t start slackin’ now.”

Before she can react, the door slams shut behind them. Naima feels like she can finally breathe, though the knot in her chest doesn’t loosen. Khalil doesn’t care about them. He never has. He only cares about his money, his reputation, and how much he takes from them while giving little in return.

When Naima finally gets home at 2am, exhaustion crashes over her like a wave. Dragging herself to her bedroom, she kicks off her heels, drops her bag by the door, and sinks onto the bed, her hands pressing against her face. The gritty, ugly reality of her life as a stripper isn’t new…but damn if it ever gets easier.

She exhales sharply, shaking off the frustration clawing at her chest. Then, against her better judgment, her mind drifts to Roman; to his texts, to the softness of his voice when he told her he wanted to see her again. A part of her itches to call him, just to hear that voice, to feel some kind of comfort.

But what for? It’s not like they’re anything. And what the hell would she even say? That she’s sitting here in the dark, feeling like she’s unraveling, wondering how much longer she can keep this up?

Yeah. No.

Instead, she just lays there, staring at nothing while the city lights cast faint, shifting patterns on the walls.

Ever since Roman left Atlanta, his boys have been on his ass. Jimmy and Sami won’t let up, constantly teasing him about his mysterious vanishing act that night, while Jey sulks like a damn child. Roman takes it all in stride, unfazed. Let them talk. What they don’t know—what he’s not ready to say out loud—is that, for the first time in years, someone else has his full attention. And even though they barely know each other, that someone is on his mind more than he cares to admit.

Between meetings and appearances, he catches himself checking his phone more often than usual, anticipation curling in his stomach every time Naima’s name pops up. Their texts are effortless, their conversations stretching late into the night. And when they talk on the phone? Her voice alone is enough to settle something deep inside him.

Two weeks go by before he finally has a break in his schedule, and he flies back to Georgia. He hasn’t told Naima as he wants to surprise her. When he walks into Exotica later that night, the dim, pulsating lights do little to distract him from his mission. His eyes immediately scan the crowd, searching for her. But as the clear favorite in this place, she’s hard to miss.

She’s mesmerizing, her movements fluid and captivating, as if the music bends to her will. Roman’s heart thuds in his chest—part awe, part possessive pride. But as the set ends and Naima makes her way off the stage without interacting with anyone, a man stops her near the bar, leaning in close.

Roman frowns as he studies the guy. Tall yet stocky, bearded with puffy cheekbones. His slick suit and self-assured smirk suggests authority. The owner, maybe. The interaction seems tense. The man says something to her, his hand, adorned with gaudy rings, gripping her elbow. Naima’s face falls, her usual confidence replaced by an expression Roman hasn’t seen before—an uneasy mixture of frustration and sadness. The OTC clenches his jaw, his protective instincts flaring.

When the man finally lets her go, Naima heads toward the back. Roman leaves the VIP section and follows discreetly, his towering presence parting the crowd with ease.

By the time he reaches the champagne room, she’s seated on the plush sofa, sipping sparkling water from a clear glass. Her outfit is sequined, revealing, and sparkles in the dim light, but her expression is pensive, the earlier encounter clearly still on her mind.

Roman closes the door behind him, the soft click drawing her attention. She looks up, surprise flashing across her face before a smile tugs at her lips.

“Roman! So soon already,” she says, a mix of surprise and happiness in her voice.

“I told you I wanted to see you,” he says simply. He strides over to her, his hands in his pockets. “Who was that guy?” he asks, his tone calm but laced with authority.

Naima blinks, her smile faltering. “What guy?”

Roman gestures toward the door. “The guy who pulled you aside after your set. I saw the way you looked at him. Who is he?”

She signs tiredly, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “That’s Khalil. He owns Exotica.”

Roman’s frown deepens as he sits beside her, pulling her onto his lap with ease. He tilts her chin up, searching her face. He doesn’t like the shadow in her pretty eyes. “He gives you a hard time, doesn’t he?” he presses.

Naima forces a small shrug, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Roman counters.

She grimaces. She’s already said too much. “It’s just work stuff,” she deflects, “Don’t worry about it.”

Roman starts to say more, but his gaze sharpens as he notices faint red scratches trailing along her forearm. She’s tried to cover them with her sleeves, but it only draws his attention more. His jaw tightens, and his voice comes out low and taut.

“Did he do this?”

She glances down at her arm, then quickly tugs her sleeve further down, as if that can erase what he’s seen. “No. Happened at the bachelor party,” she replies, frowning at the look in his eyes. ”Work hazard. I’m fine.”

“Nope, that is not fine,” His voice rises slightly, disbelief and anger flaring in his tone. “Who?” he demands, the protective storm brewing behind his calm demeanor.

“I can handle myself, Roman,” Naima insists.

Roman takes a long, deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. “I know you can,” he says, his voice softening just a touch. “But you shouldn't be in this position to begin with.”

She appreciates his concern, but something about the way he says it that makes her bristle. There’s an implication there, one she can’t—and won’t—ignore.

“Whatchu tryna say?” she asks, her tone cautious.

Roman leans back slightly, his hands resting on her hips to steady her. His silence speaks volumes before he finally speaks. “I’m saying, I don’t like you being here. I hate the idea of guys like Khalid or whatever the fuck his name is, thinking they can look at you or treat you however they want.”

Her smile fades, replaced by a guarded expression. “What I do here pays my bills, Roman. It’s not about what anyone else thinks, it’s about survival.”

“I get that,” Roman agrees, frustration creeping into his tone. “But you shouldn’t have to survive like this. You’re better than this...Better than the stage, the lights, the—”

“The stripping?” she fills in for him, her eyes narrowing. She shifts off his lap, crossing her arms over her chest. Her body language oozes defiance. “Is that what this is about? One night together, and suddenly you think you can judge my fucking life choices?”

Roman exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m not judging you, sweetheart. I just…” He pauses, his words heavy with concern. “I hate that you’re in a position where you feel like this is your only option. It’s not about me judging you.”

“Coulda fooled me,” she snaps, her voice rising. “You waltz in here with all your muscles and big-man energy, acting like you’re some knight in shining armor. Just cuz we fucked one time don’t mean you get a say in what I do with my life!”

Roman’s expression softens, his features clouding with something that resembles hurt. “That’s not…” he starts, then pauses, takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Look. You don’t gotta believe me, but I care about you. And it pisses me off that motherfuckers think they can come at you sideways.”

“Well, get over it,” she shoots back, her voice cracking slightly despite her defiance. “This is my life, Roman. Not yours. If you can’t handle that, tough.” She stands abruptly, marches to the door and throws it open, her pointed silence saying everything else she’s too angry to say.

The tension in the room is suffocating. Roman watches her, his dark eyes stormy with emotions he doesn’t seem ready to articulate. Finally, he stands, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her. “Fine,” he says gruffly, his voice edged with resignation. “If that’s how you feel, I’ll get out of your way.”

Naima crosses her arms. “Yeah, you do that,” she retorts, though her voice wavers as if the words hurt to say.

Roman doesn’t respond. He walks out, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in the small room.

Left alone, Naima sinks back onto the couch, her head in her hands as anger and regret churns in her chest. She hates the way his words have struck a nerve, even though she’s heard several variations before; hates even more that she lashed out like that. The truth is, she wishes she could let him in, but she’s not sure how, or if she even wants to…not when letting him in means risking everything.

Thoughts? Who's in the right?

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@theninthwonder @tabletheofhead @venusesworld @ariieeesworld @sassginaswanmills @prettyfilmz

@theglamclosetsl @empressdede @woahdude9481 @browngalmal @crxssjae @octaviastargirl @ashykneee @heartz4chucky

@twocentuar @surdelcielo @althegreat33 @alichesmi @eclectic-tee

@joannasteez @whatdoeseverybodywant @puppetmastermya @caramelcleopatraa @femdisa @zillasvilla @katrinnnn @callmekayd @msbluehaz3

@megamindsecretlair @headoftheetable @brwnsugababe @heauxvibez @christinabae @potatosackk @usoholic @4milly @luvrsluxe @juicypinksblog

@raya-hunter01 @lilucey @aisharmi @neverlookatthisblog @dayaimonee @nayys-world @kianaleani @shes2real @disc0fairy @paigereeder

@fearlesschimera @tshepisho @partypoison00 @originalgeezyy @muzaqueendom @naturally-nikkilynn

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagines #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black oc

116 notes · View notes

stevebattle · 7 months ago

Text

"Automation" and friends (1979), by Bill Tolar, Fantasy Factory division, Creative Systems Group Inc., Atlanta, GA. Bill Tolar and Tom Zaken treat us to a surreal tour of the Creative Systems robot factory in episode 1513 of Mister Rogers' Neighbourhood, "Robots & Remotes" (1983).

"Three years ago Bill Tolar and his management/engineering team at Creative Systems Group Inc. in Atlanta produced a cylindrical object with a domed head and dangling arms that ran on a car battery. As soon as Tolar and his team added a two-way wireless radio, they were in the promotional robot business, with a product that resembled R2D2 – the charismatic beeping robot of Star Wars fame.

Since then, the company, which designs and manufactures imaginative interiors for retail stores, has sold 350 remote-controlled robots at prices ranging from $6,000 to $15,000. Although he has competitors, Tolar, 33, claims his company's Fantasy Factory division, with 1981 sales of $700,000, is "the largest promotional robot factory in the world." Coca-Cola has bought about 250 of the robots for its bottlers to use in mall appearances and similar events. Other customers include Arby's Inc., Kimberly-Clark Corp., and the National Pecan Marketing Council.

The robots are intended to create goodwill by chatting spontaneously with the clientele at trade shows, grand openings, supermarkets, hospitals, and sporting events. Such friendliness, Tolar claims, helps to circumvent the barrier people usually erect between themselves and corporate advertising. "The general public likes to think the robot is real," he says.

Creative Systems was an outgrowth of several earlier Tolar ventures. In high school he and a friend formed T&R Odd Jobs, a sign-painting and custom furniture business. As an engineering student at Georgia Tech, he joined his older brother to form Spatial Effects, a company that built lighting equipment for nightclubs."

– Chatty Robot Sparked Design Firm's Success, Inc.com, April 1, 1982.

#cybernetics #robot #1979 #Creative Systems #showbot

98 notes · View notes

dailyniallnews · 1 year ago

Text

SINGER NIALL HORAN INVESTS IN FENWAY SPORTS, MCILROY TGL TEAM

Singer-songwriter Niall Horan will tee it up as the latest investor in TGL, the tech-infused team golf league backed by Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy. Horan, who first gained fame as a member of boy band One Direction, invested in Boston Common Golf through his investment vehicle Greenbridge Ventures.

Boston Common Golf is one of the six inaugural TGL teams and owned by Fenway Sports Group and McIlroy’s investment firm, Symphony Ventures.

McIlroy and Horan both hail from Ireland and have been longtime friends. “Golf has been a lifelong passion of mine,” Horan said in a statement. “Being able to combine my love for the game and my friendship with Rory into a relationship that helps launch a new concept in golf is truly special.”

TGL teams will each feature four golfers hitting shots into a golf simulator screen until they are within 50 yards of the hole and the action transfers to a short game area that transforms between holes. The season includes 15 matches, plus playoffs.

Horan will also serve as an ambassador for Boston Common Golf, which will benefit from his massive social media following, which includes 72 million combined followers on Instagram and Twitter—Woods has 10 million and McIlroy 6 million.

In 2015, Horan launched a sports agency focused on golf, Modest! Golf Management, with his business partner, Mark McDonnell. Their clients include Tyrrell Hatton, who has won six European Tour events and one on the PGA Tour. That same year, Horan served as McIlroy’s caddie in the Masters’ annual Par 3 Contest.

In addition to his singing career, Horan was a coach the past year on The Voice and coached the winner in back-to-back seasons. He is currently on the North American leg of his global tour.

TGL was slated to start play this January, but delayed its inaugural season to begin Jan. 7, 2025 after a power failure caused the dome of the SoFi Center in Palm Beach Gardens to deflate. The required repairs led the TGL to delay a year. Last month, Horan visited TGL’s performance lab to preview the technology that will be used in the competition.

The SoFi Center will boast a 3,000-square-foot simulator screen and a 22,475-square-foot customizable short game area. TGL rules also include a shot clock, and the league plans for players to be mic’d up during the action. A seating area for 1,500 has been designed around the playing zone.

Matches will be broadcast on ESPN and ESPN+.

The six, location-tied teams for TGL’s inaugural season: Atlanta Drive GC, Boston, Jupiter Links GC, Los Angeles Golf Club, New York Golf Club and the Bay Golf Club, have attracted heavy hitters in the sports space, including Arthur Blank, Steve Cohen, Alexis Ohanian and Marc Lasry, as well as athletes Serena Williams, Stephen Curry and Giannis Antetokounmpo. Woods partnered with David Blitzer for the Jupiter franchise.

#niall horan #article #16jun24

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yyaktayak · 6 months ago

Text

‘BESTFRIENDS’

Kimaya Jhenalei Sade or

'Razor '

28 years old.

-Jacksonville,Flordia 📍

-single

Tattoo Artist / Salon Owner

ig: @iamrazorbehavior

private twitter: @razorbehavior

main twitter : @iamrazorbehavior

‘me and josh are strictly friends ‘

Joshua Samuel Fatu or Jey Uso

"Main Event "

32 years old .

-Baton Rouge , Louisiana 📍

-single -

Professional Wrestler / Private Trainer

Ig:uceyjucey

private twitter :ucegotdatjuce

main twitter: TheUsos

Jimmy's Twin

'mane please I js don't play about rara miss me w that’

Trinity Fatu aka

'Naomi'

31 years old

-Sanford, Flordia 📍

-married to Jimmy-

Professional Wrestler / designer on the side

Ig:Trinity_Fatu

private twitter : daglowest

Main twitter : Trinity_Fatu

'girl you're in love with my brother '

Jonathan Fatu aka Jimmy Uso

'Slimjim'

32 years old

-Baton Rouge , Louisiana 📍

-married to Trinity -

Professional Wrestler / Private Trainer

Ig:jonathanfatu

main twitter : TheUsos

private twitter : @slimjimfoe

'twin.. ya luv ha stop playin dumb '

Kaveri Revati Anoa'i

'Kav or Revati'

33 years old

-Michigan , Detroit📍

-married to Joe Anoa'i-

Housewife

Ig: Kavevati

Private twitter : Revriii

Main twitter : KavRevat

'let me drink my tea and mind mines '

Leati Joseph Anoa'i aka Roman Reigns

35 years old .

-Baton Rouge , Louisiana 📍

-married to Kaveri-

Ig:joeanoai

Private twitter : leatidaone

Main twitter : joeanoai

'jey you more then js care about razor grow some balls like da big dog boa'

Sheneca Aaryn Zaveen

30 years old

-Atlanta , Ga 📍

Traveling Makeup Artist

-dates Cody Rhodes-

Ig: Shenecaa

Private twitter : necaveen

Main Twitter : AarynZav

'girl you better get yo man before them locker room hoes get em'

Cody Rhodes aka

'The American Nightmare'

33 years old

-Atlanta,Ga 📍-

-dates Sheneca-

Ig:amercianightmarecody

Private twitter : ohrightrhodes

Main twitter : amercianightmarecody

'Jey stop being in denial you're in love with her man '

A/N. Hello!!! Welcome to 'Bestfriends ' this is a Jey uso book ! I do not give copyright to copy my book so on and so fourth .

I hope yall enjoy this book cause I'm gonna be only focusing on this one!

These are the MAIN characters but other wrestlers will be involved'😘

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misscammiedawn · 2 months ago

Text

Likely TMI and could be deleted later but it's designed to be abstract enough that it shouldn't mean anything to people who are not us... For those curious, the memory list mentioned in the previous post.

This list exists as a prompt to help us look up journal entries and not forget the past. We started writing it in late 2000s/early 2010s and in retrospect it may have been related to the whole dissociation thing. We used to post full versions of this on our 2010s era Tumblr but that seems too self-indulgent and invasive now. Plus we've burned too many bridges.

Index (added when going over the list in therapy - it's color coded for ages but the formating didn't transfer to Tumblr)

(<3) - Very happpy memory (CW<3) - Conflicting emotions (CW) - Bad memories (XCW) - Triggering Bad Memory (Violence, Alcohol, Abuse, Abandonment etc) (???) - Forgotten prompt

""Hey! You with the face!"" (<3)

""It’s your life, do what you want."" (CW)

""The girl I want to be""

"...oh Ted =/"

"17 hours in IMAX" (<3)

"18 year old in the kid’s ward"

"18th birthday (or Noodles ‘n Fight Club)"

"19th birthday (or Green hills and autumn skies)" (<3)

"22nd birthday (or hosting for the big party)"

"25 Superman. 1 phone booth"

"30th Birthday with no one to celebrate with"

"35mm disaster"

"35th Birthday - at the end of all things" (CW)

"50p cinema day"

"76 hours without sleep" (CW)

"9/11"

"A Chelsea fan"

"A long way to Tennessee"

"A new Sister"

"A silly boy who likes rockets" (<3)

"A Transition Tale - Doctor’s visit"

"A Transition Tale - Dresses in public"

"A Transition Tale - Electrolysis"

"A Transition Tale - Recap of Thoughts"

"A Webcomic is born"

"Abandoned experiments"

"Accidental Gay Bar date with Sleepy"

"Accidentally getting contest cheater fired"

"ACen Piano"

"ACen with Tsu"

"Adopting Kyon" (<3)

"Adopting Peko Pekoyama" (CW<3)

"Adopting Special Agent Dale Cooper" (<3)

"Adopting Wheatley" - (CW<3) Content warning, Animal Cruelty

"Alas, my Waterloo. The final morning."

"Alex Westley" (XCW)

"Almacon with friends"

"Almost cracked my head open (Scar story)" (XCW) - Important Event

"Alt Right Asshole Demands a Refund"

"Alton Towers"

"AMC Escape Room"

"AMC Trivia and Quiz sheets"

"Amiga CD32"

"AMV Hell at Youma"

"An argument over my name" (CW)

"An argument that ended everything" (XCW)

"Anniversary Date - Beauty & The Beast"

"Anniversary Date - Hamilton"

"Anniversary Date - The Last Ship"

"Anniversary Date - Time Machine Tour" (<3)

"Apology to the Fort O’Neighbors"

"Apple House Photoshoot"

"Archbishop’s Park" - Distorted Memory

"Art in Chicago (breathing song)"

"Art room security breach" (CW)

"Coworker caught by Caputo"

"Ass wands"

"Astrid and Lee"

"Atlanta-to-Nantglyn" (XCW)

"Auditing classes"

"Auntie Linda" (CW)

"Avenue Q"

"Awake at 6am (or playing by sound alone)" - Concerning Implications

"Azizul’s dirty tackle (Scar story)"

"Back to the Future Date"

"Back to the GR18"

"Backyard wedding"

"Badmitton"

"Bailing out PT Cruiser"

"Barbican Dental"

"Basement Subuteo"

"Battle Royale at Prince Charles Theatre"

"Beating the BioLizard"

"Bedlam Park"

"Beer and Bravado" (CW)

"Beguiled 2022 - Brainbound and Daja"

"Beguiled 2022 - I am holding your hand"

"Beguiled 2022 - Miss Dawn’s weakness"

"Beguiled 2022 - Murder Mystery"

"Beguiled 2022 - Puppet and Miss Dawn perv on their girlfriend"

"Beguiled 2022 - Soiree and hairplay"

"Beguiled 2022 - The Final Goodnight (red bead)"

"Beguiled 2022 - The Practice Room"

"Beguiled 2022 - Tigress and Puppet"

"Beguiled 2022 - WELCOME TO MADISON"

"Beguiled 2023 - Dual Inductions "Hello there"

"Beguiled 2023 - Music of the Night"

"Being told I kicked a classmate" (XCW)

"Bench pressing Cammie’s" (CW)

"BV, the upstairs neighbor"

"Betraying my brother" (CW)

"Bicycles and me"

"Black Panther and Broken Promises" (CW)

"Black September" (CW)

"Black smoke bonfire"

"Blanket Gang. Lupin and Eva"

"Bluebeard’s Bride" (CW<3)

"Bomb threat" (CW)

"Bond with a cosmonaut I’ll never meet" (XCW)

"Book of Mormon date"

"Bradwell"

"Brazillian Steakhouse Valentines" (<3)

"Breaking and Entering" (XCW)

"Breaking Bad Party"

"Breaking into The House"

"British Bulldog" (CW)

"Brought home by the police"

"Brunzwick Zone with Steve"

"Building Gundams"

"Bumped to the A grade in Maths"

"Bumped to the A grade in Science"

"Burning in the backyard"

"Buying a Nintendo Wii"

"Caht"

"Call Center Help Desk"

"Calvin College costume department"

"Calvin College magic show"

"Camber Sands"

"Camberwell"

"Camden and Dad’s worst moment" (XCW)

"Camden Dawn (our new name)"

"Camden Market"

"Camden sucks at tabletop (X.X eyes)

"Camden, Secure" (XCW)

"Cammie Pride Month"

"Cammie’s first cup of coffee" (CW)

"Camp Anti-Christmas"

"Canary Wharf" (CW)

"Can’t climb out from DHS"

"Caputo’s Brawl"

"Car Stories - Catbus" (XCW)

"Car Stories - Crispy"

"Car Stories - Libby" (XCW)

"Car Stories - Stormy" (XCW)

"C - The useless therapist"

"C and BV join the table" (CW)

"Character gifts for Christmas"

"Charlie the dog" (CW)

"Charmed 2020" (<3)

"Charmed 2021"

"Charmed 2022"

"Charmed 2023 - Miss Dawn’s Presence Class"

"Charmed 2023 - Vampire Ball"

"Charmed 2023 - Vendors Hall Blind Date"

"Chelsea vs Liverpool 4-2" (XCW)

"Chesington: World of Adventures"

"Chicago ComiCon - A fated reunion"

"Kistune and I"

"Christmas day car problems"

"City of Heroes"

"Final Therapist and the DID Diagnosis"

"Clay Pigeon Shooting"

"Climbing out of depression 2021. Books and assignments" (CW)

"CoD-to-Acen-to-CoD-and-back-again"

"Coffee Shops and Nelson"

"Coffee steak at Capital Grille"

"Collaring Ceremony"

"Coming out at work"

"Coming out to my father" (CW)

"Como Conservatory and Zoo"

"Coping Mechanisms" (XCW)

"Coraline Book Signing"

"Corn Maze at the end of all things"

"Cosplay Club Hibachi"

"Cosplay in London"

"Counterfeit notes and the FBI.

"Cousin wedding"

"Cousin’s house with scafolding" (XCW)

"Craig comes home (Roof/Listening Room/Aesthetic Room/Spa)"

"Critical hit to the weakspot" (XCW)

"Crying behind the door" (XCW)

"Cub Scouts"

"Curtis"

"D&D with the JJ"

"Dad’s apartment: Abandoned" (CW)

"Dad’s apartment: Cammie style" (CW)

"Dad’s apartment: Bro style" (CW)

"Dad’s episode" (XCW)

"Dad’s mental hospital room" (XCW)

"Dad’s post-surgery hospital room" (CW)

"Daja Visit 2022 - "Fuck It" garage kiss"

"Daja Visit 2022 - Cheese Curds and Sleepy’s Visit (2 Silver Crystals)"

"Daja Visit 2022 - Daja’s Lovely Assistant (Apple Crisp)"

"Daja Visit 2022 - Fond Farewells"

"Daja Visit 2022 - Photoshoot (Sword chin lift)"

"Daja Visit 2022 - The Wedding Day (Coyote)"

"Daja Wedding (Ambush Predator)"

"Daja’s SGDQ Suite (2024)"

"Brother’s big party"

"Brother’s Unhinged Death Threat Video"

"Cosplay Queen’s hospital room"

"Danny-Boy. HELLO!?!" (CW) - Early signs of Dissociation?

"Mum’s gay friend's apartment"

"Demoted to Holland"

"Denny’s Hobbit"

"Dick the Terepin"

"Dictionary to the back of the head" (XCW)

"DID Convention 2023 (Dr. Jamie and The Third Person)"

"DIE Tabletop Game"

"Disc Replay"

"Divorce" (XCW)

"Domestic hypnosis"

"Don’t rock the boat" (CW)

"DragonCon VIP Lounge"

"Drama Class"

"RT extended visit"

"RT visit 2 with added JAFAX"

"RT visit"

"Driving back from a Rush concert"

"Earthquake"

"Electrolysis Chapter 2 - Ms. July 23rd"

"Elephant & Castle cinema"

"Elephant and Castle"

"Endgame Party"

"English Eclipse"

"Euro 96" (XCW)

"Diana in America"

"Diana in London"

"Evalc’s RP"

"Everything is Terrible LIVE (The Great Satan)"

"Exit interviews at two theatres at once"

"Expelled from school" (XCW) - Monster Camden

"EZHack!"

"Fang The Sniper Plushie"

"Farewell to Holland (the failed Civil War party)"

"Farewell Wheatley - The Cries of CamDawn" (CW)

"Faust with Jude Law"

"Fe-" (???)

"Feburary 21st"

"FFIX and Vodka" (XCW)

"Final Thanksgiving with Former Family (Screen Violence)"

"Fire Alarm Madness" (CW)

"Firing regrets…" (CW)

"First day as an American"

"First formal attempt at hypnosis"

"First Impressions, BvS" (<3)

"First kiss" (<3)

"First time - Phantom"

"First time seeing Rush" (<3)

"Fishcoteque"

"FL Studio challenge"

"Fleetway comics"

"Fluffy got adopted"

"Flying on Christmas Eve"

"Forbidden Planet"

"Formula 1 ‘97 and Tomb Raider"

"Fort Alone"

"Fort Party and the Police"

"AMC as a winter shelter"

"Freezing down Haunted Hill"

"Frozen CO2 canisters and other theatre disasters"

"Frozen football in the rain" (CW)

"Fuck you, Acrio"

"Fuck Youmacon"

"Fucking Ultra Magnus!"

"Full Service Shop"

"Funnel Cloud"

"Game night with the family"

"GenCon the First"

"GenCon the Second - Ramen and Mangaka"

"GenCon the Third - Featuring Soviet Escape Room"

"GenCon the Third - LARP and Twin Peaks"

"GJ and the cracked skull" (XCW) - Important Therapy Memory - Monster Camden

"Get a job! (the typing test)" (CW)

"Get out of my hotel room you bloody soccer mom"

"Getting into Gundam SEED"

"Getting into Gundam Wing"

"Gift art at the end of all things"

"Gift art"

"Gift for ungrateful parent"

"Giordano’s Surprise"

"Giordano’s, imagiBROS era"

"Girls at a boy’s school"

"Giving up drinking" (XCW)

"Glastonbury"

"GM Academy - Kansas City"

"GM Convention Dallas (Feat. Civil War)"

"GM Convention Florida - Epcot"

"GM Convention Florida - Tranquility"

"GM Convention Florida - Universal"

"GM Convention Hollywood - Disney"

"GM Convention Hollywood - The longest day of my career"

"GM Convention Hollywood - The Studios"

"GM Convention New Orleans - Mardi Gras, Superdome and parades"

"GM Convention New Orleans - Photos and HG’s technicolor dream coat"

"GM Convention New Orleans - With Ex and the Court of Seven Sisters"

"GM Convention San Diego"

"GM Herland"

"GM Inferno"

"Gonzo Filmfest"

"Goodbye K and Step-mum" (XCW)

"GR Escape Room"

"Granddad’s memories of the HMS Indomnitable"

"Grant Morrison kills a con"

"Greenwich picnic"

"GTA Headache" - Dissociation Evidence

"Hanging on the edge of a cliff" (<3)

"Harley Hyenaholic"

"Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince"

"Harry Potter book launch"

"Haven Resort and the Tiger Club"

"Helicopter landings"

"Hellsing cosplay in London"

"Helping set Zelda to rest" (CW)

"Her jobs. (Hostess and tailor)"

"Hiding from the New Years Party" (<3)

"Hiding in the corn fields"

"High Potential Candidates at AMC"

"Hijacked in the cupboard" (XCW)

"HMS Belfast"

"Holy shit, Lunar 2?!?!"

"Horse/Shoe"

"Hot sauce in the eye"

"Howl’s Moving Castle"

"Hurricane Katrina"

"HYPE and Hypnyoga."

"Hypno Movie Night Discord"

"Hypnosis Study - Featuring Velvet"

"I am the answer!"

"ImagiCon - The lake house"

"ImagiCon 2 - The Movie Exchange"

"Imigration Blues (Shittiest Chicago visit)" (CW)

"Immersion roleplay/character stuff"

"Inception"

"Indoor Scavenger Hunt"

"Intimacy, RP and confusion" (CW)

"Iron Man with JJ"

"AMC J and the heartlessness of capitalism"

"Manager suddenly quits" (CW)

"MoFo and Scott Pilgrim in Schaumberg"

"Job hunt (Hackney flavor)"

"Job interview (America scam flavor)"

"Karate in America"

"Karate in England"

"Sleepy and the Orange Kit-Kat"

"Maryland Hospital"

"Sleepy’s Surgery"

"Keep the kettle boiling"

"K’s party"

"Kessleman Kiss"

"Kicked out." (XCW)

"Kids playing with the video camera"

"King Leer, the play I missed"

"Kitty collar" (<3)

"Kyon’s vet visit" (XCW)

"Last moments of Primary school (or 3 Lions)"

"Last moments of Secondary school (or D in IT)"

"Launchpad"

"Lavender Pond" (CW)

"Leaving a sanctuary for a shoebox" (CW)

"Leaving England"

"Leaving GR (Ferry Ride)"

"Leaving Photography Job"

"Leaving my first job" (CW)

"Leicester Square - From Values to Vue"

"Letting Kalamazoo die" (CW)

"LGBT Panel at Southdale Library"

"Life of Pi Press Screening" (CW)

"Tsu's mom invades"

"LJ’s video game collection"

"Lockdown 2 and the eternal boxes" (CW)

"Lodger and the ambulance" (XCW)

"London Expo friends and the least organized birthday party ever"

"LNS"

"Long day out with dad (Amiga CD32 version)" (CW<3)

"Lord of the Rings all-nighter"

"Losing my hobby in GR"

"Lower Marsh"

"Maggie May’s Breakfast"

"Market Trainer Adventures (CB15)

"Market Trainer Adventures (H8)"

"Market Trainer Adventures (L8)"

"Matrix Resurrections" (<3)

"Ma’am!" (<3)

"MCM Expo and Hellsing"

"MCM Expo and Shaolin Soccer"

"Meeting [first trans friend]"

"Meeting Ru"

"Mega Drive in the cupboard" (XCW)

"Meltdowns at Oikos (Sleepy's Patience)"

"Mental health screening" (XCW) - Important Therapy Information

"Mexican funeral"

"Milkshake by the M25" (CW<3) - Conflicted Feelings

"Photography Job boat trip"

"Photography Job book club"

"Photography Job canal trip (or "holy shit he can run!")" (<3)

"Photography Job Christmas Party"

"Photography Job girl’s night out" (<3)

"Photography Job Lunchbreak discussions"

"Missing Samsam in America"

"Moderator temper tantrum" - BPD Meltdown

"Modes and Facets"

"Hair play by Lucy the Slut" (<3)

"Mom & Dad in the same room at the same time" (CW<3)

"Monster Hearts"

"Monstering in the caves"

"morphE begins"

"morphE ends"

"morphE Executive Meeting" (<3)

"Moving to GR"

"Mrs. Cooper" (<3) - The moment Monster Camden died

"Milton & West" (CW)

"Wilson" (<3)

"MST3K All-Nighter"

"MST3K Live"

"Music Class"

"My best friend’s new home"

"My Lady"

"N64 and Ocarina of Time"

"Namco Station"

"Nan and Grandad’s"

"Nano in the fishbowl"

"NaNoWriMo"

"Nelson in GR"

"Nemmy Likes Cake (and Star Wars)"

"New Years EzChat"

"Newcastle Tabletop"

"Nickelodeon phone-in prizes"

"No privacy allowed" (XCW)

"North Peckham Estate" (CW)

"Not a Prefect" - BPD Meltdown

"Not Adopting Ocelot"

"Not Mexican funeral"

"Obama’s inaugiration" (<3)

"Oikos Abandoned (The Canada Trip)"

"Opening The Matrix" (<3)

"Oswego Hospital waiting room" (XCW)

"Out late with Primary friends" (XCW)

"Owen’s Endless GeneCon (Birthday game)" (<3)

"Packaging team night out" (<3)

"Paintballing (the time I did go)"

"Paintballing (the time I didn’t go)" (CW)

"Parallel parking job"

"Parker"

"Patball"

"Patton Oswalt and Sleepy’s Office"

"Paul and Painting"

"Paul and the Snooker Hall"

"Paul’s head stuck in a fence"

"Peckham concrete canal"

"Peckham friends"

"People Development Award 2018" (<3)

"Persona 3"

"Photoshoot with Cosplay club"

"Picking up Ex-wife, the final time" (XCW)

"Picking up Ex-wife, the first time" (XCW)

"Piercing my own chest (scar story)" (XCW)

"Pitch Perfect melted"

"Pittsburgh 2023 - Fountain"

"Pittsburgh 2023 - Magic Show"

"Pittsburgh 2023 - Pie and chips at Lookout Mountain"

"Planetarium"

"Playbill oragami, Former Family wedding event" (<3)

"Playground games with Lisa"

"Playing Pool with LittleKuriboh"

"Pokebadge"

"Pokemon Go! Michigan"

"Pokemon Go! Illinois"

"Post Office Elastic Band Basketball"

"Power outage and the comedy club"

"Powerwash Simulator *DING*"

"Preparing for the webcomic"

"Primary school phone booth" (CW)

"Primary School Reunion"

"Primary Sports Day" (CW)

"Promoted to Holland"

"Protecting the girls on staff (C-Bomb)"

"Proteges"

"Protest downtown"

"Protomen Live in Chicago (Feat: Cybertronic Spree)"

"Pubs in Peckham" (XCW)

"Pulled into the station at the station"

"Pulling pints"

"Punching Raymond Rutter" (XCW)

"Pushing our Lucky" (XCW) - Monster Camden

"Puzzle games and deep trance" (<3)

"Quarantine at Kzoo"

"Quarantine at work"

"Queen Mom Funeral"

"Quitting Drinking" (XCW)

"R. Pirate shirt" (<3)

"R30 and The Green Man"

"Recognized as Caputo’s on the train"

"Reprocessing with Ru"

"Return to England - "Auntie Lin"

"Return to England - "Karaoke and Former Best Friends"

"Return to England - "Saville Row"

"Return to England - "Stage plays and photography"

"Return to England - "WB Studios"

"Return to England - A 26 hour day"

"Return to England - A Garden in the sky"

"Return to England - A market that shares my name"

"Return to England - Ghosts and Museums"

"Return to England - So weird to be back here"

"Return to England - ‘just here to say goodbye’"

"Returning stolen items" (CW) - Important Event

"Reunion with JJ - Surrogates"

"Ribbon Road" (CW<3)

"Rin and her clique"

"Rock bottom" (XCW)

"Rogue One and Carmike" (CW)

"Rumors and Drag"

"Running from an 8 year old" (CW)

"Rush EuCon 2003" (<3)

"Rush in Birmingham"

"Rush in GR" (<3)

"Safe Words" (???)

"Samsam 2021"

"Saving Kzoo"

"Say my name… but not in anger" (XCW)

"School plays - (Feat. Puss In Boots, Waiting Room)" (CW)

"Secondary Sports Day"

"Selecting alcohol"

"Serialized Killer and the Mansion Photos"

"Shady deals in Southwark" (XCW)

"Shady travel agent" (CW)

"Shameful memory of belittling a death" (CW)

"Shattered Memories in the dark"

"Shingles (Scar story)"

"Shitty Slead"

"Shoe shopping (what could go wrong?)" (???)

"Shopping carts + Lightning"

"Sick and reading" (XCW)

"Sister comes calling" - Significant Event

"Six Flags Fright Night!"

"Skate Park"

"Skipping CDT"

"Skipping rocks near nan’s"

"Slacking off of Graphic Design"

"Slayers and Graduation"

"Sleeping under the bed" (<3)

"Sleeping under the table" (<3)

"Sleepyhead"

"Sneaking around Peckham"

"Snowing at Sears Tower" (<3)

"Sonic & Knuckles"

"Sonic Adventure 2"

"Southampton"

"Southwark Cathedral"

"Spain vacation (or second-hand memories)"

"Sparkling Cider on New Years Eve"

"Special Agent Dale Cooper’s Surgery"

"Speeding bus from Haven" (CW)

"Spider-Man Anniversary Blues" (CW)

"Spooky light reading"

"Stage Show at College"

"Stage Show in Wisconsin" (<3)

"Stamford Bridge tour"

"Stamford Bridge with JJ"

"Starved Rock"

"Stealing"

"S & K's Wedding (The cracks begin to show)" (CW)

"S as Eagle Scout"

"S's Basement Party"

"Sue-Chan"

"Suicidal thoughts and me. November 2020" (XCW)

"Summer Games Done Quick" (CW<3)

"Summer with mom"

"Superman in 3d!"

"Surgery Stories - Baba is heal"

"Surgery Stories - Cammie can’t say goodbye"

"Surgery Stories - Daja’s eyes and pokes"

"Surgery Stories - Dawn turns the tables (4am and the only Sunrise worth seeing)"

"Surgery Stories - Dawn’s fuck-up"

"Surpsisingly good Almacon"

"Suspended from school" (CW)

"Tailored Suit"

"Talk with dad’s psychologist" (CW)

"Tamale Day"

"Tamora Pierce, Surgical Recovery and Winding Circle Cottage"

"Teaching Arc"

"TeamFourStar"

"Tekno’s untimely demise" (CW)

"Tenacious D"

"Tentpole terrorism"

"Terg" (XCW)

"Lake Drive Photoshoot"

"Lake Drive"

"Rockchick"

"The 180 Emblem Challenge"

"The 365 Day Challenge"

"The adventure playground"

"The angriest Meijer’s visit"

"The annual Bristol ComiCon"

"The brakeless bike" (XCW)

"The brilliant night sky" (XCW)

"The Chess Board (movie)"

"The chess club"

"The CIU Club arcade room"

"The CIU Club Pantomime"

"The CIU Club" (CW)

"The Dark Hour Photoshoot"

"The Dark Knight Rises"

"The Dark Knight"

"The day I ate too much ice cream"

"The deadcon"

"The dying embers of marriage. Interactions after the end." (CW)

"The Easter Egg Hunt"

"The Eclipse" (<3)

"The final Bristol ComicCon"

"The final ComicsX"

"The Final GenCon - For The Queen! Maze Hotel." (CW<3)

"The Fine Art’s Festival GR"

"The first Bristol ComicCon"

"The Force Awakens"

"The freshest moment in wedding history" (<3)

"The Genius Game!" (<3)

"The GR18 Dream team"

"The greatest bonfire"

"The Hanged Man battle"

"The Haruhi Home Movie"

"The Jig Is Up (End of Former Family)"

"The Kitty Cup Valentine"

"The lady in #9"

"The lament at iHop"

"The last time I ever spoke to Cosplay Queen D"

"The Lawyer and the Ski Jacket"

"The Limelight Club"

"The LNS library"

"The Logan siblings"

"The looooong drive to-and-from Detroit"

"The magical swanking glove"

"The maid game"

"The Manager of Drive-by Shootings"

"The Oasis Lounge"

"The Penguin is my enemy"

"The photography closet"

"The Pocket Parrot Printing Press" (<3)

"The Primary school staff room"

"The Prism Concert"

"The Rose & Crown" (CW)

"The secret stairs"

"The Sega Bus"

"The shitty dollar cinema"

"The Skyfall Terrorist"

"The soul eating bed"

"The Sportsman" (XCW)

"The Star Wars Holiday work schedule"

"The summer without Ex-Wife"

"The Tails Doll"

"The Thunder concet" (XCW)

"The week the pandemic hit"

"The worst iHop visit ever"

"Theme Park/Hospital"

"Therapy Issues 2022 (Interactive Complexity)"

"Therapy Mk II: Sam"

"Tilly becomes Wynn"

"Time Crisis with dad" (CW<3)

"Tin Foil in the Meijer’s Deli"

"Mum's lesbian friend"

"TNMS Days - Rush Tributes"

"Tom versus Bro"

"Tony Hawks and Dragonball Z"

"Westley's child"

"Toro"

"Tour of Wales"

"Toy Story 3"

"Training Video (Feat. The Backbarbarian)"

"Training BV"

"Transformers the Movie"

"Travel to/from Daja Wedding (Hot Dog Church)"

"Ex at the Symphony Hall" (<3)

"Ex vs Chicken"

"Ex yells at Sue" (CW)

"Ex’s confession"

"Trip to see Aurora in Wisconsin (Photoshoot)"

"Ex controls a woman’s life"

"Truman Millenium"

"Trust Fall Book Launch"

"Tsu’s backyard"

"Tsu’s Pokemon Party"

"Turtle island Beads and the worst drive ever"

"Unreal Tournament"

"Vauxhal market"

"VE Day Celebrations feat: Mr. Motivator"

"Visiting Cosplay Queen D's grave"

"Visiting GR"

"Visual Images/Virtual Vinces"

"Vortex"

"Waiting at Midway. (Overheard conversations)"

"Waiting for Anime Hell"

"Waiting for Samsam"

"Wal-Mart at 3am"

"Walking home from CIU" (XCW)

"Walking out on her" (XCW)

"Watching Watchmen"

"Water Park with dad"

"Water Park with mom"

"Water Park with Ex"

"Wedding Reception or "Do not body slam a Snorlax""

"Welcome to Dad's Apartment"

"West Side Story"

"West Square"

"When you least expect it!" (XCW)

"Where the bad man lives (and a family Christmas)"

"Where the hell is the next Denny’s?!"

"Whirlyball"

"Who the fuck is Summer Glau?!"

"Whose Line Is It Anyway?"

"Wicked previews feat: Idina Menzel" (<3)

"Wisconsin Dells 2019"

"Wisconsin night sky (First time)"

"Work Experience"

"Working at 7.20pm on Christmas Eve"

"Working Christmas day"

"World Cup and Wings"

"WWE Smackdown LIVE"

"YOLO Mario Party"

"Youmacon hotel sharing (bonus: down 50 flights of stairs)"

"YoumaIdol"

"Yuiko-Sensei’s backyard party"

"YYZ in London" (<3)

#camden posting #personal

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rosalyn51 · 4 months ago

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February 28 -March 9, 2025

Bal Harbour Shops [Florida] will host the worldwide launch of Fleurs de Villes Downton Abbey – a fresh floral showcase celebrating the series’ unforgettable characters and iconic period fashion. This stunning 10-day floral extravaganza will showcase some of South Florida’s most creative florists, who will bring Downton Abbey’s timeless style and compelling narratives to life through incredible floral artistry.

Featured Mannequins

The Countess of Grantham Mannequins (2) - Created by Isáchi Flowers & Crafts, and Created by Kiss my Bloom

The Earl of Grantham Mannequin - Created by Isáchi Flowers & Crafts

The Dowager Countess of Grantham Mannequin - Created by Blooming Flower Art

Martha Levinson Mannequin - Created by KateAsFlowers

Mr. Carson Mannequin - Created by The Event Group Design and Decor

Anna Bates Mannequin - Created by Say Sukii Flowers

Lady Mary Crawley Mannequin - Created by Flower Therapy

Lady Edith Crawley Mannequin

Lady Sybil Crawley Mannequin - Created by Over The Decades

Tom Branson Mannequin - Created by Lush Celebrations

Isobel Crawley Mannequin - Created by My Divine Decors

12. Matthew Crawley - Created by Formaneta

13. Mrs. Patmore Mannequin - Created by Le Stem

14. Lady Rose MacClare Mannequin - Created by Flowers by Rodolfo

15. Lady Rosamund Painswick Mannequin - Created by Blake Roses

More character profiles and event details here. Next stop: My ATL - Atlanta, GA April 2 - April 6! x Downton Abbey 3 will be released exclusively in theatres on September 12, 2025.

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 9 months ago

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Mike Luckovich, Atlanta Journal Constitution

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 18, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 19, 2024

The events of January 6, 2021, overshadowed those of January 5, 2021, but that day was crucially important in a different way: Georgia voters elected two Democrats, Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff, to the U.S. Senate. Warnock and Ossoff brought the total of Democrats in the Senate to 48, and since two Independents—Angus King of Maine and Bernie Sanders of Vermont—caucus with the Democrats and because in an evenly split Senate the majority goes to the party in the White House, their election gave Democrats control of the Senate.

Without that majority, the Biden-Harris agenda that built the U.S. economy into what The Economist this week called “the envy of the world” would never have passed. There would have been no American Rescue Plan, no Bipartisan Infrastructure Act, no CHIPS and Science Act, no Safer Communities Act, no PACT Act, no Inflation Reduction Act.

In an era when Republicans refuse to vote for any Democratic measures no matter how popular they are, control of the Senate is vital. The Senate majority leader decides what measures can come to the floor for consideration, so a leader can shut out anything his party doesn’t like. The Senate also controls the confirmation of federal judges, including members of the Supreme Court.

During the Trump years, then–Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) stacked the courts with MAGA judges, some of whom are now so reliably handing down right-wing decisions that plaintiffs routinely “shop” for them to get the decisions they want. And with Trump’s three hand-picked extremists at the Supreme Court, challenging those decisions simply writes that extremism more fully into law.

As Trump continues to crumble—he canceled another appearance today, and in a statement almost certainly designed to leak, an advisor said he was “exhausted”—and as Democrats are favored to take the House, Republicans are waging a fierce battle to take control of the Senate.

They are starting with an advantage. There are 34 Senate seats on the ballot this year, and Democrats are defending 23 of them while Republicans are defending just 11. Republicans need to pick up one seat to control the Senate if Trump wins the White House, and two if Harris wins.

The McConnell-aligned Senate Leadership Fund PAC has, so far, spent more than $140 million in this year’s Senate races, with more than $136 million going to attack ads. In the four races that are most vulnerable for Democrats—Montana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin—the Senate Leadership Fund has spent $17.85 million (MT), $55.5 million (OH), $38.1 million (PA), and $23.6 million (WI).

In each of those four races, that money is bolstering extremely wealthy Republican challengers. In Montana, Republican Tim Sheehy, running against Senator Jon Tester, would be among the ten wealthiest senators if elected: his financial disclosures put his net worth at between $74 million and $260 million. Republican Bernie Moreno, who is challenging Senator Sherrod Brown in Ohio, has a net worth between $38 million and $172.7 million. In the Pennsylvania race, David McCormick (who actually appears to live in Connecticut) reported assets of $116 million to $290 million in 2022. In Wisconsin’s race, Republican Eric Hovde (who lived in an ocean-view mansion in Laguna Beach, California, until he decided to run for the Senate from Wisconsin) would also be one of the Senate’s richest members. His financial disclosures say his net worth is between $195.5 million and $564.4 million.

This is not a coincidence. Knowing that fundraising would be difficult this year with Trump steering funds from the Republican National Committee primarily to himself, Republican Party leaders actively recruited candidates who could pour their own money into their campaigns. By the end of June, Sheehy had put $10.7 million into his own race; Moreno had put in $4.5 million by mid-October. McCormick had loaned his campaign more than $4 million by the end of June; Hovde put in $8 million by the end of March.

This moment echoes the late nineteenth century, when wealthy businessmen sought a Senate seat as a capstone to their success, a perch from which they could protect the interests of other men like themselves. In that era it was relatively easy for a man like Nevada’s William Sharon to buy himself a Senate seat because the Constitution had established that state legislatures would elect their state’s senators. Determined to win a Senate seat to protect his railroad interests “regardless of expense,” Sharon bought a newspaper to flood the state capital with his own praise. The legislature gave him the seat in 1874.

By the 1880s, even the staunchly pro-business Chicago Tribune complained: “Behind every one of half of the portly and well dressed members of the Senate can be seen the outlines of some corporation interested in getting or preventing legislation.” In 1892 the newly formed Populist Party met in Omaha, Nebraska, “to restore the government of the Republic to the hands of ‘the plain people,’ with which class it originated.” They called for the people to bypass the corrupt legislatures and elect senators directly.

In 1900, William A. Clark of Montana provided the kick their proposal needed.

Clark had arrived at the newly opened gold fields in Montana Territory in 1863 and transferred the money he made as a mule trader into banking. He made a fortune repossessing mining properties when owners defaulted on their loans. He invested that fortune in smelters, railroads, a newspaper, and copper mining, becoming one of the state’s famous Copper Kings. In 1889 he was the president of the Montana constitutional convention, where he made sure that mine owners could run the state as they wished.

By 1890, Clark had his eyes on a Senate seat. He failed to get the support of the legislature in that year, and for the next decade he and his rival copper magnate Marcus Daly of the Anaconda Company poured vast sums of money into influencing the economy of the state, the location of the capital, and the state’s politics.

Clark finally won his election in 1899, but on the same day he presented his credentials to the Senate, his opponents filed a petition charging him with bribery. An extensive investigation revealed that Clark had bought his seat with bribes ranging from $240 to $100,000, equivalent to almost $4 million today. His representatives had paid debts, bought ranches, and even handed envelopes of cash to legislators. The investigation also showed that Daly had spent a fortune trying to block Clark’s election.

Montana politics, it seemed, had become a rich man’s game.

Aware that the Senate would vote to remove him from his seat, Clark resigned in May 1900. In January 1901 a new Montana legislature containing many of the same men Clark had paid off in 1899 elected him again to the same term from which he had been forced to resign. After an undistinguished term, he retired from the Senate in 1907.

Clark’s blatant purchase of a Senate seat added momentum to the demand for the direct election of senators, and in 1913 the Seventeenth Amendment to the Constitution established that the power to elect senators must rest in the hands of voters. That measure was supposed to make sure that wealth could not buy a Senate seat.

That the ability to self-fund a campaign is once again a key factor in winning a Senate seat from Montana—and Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin—seems to be history repeating.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Georgia #Letters from An American #Heather Cox Richardson #the US Senate #senators #American History

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the-olympics-olympics · 11 months ago

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In 1993, Cobb County Georgia passed a resolution that condemned "gay lifestyles". Local groups soon formed to protest the resolution. One of these groups, Olympics Out of Cobb County (OOOC) took aim at Olympic events that were planned for the county: the women's volleyball tournament and a leg of the torch relay. Organizer Pat Hussain said, "Everyone should feel welcomed at the Olympic games." The group was successful. The tournament was moved to Athens, and the planned torch relay was rerouted to avoid the county. When Greenville County, SC, passed a similar resolution just a month before the flame was to pass through the area, organizers decided to respond by cancelling the relay through the county. Due to the short notice, the path was not changed, however. The flame was driven through the county hidden in the back of a van, only coming out for a stretch of the relay inside Greenville city limits.

Before the opening ceremony, the delegations of Haiti and Liechtenstein noticed that the civil flag of Haiti was identical to that of the flag of Liechtenstein. As a result, both nations agreed to carry different flags during the ceremony. Liechtenstein received approval from their government to carry the flag upside-down and add a "Prince's Hat" crown in the corner, while Haiti added the national crest in order to make it into the state flag instead. This directly led to Liechtenstein adding the crown to their flag. This modified design was adopted on 24 June 1937.

#olympics #poll #round 3

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mjonthetrack · 2 days ago

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pressure

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-TWO — “Where You Sleep, What You’re In” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

Kenya didn’t flinch when he gestured for her to sit beside him. She moved with calm intention, lowering herself onto the edge of the bed—his bed, their bed?—spreading her legs comfortably in front of her, her body angled toward him like she wasn’t about to miss a word.

Her arms rested on her thighs, and her eyes? Dead set. She was in listening mode, the kind that meant she’d remember every single detail.

Jonathan—Jimmy—ran a hand down his face like it was peeling off something heavier than skin. Then he began.

“Me and Jey… we run the southeast corner of a national distro line,” he said, voice steady now, like he’d said this shit a million times but never to her. “Weight moves through Atlanta, Augusta, Birmingham, Jackson—some comes in from Miami ports, some from the Gulf, some from out west.”

He glanced at her like he was checking for a reaction. She didn’t move.

“We ain’t corner boys, Kenya. We sit up top. Jey’s the strategist—man got a brain like fuckin' chess. I'm the enforcer. The hammer. I make problems disappear.”

Kenya blinked once. Slow. Processing. He kept going.

“Carmen? She ain’t just his wife. She run the back-end. Laundering. Art galleries, fake events, sometimes shell businesses. She got our shit lookin' cleaner than a pastor’s collar. She the queen of all of it when Jey out the room—people answer to her like they do us.”

He paused, shifting slightly on the bed to face her more fully.

“Which brings me to you.”

Kenya’s brow twitched. Her chest rose. She knew this part was gon’ shift something.

“Carmen already accepted you. That means the others will too. That ain’t light, Kenya. You already got protection. Eyes. Loyalty. The women’ll pull up for you same way the men will for me. But you also represent me now. Even if you ain't say yes out loud.”

She scoffed lightly at that but didn’t interrupt. He pressed forward.

“You’re expected to be clean. No loose ends. No talkin’. If the feds ever come knockin’, your name’s already in our system as a silent partner in the LLC that covers this house. You say you manage my real estate portfolio and coordinate interior designs for exclusive luxury properties. That’s your cover.”

Kenya’s lips parted. “Wait—what?”

Jimmy nodded. “All legal. Carmen set it up. You’re clean. Your taxes already handled. But if somebody push, you say nothing, and you call this number—” He reached into the nightstand, pulled out a sleek matte black card with a single number embossed on it. “Burner lawyers, bought and paid for. They’ll show before the cops even close the fuckin’ door.”

She took the card slowly, eyes scanning it like it might burn her fingers.

Jonathan leaned closer, hands resting on his knees.

“I ain’t bring you into this blind. I brought you into this prepared. I just took too long to give you the damn truth.”

Kenya held the card, eyes dropping to the floor for a second as she absorbed all of it.

She didn’t speak right away. But the air had shifted again.

She wasn’t just in his house anymore.

She was in the world now. His world. Their world.

And even if she wasn’t ready to say it out loud—she knew it deep down:

There was no going back.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-THREE — “Collateral Loyalty” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She didn’t look angry.

Not at first.

Just calm. Eerily calm. The kind of calm that came right before a storm broke through every damn window in the room.

Kenya’s fingers were still wrapped around the black card, but now her eyes were back on him. Unflinching. Unblinking. Cold fire behind the brown.

“My homegirls in it too, aren’t they?” she said lowly, her voice razor sharp even through the softness.

He looked at her like he wanted to lie—just for a second—but even he knew better than that now.

“Not from before,” she continued, already unraveling the truth herself. “Not from way back. But after your little stalking escapade at Magic City… after you put your messy ass in my life—Mya, Keema, Dani and them downstairs, what you got them in this for? What they doing?”

Jonathan’s jaw tensed.

He ran a hand down the side of his neck, eyes flickering toward the floor like it might offer some forgiveness if he didn’t look her in the face.

“They ain’t in deep,” he started. “But yeah… they in it.”

Kenya leaned back slightly, tongue clicking against her teeth. That calm was cracking now.

“Explain.”

He sighed.

“After that night at the club… I needed eyes on you. Real eyes. People close. Ones you trust.”

Her mouth parted—like she was gonna interrupt—but he kept going.

“I approached Mya first. She clocked that I wasn’t just some dude with a crush quick as hell. I offered her security for her little brother’s school shit—his tuition, his uniforms, covered. Then I looped Keema through her.”

“And Dani?” Kenya asked, brows arching.

“She was already tapped into Carmen’s boutique side hustle. I just… strengthened the tie.”

Kenya’s head turned slightly like she needed a second to breathe through the betrayal.

“So you bought my best friends,” she muttered. “With school uniforms, side gigs, and favors.”

“No,” he said firmly, finally locking eyes again. “I secured you a circle that would never fold. They knew how real it could get. And when Marcus did what he did… they pulled up, didn’t they?”

Kenya didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

She remembered blood on their hands. Rage in their eyes. Mya guiding her hospital wheelchair. Keema fixing her bonnet. Dani making sure her nails didn’t chip while she healed.

They didn’t run.

They protected.

“Don’t be mad at them,” Jonathan said quieter now, like he could feel the weight shifting in her chest. “Be mad at me.”

She scoffed under her breath, shaking her head, fingers dragging down her face.

“I been mad at you,” she whispered. “Problem is—I don’t know how to stop.”

And he felt that.

All of it.

Because love and hate were twin flames now, flickering wild between them—and she was standing in the middle of it, burning quietly.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOUR — “What You Got My Name On?” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She blinked up at him.

No warmth behind it. No smile. Just the same storm-eyed suspicion that had been slowly blooming since the second she saw her name on a mailbox she didn’t ask for.

“I know you probably got some shit moving with my name too,” Kenya said slowly, biting each word like it tasted like metal on her tongue. “What you got me as a tool for, huh? If Jey got Carmen as his little queenpin counterpart, and she’s clearly in the dirt with him… I’m not dumb enough to think you ain’t moved behind me too.”

Jonathan froze.

Only for a breath—but she caught it.

Kenya always caught the freeze. The twitch in the jaw. The flick of the eyes. The pause before the truth showed its teeth.

“Kenya,” he started, voice low, patient, as if she was something fragile. Something hot and unstable. “I ain’t using you.”

She folded her arms slowly, cocking a brow. “But?”

“But…” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You got a clean face. No priors. No digital dust on you. Carmen and I worked it out with some of the safe fronts. Salons, spas, boutique shipments… few LLCs are under your name now.”

Her heart dropped.

Not violently. Not loud.

Just a soft descent, like watching a dollar bill fall off a rooftop in slow motion.

“You moved weight with my name.”

“I moved weight with mine. I moved clean capital with yours,” he corrected quickly, stepping forward. “Anything dirty, it ain’t got your print on it. I promise you that.”

Kenya didn’t flinch. Didn’t back up.

She just stared.

“This why you been so calm about me being in your bed? In your house? Why you posted me on socials? Why your family all cozy with me? It ain’t just feelings, Jonathan. It’s strategy.”

He didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

Because feelings and strategy weren’t separate for him. They never had been.

“You’re not a tool,” he murmured, jaw clenched. “You’re my fucking foundation. That ain’t the same.”

Kenya’s laugh was dry. Bitter. “You really think that makes it better?”

“I think you’re already in it,” he said flatly. “I think you got stabbed in your own kitchen and your name’s already in rooms you ain’t even stepped into yet. And I think if I don’t keep you close, you gonna end up buried or bleeding again.”

Her lip curled, nostrils flaring. “So you tied me to a crime web I didn’t agree to, and your excuse is protection?”

His voice didn’t rise.

It didn’t need to.

“I tied you to me,” he said. “Everything else is just gravity, baby.”

And Kenya didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or collapse into his chest and scream.

Because somehow… both felt the same.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE — “You Didn’t Pick Me For Love” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

Kenya scoffed so hard it punched out of her chest, bitter and low.

The burn that bloomed behind her eyes wasn’t fury—it was betrayal. Big and sharp and familiar like the first time a man lied to her and made it feel like a gift.

“I get it now,” she said, voice catching just slightly. “When you kept saying I couldn’t leave… it wasn’t some romantic shit. You weren’t talkin’ like a man in love. You meant I couldn’t leave because I was already spun into a spider's web. A stupid, naïve-ass fly who didn’t know better.”

Her eyes shined wet—but she didn’t cry.

Not yet.

She didn’t break easy, and she sure as hell wouldn’t let him be the one to see it.

“You didn’t pick me because you had some big crush when you saw me at Magic City six months ago,” she whispered. “You picked me ’cause I was clean. Moldable. A pretty face with no records and enough hustle to flip into an asset. You picked a woman you could form into your next Carmen.”

Jonathan’s face was tight. His fists were clenched at his sides.

But he didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t try to lie his way out of it.

So she kept going, pushing the blade deeper—into both of them.

“Carmen’s beautiful. She’s sharp. She plays the role, and you see how good she is at it. So you thought—‘Why not find me one of those? One I can shape. Teach. Pull in without the mess of a past. One who wouldn’t even know what she’s becoming until it’s too late.’”

She laughed, humorless and cracked.

“You ain’t fall for me. You recruited me.”

“Kenya,” he finally said, stepping forward, voice low but not soft. “You think I planned for this shit to go this deep? You think I let myself fall in love on purpose? That shit wasn’t the plan.”

“Love,” she snapped, eyes flashing as she stepped back from him. “Don’t you dare call this love.”

“Then what the fuck is it, huh?” he barked, voice slipping—just a crack in the smooth. “You think I’d kill a man and bury him in river mud just for a tool? You think I’d post you, move you in, sleep beside you, hold you through stab wounds and fever dreams if this was just business?”

Her throat worked, but no sound came out.

He stepped forward again. Slower this time. Palms open, his voice going low again.

“I picked you ’cause I was obsessed. Yeah. That’s true. I ain’t denying it. I watched you. I stalked you. I did every fucked-up thing a man with too much power and not enough peace does when he finds the only thing that’s ever made him feel calm.”

Silence.

Just the ragged rhythm of Kenya’s breathing.

Then he added, barely a whisper:

“And I fell for you anyway. Despite the plan. Despite the mold. Despite everything I thought I could control.”

She looked up at him again, those tears brimming, lips parted but no words coming.

Because how do you argue with something that’s both a trap and a confession?

How do you run… when you’re already caught?

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX — “Not Love” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She stared at him like she was looking through him now, like whatever used to live behind her eyes for him had been peeled back, burned up, or buried.

Her head shook slow. Not angry. Not frantic. Just... devastated.

“You don’t love me,” she said, voice small but cutting. “You lust for me. You obsessed over the idea of me. Over what I could become.”

Jonathan opened his mouth—but no sound came out.

She stepped back another pace, her arms folding over her chest like she needed the armor, like she was holding her own cracked ribs in place.

“You webbed up my whole damn life. Quietly. Strategically. You sat back and watched until you could control it, every inch of it. My home, my phone, my business, my friends.”

Her lips trembled—not with weakness, but with the kind of heartbreak that could start wars.

“You didn’t fall for me. You studied me like a case file. Played puppet master until I walked right into your hands. And now…”

She blinked, those tears dangerously close to spilling now, but she still wouldn’t let them fall.

“I’m a tool to you. A project. A trophy. You don’t even see me as a human being, do you?”

He flinched at that. Actually flinched. Like she slapped the soul out of him without lifting a finger.

Her voice cracked then, just once:

“I bled out in my own kitchen, and all I can think now is maybe I was never real to you. Maybe I was just some shape you could mold until I looked like what you wanted.”

She didn’t wait for him to speak.

Didn’t give him the chance.

She turned and walked out of that room, barefoot and sore, like even her pain belonged to her again.

And for the first time since he’d pulled her into his world, he didn’t follow.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN — “She’s Leaving, Uce” Location: Master Bedroom — Jimmy’s POV

The door cracked open behind him, but Jonathan—Jimmy—didn’t look up.

He was still standing where she’d left him. Still breathing in the ghost of her words, still feeling the way her eyes had gutted him bare.

Jey's voice broke through the silence first.

“She left.”

Still no reaction. Jimmy’s back was tense, tattooed shoulders stiff like stone beneath the low light.

“She ain’t even say a word to her homegirls,” Jey added, stepping fully into the room with Carmen close behind him. “Just walked past ’em like they was ghosts. We checked her spending records. She just paid for an Uber.”

Carmen’s brows furrowed deep. “Destination’s the airport.”

Jimmy blinked. Once. Twice. His jaw flexed.

“She’s leaving, Uce,” Jey said, voice a little sharper now. “Like gone-gone. She’s not just mad. She’s done.”

Jimmy’s hands curled at his sides, knuckles whitening as that rage twisted up from somewhere primal.

Carmen stepped closer, her voice calm but urgent. “You need to do something.”

“I did,” Jimmy snapped low, eyes finally dragging up from the floor. They were red. Wild. “I did everything.”

Jey stepped forward. “You can’t control her, Uce. That’s not love. That’s—”

“Don’t,” Jimmy growled, cutting him off. “Don’t say some shit you don’t understand. You ain’t seen what I saw. You ain’t felt what I felt.”

“Then make her understand,” Carmen said sharply, stepping between the brothers. “You still got time. But if she gets on that plane?” Her voice dropped. “You might lose her forever.”

Jimmy was already moving.

Shirtless, still smelling like her, eyes glazed and lethal. He yanked open his drawer, grabbed his keys, his wallet, his burner.

His eyes cut to Jey.

“Get me that driver’s info.”

Jey nodded, already pulling out his phone.

Jimmy’s voice was a low, desperate growl now.

“I ain’t lettin’ her go. I don’t give a fuck if she hate me—I’m not losing my wife.”

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT — “Trace the Ride” Location: Upstairs Hallway → Outside — Jimmy’s POV

Jey didn’t ask questions. He was already moving, thumb gliding across his burner as he hacked into the app network they tapped months ago for runners and discreet pickups.

“Car’s already on the I-85, headed into the city,” Jey muttered, phone glowing in his palm. “It’s takin’ the Marta Street exit—gonna loop by the downtown connector.”

Jimmy’s head snapped up like a wolf catching scent.

“She’s tryin’ to blend in with the midday rush,” Carmen added from the doorway, eyes narrowed at the screen. “Smart girl.”

Jimmy was already sliding his Glock into the back of his sweats. No hesitation. Just fire. His chest heaved once—rage and obsession simmering under caramel skin inked in ancestral oaths.

“Pin drop,” he snapped to Jey, holding his hand out.

A buzz hit his phone in two seconds flat. Jimmy’s jaw twitched.

“Fuckin’ found you,” he muttered.

Carmen stepped closer, voice lower now. “You need to fix this with love, Fatu. Not fear. Not force.”

Jimmy paused in the doorway, half-turned. For a second, just a second, something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? Grief?

Then he nodded once—short. Sharp.

But his voice?

Low. Steady. Final.

“She’s not leaving me. Not without hearing everything. Not without choosing me.”

And then he was gone—storming down the stairs, pushing open the front door, sun blazing off his skin as the big black Escalade roared to life in the drive, tires screaming like the warning sirens Kenya was already too far into to hear.

And behind him?

Carmen watched the street.

And whispered, “You better catch her before the plane does, Fatu.”

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINE — “Closer Than Departure” Location: Midtown Connector — Jimmy’s POV

The city blurred outside the tinted windows of the Escalade. Billboards, overpasses, exit signs. None of it mattered.

Not when she was still a few car lengths ahead.

Jimmy gripped the steering wheel tight—knuckles pale, face carved with focus. The black Uber sedan was sleek but not fast enough, caught up in early afternoon congestion near the Marta exit. The name “Kenya A.” was still lit on the tracking ping Jey had dropped into his phone.

Two cars ahead. Right lane. Slowing. Stopping.

He muttered under his breath, “C’mon baby… c’mon…”

The Escalade idled in the lane behind a delivery truck. Jimmy squinted, caught a glimpse of a familiar curl of hair through the sedan’s back window. She hadn’t noticed him. Not yet.

Didn’t matter. He wasn’t pulling up quiet. Not today.

He jerked the wheel, crossed double yellow lines, and cut off a BMW with his tires screaming, whipping the SUV up beside the Uber as it stopped at a red light. Horns blared behind him. Didn’t give a fuck. He was already out the door before the Escalade even fully parked.

“KENYA!”

She turned her head, too late.

The Uber driver startled as Jimmy yanked open the back passenger door. Kenya’s wide eyes locked with his, fear flashing, fight instinct flaring—but he was already crouched into the car, blocking the doorway.

“Don’t.” His voice shook—but not from rage. From the edge of breaking. “Don’t leave like this. Not like this.”

She stared at him, jaw tight, mouth parted like she didn’t know what words she wanted to throw at him. The driver looked nervous as hell, glancing between them.

“She don’t wanna go with you, man?” the driver asked, fingers near the lock switch.

Jimmy never took his eyes off her. “If you wanna go, I’ll let you. You got my word. But you gon’ look me in the eye and say you don’t feel it too.”

Kenya’s throat bobbed.

“I mean it,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

And for a second?

Silence.

Except the rapid beat of both their hearts, loud as the traffic around them.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY — “Just Leave Me Alone, Jimmy” Location: Midtown Connector — Kenya’s POV

The heat in the backseat wasn’t from the sun or the city or the A/C that blew too cold against her skin.

It was him.

Jonathan.

Jimmy.

Standing there with his big frame crouched in the open doorway like a damn storm had cracked its way into the car.

His voice had been low. Shaky. Soft, like it was carrying a thousand pounds of weight under it. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

Kenya’s chest trembled. Her throat clenched tight.

And in her mind? She saw everything. The stalking. The lies. The blood. The way he touched her like she was something holy—then handled her like she was his to break and mold and keep.

Her eyes welled without permission, blurring out his pleading expression. And she hated herself, just a little, for how her body still reacted to the sound of his voice. The scent of his skin. The intensity in those obsidian eyes.

But her heart? It was tired. Raw. Confused.

She couldn’t tell him no.

Couldn’t tell him yes either.

So she did the only thing she could manage.

A soft, broken sound scraped up her throat, cracked past her lips.

“…Just leave me alone, Jimmy.”

It was barely above a whisper. But it shattered him. She saw it. Felt it.

He blinked, like he’d been hit. Like the words slapped harder than her palm ever had.

His hands slowly dropped from the door. His chest rose once, heavy, like he was trying to hold it together. Then again—shaky.

She didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

Didn’t trust herself if she saw one more crack in his mask.

Jimmy nodded once, like it was all he could manage. Then he stepped back. Closed the car door without a sound.

Kenya stared forward.

She didn’t watch him walk away.

But God… she felt every step.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE — “Middle of the Road” Location: Midtown Connector — Jimmy’s POV

The SUV’s tires screeched as it peeled off, spitting gravel and ache into the air.

Jimmy winced.

That sound was final.

That was what gone sounded like. What over felt like.

His chest was a vice. His lungs were heavy bricks.

He stood there for a second too long, the heat of the pavement curling up into his sneakers like it had something to say. And maybe he wanted to hurt. Maybe turning to watch her drive away would be the punishment he deserved.

He pivoted. Slowly. Braced.

But the black SUV wasn’t there anymore.

Instead?

Kenya was.

Right in the middle of the street. Standing dead in the lane.

Her figure was backlit by the brutal orange glow of the setting sun—hair wild, shirt clinging to her frame, legs braced like she wasn’t sure whether to scream or sob or start swinging.

He couldn’t hear what she said.

Not over the rushing blood in his ears.

But her mouth had moved. Her lips had shaped something wild. Her arms out like she couldn’t hold her emotions in her body anymore.

And he swore— He swore he saw tears catch on her cheekbone before she wiped them away so hard it made her stumble back a step.

She didn’t run. Didn’t come closer. Didn’t wave. Didn’t turn away.

She stood there. Like she was caught between love and rage, safety and chaos, him and everything else.

And Jimmy? He didn’t move either.

Because he suddenly realized—

This wasn’t the end.

Not yet.

Not when she was still in the middle of the damn road.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO — “Fast as Hell” Location: Midtown Connector — Jimmy’s POV

The second it hit him— That she’d gotten out. That she’d stood there. Chose him in the middle of the damn street—

He moved.

Fast. No hesitation. No second guess.

Traffic blurred around him like noise in a bad dream. Horns, screeches, wind whipping past his ears—none of it mattered.

All he saw was her. Standing there like a choice. A lifeline. A miracle wrapped in rage and heartbreak.

“Kenya!”

His voice cracked when he shouted it. Didn’t matter. He was already closing in.

She flinched—like hearing him pulled the air straight from her lungs—but she didn’t run. Didn’t back away. Just stood there, shaking, tears drying fast under the Atlanta sun.

“Why the fuck did you get out that car?” he panted when he reached her, chest rising like he’d run a marathon.

Kenya’s mouth parted. Her arms hugged her torso, like her own bones couldn’t hold the weight.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

But she did. And he knew too.

“You could’ve left,” he said, stepping in closer. Not touching yet. Just breathing the same air, letting her feel the heat rolling off his chest. “You tried to. I watched you go.”

“I wanted to,” she snapped, but her voice cracked under the weight of it.

“You got out.”

Silence.

Jimmy’s hands twitched like they wanted to grab her, hold her, worship her. But he held still.

“You got out, mama. That means something.”

“I don’t wanna be stupid,” she muttered, still not looking at him.

“You’re not.”

“I don’t wanna be used. Or molded. Or manipulated.”

“You’re not,” he said again, firmer. “I’m done with that shit. No more secrets. No more goddamn masks.”

She finally looked up at him, raw and exhausted. Her eyes bloodshot. Her mouth trembling.

“I’m scared, Jon.”

He exhaled like that shattered him.

“I am too,” he murmured. “But I’m more scared of losing you.”

He stepped closer again. Reached for her hand. This time, she didn’t pull away.

“You got out that car,” he said again, voice low. “Now lemme take you home.”

And this time? She didn’t say no.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE — “What We’re Coming Home To” Location: The Estate — Kenya’s POV

She hadn’t said a word on the drive back.

No music. No questions. Just the soft hum of tires on pavement and the occasional Atlanta wind cutting through the cracked window like it knew they needed the silence.

But her fingers were still in his. Laced tight. Like maybe she was just as scared to let go as he was.

When they pulled through the gates—those bougie-ass gates she’d once mocked him for—Kenya finally exhaled. It sounded like relief. Or surrender. Or maybe just fatigue stacked too high to carry anymore.

Jimmy parked. Didn’t rush to get out. Just watched her. Like he was afraid if he blinked, she’d vanish again.

She didn’t.

They stepped in together, back into that massive house that wasn’t just his anymore. Back into the marble floors and the vaulted ceilings and the scent of her on the damn air.

He turned to her in the foyer, jaw tight, something heavy in his eyes. She was still looking around like the house might shift on her. Like the ground was still deciding if it wanted to keep her or spit her back out.

“Kenya,” he said, voice low. Too low. “Come here.”

She did. Slowly. On her own. Feet bare against the cool floor.

He didn’t grab her. Didn’t pull or push. Just reached out, brushed his knuckles down her jaw with more tenderness than a man like him should’ve been capable of.

“I know this house is big. Cold. Wild as fuck,” he murmured. “But it’s ours. I built it for you. All of it.”

“Jon—” she started, voice cracking, but he shook his head gently.

“Lemme finish.”

She nodded.

“I ain’t build this place for some fantasy version of you. I built it for the woman who slapped the shit outta me in front of my blood cousins. Who cussed me out while still sittin’ on my face. The woman who got stabbed and still fought like hell. This house? Ain’t just some trap for you. It’s the first time I ever built something that wasn’t for me.”

He stepped back and gestured to the hall leading toward the bedroom.

“I ain’t just bring you home, Kenya. I brought you here. And whatever happens next… you get to decide it.”

She swallowed. Throat tight. Tears burning again, traitorous as ever.

He waited.

And then, slowly… she walked past him. Head high, spine straight, not breaking eye contact. Not until she reached the edge of that hallway.

Only then did she glance over her shoulder.

“You coming or not?” she said quietly.

And he followed her like a man obeying a commandment.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOUR — “Terms and Conditions” Location: Master Hallway — Kenya’s POV

Her voice wasn't loud. But it didn’t need to be.

The house held its breath for her. Even the walls knew who she was now.

“If I’m already deep in a web I didn’t build or choose,” she muttered, stepping slow down the long hallway toward the master suite, “and you got people here hearin’ you call me your wife…”

Her eyes cut back to him—sharp, but tired. Still bleeding somewhere inside.

“Then I want a ring,” she continued. “A real one. Worth the shit you put me through and will continue to put me through.”

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. Not in anger. He was listening.

“I want my cut on the shit my name’s on,” she added. “Not as a favor. Not as your girl. As your equal. I want truth—real, raw, ugly truth. No masks. No softened edges. No gaslight bullshit wrapped in affection.”

She stopped at the double doors to the suite. Fingers grazing the carved wood like she could still feel the ghosts of everything they’d done behind them.

“I want worship. In that same damn bed you’ve ruined me on. Not just filth and obsession—I want reverence.”

Her breath caught for a second. But she pushed through.

“I want a hot shower. Someone to get my back since I still can’t reach the damn bandages. And after that?” She looked over her shoulder again. Voice thinner now. “I don’t know. I can’t make no promises past tonight.”

Jimmy didn’t speak.

He just moved.

Quiet. Quick. Dead serious.

And when he reached her, he leaned down and kissed her shoulder like it was a vow. Then opened the doors for her—not as some dominant alpha shit—but like a man walking his woman into her throne room.

Because if she was already the queen in his chaos, she damn sure deserved the crown too.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIVE — “Vows in the Shadows” Location: Master Bedroom — Jimmy’s POV

Her words were still echoing through his ribs like gunshots.

Not threats. Not pleas. Terms.

Jimmy stepped in after her, closing the double doors behind them slow, deliberate—like sealing something sacred.

She didn’t face him right away. She was pulling at the hem of her hoodie, sliding it off with stiff fingers. The wrap around her middle peeked through, still taped and tender. His jaw clenched again—not at her, but at the weight of everything she'd been through. For him.

And still standing.

Still fighting.

Still walking back into hell and demanding a damn crown.

He stepped up behind her, voice low, steady.

“You want a ring?” His hands came to her hips. “You got it.”

“You want your cut?” His palms smoothed up her sides, careful not to graze the healing. “I’ll have my lawyers restructure everything with your name at the top.”

“You want truth?” He turned her gently, hand under her chin until her eyes met his. “Then I’ll give you all of it. Ain’t no mask big enough to hide what I feel when I look at you anyway.”

She blinked. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften either.

“You want worship?” he whispered, eyes dropping to her lips. “I’ll treat you like a religion. Every moan, every cry, every kiss—you gon’ feel it in your soul, baby.”

“And if I don’t?” she rasped.

His mouth curled into a grin. Not smug. Not sweet. Devoted.

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life earnin’ the right to try again.”

There was no game in his tone. No posturing. No flex.

Just a man obsessed, in love, and ruined for anybody else.

He slid down to one knee, pulled something out from the drawer of his nightstand. A ring—not the one he thought would impress her.

The one he knew had to feel like war and survival and forever.

“Not a proposal,” he said. “Yet.” He looked up at her from the floor like she held the trigger to his universe. “This is a promise. You want out tomorrow? I’ll burn everything before I make you feel trapped. But if you stay…” he slid the ring onto her finger, “…then know I’m already yours. You just makin’ it official now.”

She stared down at it. Her hand shook. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t speak either.

Didn’t have to.

Because when she sank down into his arms a second later, forehead pressed to his chest…

That was the only yes he needed.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX — “Prove It” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She lifted her head from his chest slow, like a queen rising off her throne. Eyes sharp. Lips parted just enough to make the threat curl and slide out soft, but steel-tipped.

“It wasn’t an ask,” she murmured.

Jimmy’s brows lifted slightly, like her words tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten.

“You’re on my conditions now.”

She let that sit. Watch it bloom and detonate in his chest. Then her fingers, adorned now with his ring, rose to trail along the side of his neck, thumb sliding across the vein that pulsed harder beneath her touch.

“So,” she said, dark lashes lowering as she tilted her head, “show me how hard you really want this to be real.”

Jimmy exhaled through his nose like a bull about to charge. And just like that, his hands were at her waist—not rough. Not yet. They were reverent, calloused fingers dragging over the curve of her spine, her hips, like he was reacquainting himself with the altar he worshipped at.

“Say less,” he muttered against her throat, his voice low and rough, like gravel over silk. “You want proof, baby? I’ll etch it on your soul.”

Her back hit the mattress before she could blink. He was already peeling her shirt up, exposing the soft, vulnerable belly still healing, the swells of her hips, her bare thighs catching light in all the wrong and perfect places.

He didn’t start with a kiss.

He started with his voice, low and clean like scripture whispered over her skin.

“This ain’t about lust,” he said, sliding her panties down slow. “This ain’t about control.”

He hovered, nose brushing her hipbone as he looked up at her. Voice shaking now from how much she wrecked him just by existing.

“This is about showin’ you that I’ll kneel for you, fuckin’ praise you. I’ll die for you if that’s what it takes to keep you mine.”

Then his mouth finally touched her—soft, slow, steady.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t tease this time. Didn’t make it cute. He devoured her like she was his reason.

Every moan she let slip, he kissed it deeper. Every time she tensed, he steadied her. Every drop of sweetness he pulled from her body, he drank like salvation.

She arched, cried out his name like she was giving it a second chance.

And he kept going. Because proving it? That was gonna take all night.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN — “Ruin It Then” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

Her thighs were still trembling. Her breath still shallow. But that look in her eyes?

Clear as glass and twice as cutting.

Kenya reached down, fingers weaving into his braids with a quiet strength, tugging him up from between her thighs. Her grip wasn’t desperate. It was command—pure and heavy.

“Get up,” she said, voice sharp and breathy, thick with something dangerous.

Jimmy looked up at her, lips slick, eyes glazed with worship and something darker. But before he could speak, she dragged him all the way up to her face. Their foreheads touched, hot breath tangling in the air between them.

“That head shit ain’t gone do it,” she whispered, biting the words. “Get up and ruin it—like you beggin’ for the chance you don’t deserve.”

Jimmy exhaled hard, jaw clenching. His hand planted on the mattress beside her head as the other gripped her thigh—hard. He stared down at her like she was the sky and he was the storm about to rip through it.

“You wanna see what a man does when he knows he don’t deserve it, but still wants it with every breath?” he growled, voice a low rasp.

She didn’t blink.

“Ruin me then,” she murmured. “Go on. Show me just how bad you are at letting go.”

He moved.

Fast.

One hand locked her wrists above her head. The other guided the head of him right where she was already soaked—for him, in spite of everything.

And when he finally sank in?

He didn’t go slow.

He grunted like he’d been starving and just got fed. Thrusting deep, hard, with no mercy and all obsession.

Kenya’s back bowed as he filled her, pushed past every wall, every doubt. He didn’t fuck her like she was fragile.

He fucked her like she was his salvation and his curse all at once.

“I don’t deserve you,” he hissed in her ear, hips snapping, pace violent, reckless. “But I’m takin’ you anyway.”

And she let him.

Because deep down?

She needed the ruin just as bad as he did.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-EIGHT — “Your Court” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She could barely breathe, but that didn’t stop her from taking control.

Her fingers threaded deep into his braids, tugging hard enough to make his head tilt back just slightly. Sweat dripped down his temple, lips parted, hips still rolling with a rhythm that said he wasn’t stopping ‘til something broke.

Kenya’s voice came out on a shaky breath, but her tone was still fire-laced steel.

“Tell me how much you love it.”

He groaned—deep and feral—but she yanked his hair again, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“Nah—say it. Say it like you mean it.”

His chest heaved. The way she was gripping him? Clenching around him like velvet walls molded to his obsession?

He was done for.

“I love it,” he snarled, voice thick, unhinged, reverent. “I love this pussy—ain’t no air in my lungs without it, I swear to God.”

Her hips rolled back against him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips despite the flushed heat in her cheeks. He was breaking, and she was savoring every jagged piece.

“Tell me how you plan on deserving it,” she whispered, voice a blade against his pride. “Tell me how you gon’ work for this pussy for the rest of your life.”

He slammed into her, teeth grit, damn near trembling from the intensity building in his spine.

“I’ll earn it every day,” he rasped. “Wake up prayin’ to it, go to sleep dreamin’ about it—you gon’ feel me worshippin’ you in every breath I take, mamas.”

Kenya’s eyes narrowed, and her grip on his hair tightened, dragging his mouth down closer to hers—but not touching.

“This is your court now,” she whispered, a purr and a threat all in one. “I’m the judge. You under trial. And I’m decidin’ if you even get a crumb of what you beggin’ for.”

Jimmy let out a strangled moan, forehead against hers, his pace stuttering from the overwhelming pressure.

“Please,” he muttered, kissing her jaw, her neck, her collarbone with frenzied worship. “Please lemme earn it. Let me stay yours. I’ll never stop earnin’ it—never.”

And she? She was close to giving him the sentence of his life.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-NINE — “Beg for It” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

Kenya let out a soft, low laugh. Not one of humor—but of power.

She sat up, hips still grinding in a slow circle, and gripped his throat—not hard enough to choke, but just firm enough to command.

To force eye contact. To make sure every word sank into the marrow of his bones.

“Nah.” Her voice was velvet dipped in warning. “You wanna act crazy? You wanna stalk me, twist my life up, claim me without askin’? Then you gone cry about this shit.”

His nostrils flared. His mouth opened like he wanted to protest—but nothing came out except a ragged exhale.

“Beg for it,” she said, her thumb brushing against his fluttering pulse. “Beg for the woman you don’t deserve.”

She shifted just enough to make his hips twitch, the friction damn near unbearable. He whined—whined—beneath her.

“Beg for your release.”

“Kenya, please—fuck, please, baby—”

“Nah,” she interrupted, tightening her grip just slightly, dragging her face close to his like a queen leaning into her prisoner’s confession. “If I don’t like what I hear, you don’t peak. You don’t touch heaven. And you damn sure don’t keep me.”

His eyes widened, pupils blown, sweat slick across his temples. He was shaking beneath her—jaw clenched, teeth grinding from the restraint it took not to come just from her words alone.

“You gone earn every breath of this pussy like it’s your last.”

And Jimmy?

He was gone. Completely under. Tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he let out a broken moan that sounded a whole lot like surrender.

“I’ll beg for the rest of my life if you let me keep you, mamas,” he whispered.

But Kenya? She wasn’t done with her trial. Not yet.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY — “Death Row” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

Kenya scoffed.

The kind of scoff that didn’t come from annoyance—it came from disbelief. Disgust. Power.

She gripped his jaw, fingers sinking in with a heat that burned straight to his spine. She tilted his face up, her other hand splayed against the meat of his chest, pinning him to the sheets like she was the executioner and he was tied to the stake.

“Nah,” she said low, eyes locked on his with lethal clarity. “Ain’t no I’ll beg. You gone do that shit now.”

Her face inched closer. The weight of her hips was a slow, evil grind that made his whole body jerk with want.

“This your last fuckin’ chance, Jonathan Fatu.”

She hissed it like a death sentence.

“Consider this shit death row.”

She tapped his cheek twice, sharp and stinging—not outta malice, but to wake him up. To make sure he understood the gravity of what she was demanding.

“How you pleaing, huh?”

He blinked up at her, throat working around a thick breath, lips parted like he was trying to gather the words.

But she wasn’t done.

“I want that crazy ass mouth you always spinning lies with,” she whispered, tone growing darker. “To spin me somethin’ real fuckin’ sweet.”

Her nails scraped lightly down his jaw, then under his chin, lifting it until his eyes were completely locked on hers.

“When you beg, you better make me believe it.”

And Jimmy?

His pulse was wild.

His voice was ruined.

But that man opened his mouth—

And got ready to plead like his soul was on the line.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-ONE — “Plea Deal” Location: Master Bedroom — Jonathan’s POV

He felt her fingers gripping his jaw like judgment itself, like God come down wrapped in cocoa butter and rage. Her thighs caged him. Her breath scalded his lips. His heart? A wild, thudding mess beneath her hands.

This wasn’t play.

This was the reckoning.

And Jimmy—Jonathan Solofa Fatu—knew he wasn’t getting out unless he bared every unholy inch of himself.

So he started low, almost hoarse. “You want the truth?” His voice cracked, eyes blazing up at her like confession was the only thing keeping him from combusting. “I’ll fuckin’ beg.”

He reached up, slow, hands trembling as they wrapped around her hips—not to control, but to ground himself, to hold on while he fell.

“I been sick over you,” he rasped. “Since I saw you at Magic. I ain’t sleep right. I ain’t eat right. I was ready to burn every bitch I knew just to watch you laugh one more time.”

His chest rose hard under her. “I ain’t never begged a woman in my life. But you? I’d get on my knees in front of God if it meant you’d keep lookin’ at me like I was worth something.”

He kissed her inner thigh, slow. Reverent. Then another. Then one higher. “You say this my trial? Then I’m pleading guilty to every fuckin’ charge, mama. To obsession. To stalking. To wanting you like you mine before I even earned the right to touch you.”

She said nothing.

So he kept going.

“I love this pussy,” he whispered against her skin. “I worship this body. But I’m not in this for lust.”

His eyes snapped up, raw.

“I love you. I love the way you roll your eyes when I say somethin’ slick. I love how you fight me even when you scared. I love the way you make hell feel like heaven.”

She was still staring.

Silent.

So he dropped his voice lower.

"I’ll beg, Kenya. I’ll cry for this shit. You want tears? I got ‘em. You want worship? I’ll build altars outta my bones. Just… don’t walk away. Don’t take my reason to breathe and walk out like I ain't bleed for you in every way that counts."

His hands moved to her waist again, gently pulling her down till their foreheads touched.

“I’ll do whatever you say, mama. I’ll prove it. I’ll earn you. Just tell me what to do.”

And for once, Jonathan was bare. No mask. No lies.

Just a man—on death row—praying the love he broke didn’t become the ghost that haunted him forever.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-TWO — “Like a Good Worshiper” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

Her fingers curled tight under his jaw, nails digging just enough to command—not hurt. Her glare was fire. Her voice? Unbending steel wrapped in silk.

“Make this shit cream,” she hissed, low and slow. “Like a good worshiper then.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just breathed heavy, lips parting like he’d been told the word of God and it came wrapped in a threat.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

Kenya didn’t move, not an inch. She stayed right there, perched on his thighs like a queen in judgment, watching his eyes darken, jaw clench, the tattoos on his shoulders flex as he shifted beneath her.

And when he moved?

It was reverent. Obedient. Filthy.

He leaned in, mouth brushing the slick warmth of her folds like he was tasting salvation. One hand gripped her ass, the other slid up her spine to her nape, firm, grounding her as his tongue moved in slow, wet drags. Not for his pleasure—for hers.

No teasing this time.

He worshipped like a man trying to earn his last breath.

Her breath caught. Then hitched again when his tongue pushed deeper, swirling, flattening, rolling through the mess he'd made of her the night before. He was shameless with it. Lapping like the world would end if he didn’t draw every single sound out of her throat.

Her legs began to tremble.

He felt it.

So he doubled down.

"That's it," he murmured against her, lips never leaving her flesh, voice ragged and reverent. "Come on, mama. Let it go. Let me see it."

And when she finally did—when the gasp broke through her clenched teeth, and her hand fisted in his braids, and the cream painted his tongue like a second anointing—

He moaned.

He fucking moaned like she gave him oxygen.

And then he kept going.

Lips sticky. Chin soaked. Tongue relentless.

Like a good worshiper.

Just like she asked.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR — “Get the Crown Sparkling” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She pulled back just enough to stare him dead in the eye, chest rising heavy with need and command. Her glare sliced through the thick air like a blade, mean mugging him with the weight of every promise she made—and every doubt she held.

“You got blessed,” she said, voice low and sharp, “now get the fuck up and make my shit ruined.”

Her fingers tightened on his braids, tugging just so, pulling him closer if he tried to hesitate.

“Act like the man you made me believe in,” she snapped, biting the words out like they were gospel.

Her lips twisted into a smirk laced with fire, challenge blazing in her eyes.

“You wanna play kingpin? Get your crown sparkling.”

Jimmy’s grin cracked wide, dark and dangerous, that signature Samoan confidence roaring back to life. He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed up, strong and sure, eyes locked on hers like she was the throne he’d been fighting for.

“Say less, mamas. I’m ’bout to put you on your throne proper.”

And with that, he sank down between her legs again, ready to rule his kingdom — messy, wild, and all his.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE — “Earn Me Back, Baby” Location: Master Bedroom — Jimmy’s POV

He’s buried deep inside her, thick and relentless, hips snapping slow at first, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her — every fold, every tremble — like she’s the only thing that matters.

His hands grip her thighs tight, pulling her closer, like he’s trying to hold himself together through this.

“Baby, I know I been wild,” he breathes low, voice rough but soaked in raw need. “I been a damn fool, lettin’ my crazy run this. But you? You the queen, and I’m just tryin’ to earn back that crown.”

Every thrust is slow, deliberate, but the heat is building, sweat slicking their skin, the room thick with her moans and the sound of him snapping his hips like he’s begging the universe don’t let me lose her.

“Fuck, you feel too damn good… I’m sorry for the shit I done,” he admits, biting down on her shoulder, “I’ma make it right. I swear I’ma make you mine for real this time.”

Her hands clutch his back, nails digging in, her body pulsing around him like a damn promise.

Jimmy groans deep, his voice breaking a little — “You the only one, mamas. I’m sorry I scared you, but I ain’t never gonna let you go. Just—keep me… keep me right here, yeah?”

He’s sliding harder now, desperate but worshipful, eyes locked on hers, searching for any sign she still wants him like this — like he’s still worthy.

And when she shudders, drowning over him, he swears he’ll never forget this moment, this woman, this fight to be the man she needs.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE — “Jimmy’s Release” Location: Master Bedroom — Jimmy’s POV

His body tensed, every muscle tight like a wire ready to snap. He was chasing that edge so hard, hips snapping fast, breath stuttering, like the whole world was just about to tilt and fall apart. The only thing keeping him tethered was Kenya’s grip—her hands on his hips, her eyes daring him to let go.

And then—fuck—it hit. The wave crashed over him, sudden and violent, ripping through his chest, making his voice break like a prayer.

“Shit, mamas... you—” His voice cracked, hoarse, barely a whisper. “You wreck me every damn time. Ain’t no coming back from this.”

His grip on her tightened as if she was the only thing stopping him from drowning in the storm he’d become. “I’m spilling all over you… all in you. You got me falling apart like I ain’t never known love or obsession—just you.”

His breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut, head dropping low like he was trying to memorize every inch of her, every second they shared.

“God, this shit... this mess, it’s all for you. I’m yours—broken, ruined, addicted.”

He opened his eyes slow, full of worship and raw need, voice shaking but fierce. “And I’ll keep begging, begging to drown in you over and over again. Because ain’t no other way I wanna live.”

Jimmy collapsed against her, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, the taste of her still burning his lips. The world was reduced to just this—her, him, and the tangled mess of love and obsession spilling between them.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SIX — “Kenya’s Orders” Location: Master Bedroom — Kenya’s POV

She rolled her eyes, smirking like she’d already won this round. “Alright, you done with your little meltdown,” she said, voice low but sharp like a whip. “Clean this shit up. Get my shower ready — I want hibachi and a big cherry Sprite. Make it happen.”

Her fingers brushed his cheek, cool and steady against the heat simmering beneath his skin. “No more crying over here,” she added, voice smooth but full of command, “just do what you gotta do to earn that second round.”

Jimmy’s chest heaved, breath catching like she’d thrown a match to a powder keg. His eyes flicked between hers — equal parts worship, desperation, and that wild obsession only she could unlock. “Kenya…” he rasped, voice rough and raw, “you don’t gotta tell me twice. I’m all in. You want this throne? I’m gonna make sure you never want for nothing. Not the food, not the drinks, not the… everything.”

He leaned down, fingers already moving to clean up the mess with a kind of reverence, like every drop was a promise. The tension in his hips tightened, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Second round? I’m gonna ruin you so good, you forget how to walk right. I swear, you’ll be mine, all the way.”

Without waiting for her to say more, he backed out of the bed, shaking off the haze and setting off toward the bathroom, ready to make good on every word — starting with that damn cherry Sprite and hibachi she’d ordered.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN — “Jimmy’s Grind” Location: Kitchen and Back Room — Jimmy’s POV

Jimmy moved with a purpose—precise and steady. The kitchen smelled like expensive soap and faint traces of her perfume still lingering in the air. He pulled the cherry Sprite from the fridge, the cold fizz promising the kind of comfort only she deserved. The hibachi was already warming, the sizzle of meat and veggies a soundtrack to his thoughts.

She let me spill my seed, he thought, lips twitching in a mix of awe and pride. Beg for her in the same breath. Only Kenya could make a man feel that naked and worshiped at once. Ain’t no turning back now. She got me twisted—crazy enough to beg, obsessed enough to stay.

His phone buzzed. It was Jey. “Did she leave? Airport yet?” Jimmy’s fingers flew over the screen, typing back quick: “Nah, she’s here. Locked in. This one ain’t running. She’s mine.”

A grin cracked his face. “You hear that?” he said, eyes flickering with heat as he turned to Sefa and Zilla. “She ain’t gone nowhere. This the start, not the end.”

Jimmy’s mind raced. This wasn’t just about control. It was about building something fierce and unbreakable. He’d keep her close, keep her safe—or at least his version of safe. She was his obsession, his project, his queen. And he was gonna make sure everybody knew it.

“Next move,” he murmured, cracking open the Sprite and taking a long, slow sip. “Keep the circle tight. Cameras, guards, everything. Ain’t no way she slipping through. Not again.”

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHT — “You Got My Food Ready?” Location: Main Floor — Kenya’s POV

She descended the stairs slow but steady, skin still dewy from the steam, wrapped in that deep, velvety cocoa glow. Edges laid, lashes fluttered, lips glossed. Her thick thighs brushed with every step, and she made sure to take her time—not for drama, but because she could.

She didn’t flinch at the sight of everyone: Jey on the couch, Carmen sipping something orange, Sefa mid-laugh with Zilla and Jacob throwing cards. The music low. The vibe mellow. But all eyes shifted the moment she padded barefoot across the cool floor.

She didn’t give a single fuck.

Eyes locked on him—Jonathan Solofa Fatu. Jimmy.

He was by the island, Sprite bottle in one hand, hibachi container in the other, paused like someone just hit slow motion on his universe.

Kenya tilted her head just a little, chin lifted, voice cool and collected.

“Jimmy,” she said, arching a brow, “you got my food ready?”

Not “hey.” Not “good morning.” Not “what y’all talkin’ about?”

Straight to business. Straight to expectation.

Jimmy blinked once, chest swelling, that crooked-ass grin twitching like he’d been waiting on this moment all damn day.

“Yeah, mamas,” he said, voice low and rough. “Shrimp, steak, fried rice, double yum-yum like you like it. Got your drink cold, too.”

Kenya walked right up, took the hibachi box out his hand like a queen reclaiming her throne, then the cherry Sprite with her other. No thank you, no hesitation.

She didn’t need to say thank you. He was supposed to feed his woman.

She turned, already unwrapping her chopsticks, letting that silence fill the space as she claimed the plush barstool at the marble counter.

Jimmy watched her with something hungry in his gaze, like even seeing her eat felt intimate. Sacred.

“What?” she asked, mouth already half-full of steak and rice.

He smirked. “Nothin’… just makin’ sure I ain’t dreamin’.”

Kenya rolled her eyes, but didn’t fight the little smile that snuck in. She was still mad. Still wary. But she was fed, clean, and being looked at like she ran shit.

Because she did.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-NINE — “Make It Happen” Location: Kitchen Island — Kenya’s POV

Kenya didn’t lift a single finger—not when the chopsticks paused midair, not when her drink needed a new straw, not even when a piece of shrimp slid down the side of her hibachi box. That was Jimmy’s job now. He knew it, too.

So there he was, standing close, feeding her from his own fingers with the patience of a man being broken in proper.

He held the next bite steady near her mouth, and when she finally opened up to take it, he damn near sighed like the world was right again.

She chewed slow. Eyes locked on his. Cool. Flat. Then she stopped.

Didn’t swallow right away.

Didn’t blink.

“I want a secure vehicle,” she said, voice firm but casual, like she was reading off a grocery list. “My Camaro ain’t bulletproof. Make moves on that.”

Jimmy straightened a little, nodding once like he was already making mental calls. She tilted her head and kept going.

“I want a big bully. And I want a Rottie. You got till this evening.”

He looked like he was about to respond, but she leaned in, chewing again, and shut him up with just a look. She swallowed slow, then flicked her eyes around the kitchen, the sleek counters, the overly sterile setup.

“This house depressing as hell,” she muttered. “Too clinical. I want blues, soft yellows. Comfy colors. Shit that looks like somebody actually live here. You got interior designers, right? Pull one. Fix it.”

Jimmy was staring at her now like she just handed him a script and told him it was gospel. He didn’t even try to talk over her. Just nodded again, silent, obedient.

And Kenya, finally leaning back in her stool with the drink in one hand, delivered her last demand like it was dessert.

“You got a tattoo appointment to make.”

Jimmy’s brows lifted just slightly.

Kenya didn’t even blink. She was already sipping on her Sprite when she dropped the final hit.

“I want my name on you.”

That cherry Sprite slid cold down her throat, crisp and sweet.

The look on his face?

Downright reverent.

“You got it, mamas,” he murmured, like he was grateful to be assigned the task.

And Carmen, from the couch, just smiled into her drink. “Told you she was queenpin material.”

Jey smirked beside her. “She got Uce on a leash. Proud of him.”

Kenya didn’t respond. Just took another bite like she was letting them know:

She ain’t ask. She told.

And Jonathan Fatu was already moving.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY — “Make My Shit Right” Location: Kitchen Island — Kenya’s POV

Kenya didn't even flinch when the room fell quiet.

The kind of quiet that came when truth dragged its claws across everybody’s skin and nobody could deny it.

She sat back in her stool, licking hibachi sauce from her bottom lip, cold cherry Sprite in one hand, that same unfazed, freshly-showered glow across her face. Her edges were laid. Her skin dewy. Her eyes? Unforgiving.

She shifted slightly, just enough to get a full view of the kitchen and the living room beyond it—where Carmen, Jey, Sefa, Zilla, Jacob, and all her girls were posted up, pretending this wasn’t the aftermath of a psychological hostage situation wrapped in a love story.

Kenya’s gaze was sharp, direct—first on Carmen, then on Mya, Keema, Dani. And finally, she set it on Jey.

Then her voice cut through the tension like it paid rent there.

“Don’t even think about offering input.” She said it calm. Quiet. Cold.

“You just as dirty for fucking my life over as he is.”

Carmen looked away first.

Jey sighed deep, lips pressed tight. Even Mya looked down, shame crawling over her expression.

Kenya kept talking. Her tone didn’t shift—not angry, not emotional. Just steel laced with exhaustion.

“Y’all watched it happen. Y’all let it happen. Shit, some of y’all helped make it happen. So no fake ass sympathy now.”

She took a sip, swallowed, leaned forward slightly.

“You want peace.” Her eyes flicked to Jimmy. “Cool. So do I.”

Then she dropped the fork on the counter with a soft clink, like a gavel, and stood.

“But peace don’t come free. Peace means power. Safety. Ownership. Shit y’all got, and I don’t. Yet.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

“So here’s the new deal—y’all want peace with me?” She raised her brows.

“Make my shit right.”

Then she turned, hips swaying as she walked toward the hallway like the conversation was done.

It was.

Because Kenya wasn’t begging.

She was negotiating from the throne she’d been forced onto.

And this time?

The crown was hers.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE — “I Don’t Hear No Movement” Location: Bottom of the Staircase — Kenya’s POV

Kenya was halfway up the stairs when she paused, her foot resting light on the third step.

Her head turned just slightly, eyes slicing back toward the open-concept kitchen like a blade.

Click. The sharp pop of her tongue echoed against the tall ceilings.

The room was still frozen—everybody looking at each other like they were waiting for someone else to move first. Jimmy stood, jaw tight, hands twitching like he knew she was this close to flipping the whole estate upside down.

Kenya rolled her eyes slow, tired, done.

“I don’t hear no movement,” she called over her shoulder, voice clipped and unimpressed. “Y’all either deaf, no, or slow.”

Silence.

“Get my dogs.” Her tone turned sharper, meaner. “I want that big bully and that rottie here before sundown.”

She tilted her head slightly, gold hoops glinting against her locs.

“Get that ugly ass sterile-ass paint up out my room. I said blues. I meant plush, soft, dark, deep. I want to exhalewhen I walk in there.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t wait for a reply.

“And that bulletproof vehicle?” A pause.

“Better be big, black, sexy, and mine. With my name on the title.”

She stepped up one more stair.

“You got two hours before I decide if I’m staying the night in that house or going right back to the airport. Again.”

Still no response.

“Clock’s ticking.” And then she kept walking—up the stairs, into her wing, like she ain’t just shake the house to its foundation.

Because she did. And they knew it.

Now?

They had to move like their lives depended on it.

Because if Kenya walked again, this time?

She wasn’t coming back.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-TWO — “How a King Moves” Location: Fatu Estate — Jimmy’s POV

The moment her footsteps disappeared up the stairs, Jimmy snapped.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just motion. Power.

His head turned sharp toward Sefa, voice already laced with command.

“Call the breeder,” he barked. “Get me that blue nose bully, and I want a damn rottweiler with drive and presence. Big, clean bloodline. No games.”

Sefa was already pulling out his phone, moving fast.

“I want them here before six. Papers, crates, food, everything. You fuck this up, don’t come back.”

Next, Jimmy turned to Zilla and Jacob, his tone shifting into something colder, deeper.

“That Camaro ain’t safe. I want a G63. Black. Fully armored. Full bullet-resistant everything. I want her initials stitched in the headrest, and I want it delivered with a ribbon like it’s Christmas morning.”

Jacob grinned, already walking off.

“You got it, Uso. She gone think she the president.”

“Nah,” Jimmy muttered, grabbing his keys and phone. “She gone know she the Queen.”

He turned to Carmen and Jey, who stood quietly near the island, watching him with raised brows.

“Interior crew?” Jimmy demanded. “You know what she said—soft blue. Luxe as fuck. I want velvet, pillows, textured throws. I want that room to feel like heaven got an apartment in ATL.”

Carmen gave a low whistle. “Ooooh, now that’s the energy. You gon’ have her spoiled and submissive.”

Jimmy shot her a look. “She already mine. I’m just giving her a throne to sit on while she figures that out.”

Jey clapped his shoulder once. “You love that girl for real, huh.”

Jimmy didn’t blink.

“I’d set this whole block on fire if she asked me to. And y’all know I don’t throw my weight behind nothin’ I’m not ready to kill or die for.”

And with that, he moved again—fast, efficient, lethal.

Because when a Queen sets the terms?

A real King moves mountains.

Or burns ‘em to ash.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE — “Results, Baby” Location: Fatu Estate — Kenya’s POV

Kenya had just slipped on her bonnet when she caught the sound—low rumbles, tires against gravel, a few doors shutting outside.

Curious, still sore but moving better, she made her way back down the grand curved staircase. Her steps slowed when she reached the base and saw the front door swing wide.

First came the scent. Expensive leather. New car interior. Gasoline and money.

Then came the vision.

A sleek, jet-black G-Wagon with matte bulletproof trim, the chrome-black rims spinning like they knew they were important. A satin royal blue ribbon wrapped around the hood like a damn holiday gift, and just below the passenger side mirror? Her initials—K. A.—stitched in metallic thread.

Kenya blinked. Twice.

“What the fu—”

“Your new whip,” Jimmy said, suddenly behind her like a shadow. Shirtless. Tattooed. That smug, worshipful smirk on his face.

He kissed her temple before she could swat him off.

“Oh, we not even done.”

And then?

The barking started.

From around the side of the house came two crates, handlers flanking them. Inside one? A thick, silver-blue bully with eyes too smart and a body like he was bred for war. In the other? A deep-chested rottie who sat like royalty, calm but locked on her every move.

Sefa jogged over with the paperwork and bags of top-tier food and toys. “We got their bloodlines clean and tight, sis. No backyard bullshit. These two trained already, too. They yours now.”

Kenya blinked again, stunned silent as she looked from the G-Wagon, to the dogs, to Jimmy casually adjusting his chain like he didn’t just change her whole life in fifteen minutes.

“Oh—also,” Zilla said, coming in from the side hall, paint on his clothes. “Living room done. Baby blue velvet, throw blankets, softer bulbs. That depressing white shit? Gone.”

Kenya turned slowly. Opened the double doors to the living room.

It was like stepping into a damn cloud. Luxe textures, blues and creams, gold accents, candles lit, the faint smell of vanilla and fresh linen. Her tension started bleeding out of her shoulders on instinct.

She didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Just turned and looked at Jimmy. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. But there was a twitch at her jaw. And heat flickering behind her eyes.

Jimmy stepped to her, kissed her hand this time.

“I told you. You got terms? I’ll meet ’em. You got a crown? I’ll polish it. All you gotta do… is stay.”

And she?

Didn’t walk away.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR — “What's Their Names?” Location: Fatu Estate — Sunken Living Room — Kenya’s POV

Kenya sank into the plush, baby-blue sectional, her body melting into the soft textures like they were made just for her curves. Her legs were tucked beneath her, a silk throw blanket draped across her lap, the ambient golden light kissing her skin like a soft apology.

The double crate doors were just being unlatched.

Her gaze tracked every move.

The first to step out was the bully—a thick silver-blue coat with a soft shimmer, paws heavy and wide, shoulders built like he bench pressed threats for fun. He didn’t bolt, didn’t bark—just lumbered out calm as hell, sniffed the air, and turned his intelligent amber eyes directly on her.

Like he already knew who she was.

Behind him, the rottie emerged slower, precise, regal even. His coat gleamed like fresh obsidian, and his cropped ears gave him the look of an ancient warrior reborn. He walked with that unbothered authority—the kind only bosses had.

Both dogs made a straight line toward her.

She tensed, just a little, until the bully stepped up first, nosing her hand so soft it nearly broke her. She stroked over his velvet head, her fingers smoothing over muscle and heat.

Then the rottie eased up, nosing under her palm, not jostling—asking.

She gave him the affection too. They didn’t jump, didn’t bark, didn’t crowd. They just existed with her like they’d always known where she belonged.

Her voice was a little hoarse when she asked, eyes still on them.

“What’s their names?”

Jimmy’s voice came from behind her, but it was softer this time. Lower.

“Loyal,” he said, nodding toward the bully. “Because he the type to die before he leave your side.”

Kenya’s lashes fluttered.

“And him?” she asked, glancing at the rottie, whose head now rested on her thigh like he knew her pain.

“Justice,” Jimmy said. “Because when somebody cross you… he gon’ be the last face they see.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Sacred.

Kenya looked between the two beasts now curled on the rug near her, like they were guarding a queen’s throne. She leaned back, breathing slower.

“…they already know me,” she murmured.

Jimmy stepped closer. Didn’t sit. Didn’t push. Just stood near.

“Nah,” he said quietly. “They been waiting for you.”

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE — “Been Wanting This” Location: Fatu Estate — Sunken Living Room — Jimmy’s POV

Jimmy stood with his arms loosely folded, still in disbelief.

Kenya had shifted—moved—with her still-healing body. Slow but determined, she’d let the blanket fall to the side and got herself onto her knees on that soft rug like it didn’t ache. And maybe it did. He saw the flinch behind her grin. But she didn’t let it stop her.

Not when the dogs were there.

She was all warmth and light suddenly, her usually sharp tongue traded for sweet coos and baby talk. Her hand moved in slow, smooth circles across Loyal’s broad back, fingers working through the thick fur behind his ears. When Justicecurled tighter beside her like he’d known her all his life, she shifted to stroke him too, head tilted, voice gentle.

She looked… Happy. Like the weight in her chest eased for once.

Jimmy stayed frozen, watching it happen like a damn fever dream. He’d seen her wrecked. He’d seen her bathed in moonlight, blood, and attitude. But this? This was the soft girl under it all. The one he swore only he would get to see.

She didn’t notice him noticing.

Didn’t even realize her lips were moving when she whispered—so low he almost missed it:

“I always wanted a dog… never got one. Always wanted these two... since I was little.”

Jimmy’s brows twitched. Just barely.

His throat got tight for a second.

It hit different—the quiet confession. The unguarded moment she didn’t even know she gave.

He stepped closer, like drawn by a string he didn’t even try to cut.

She didn’t look up, still rubbing behind Loyal’s ear, grinning now, so bright and stupidly sweet he had to grip the edge of the couch to steady himself.

“Didn’t think I’d ever have this,” she mumbled again, like she was talking to herself. “Like… not just dogs—them. Dream ones. Mine.”

Jimmy’s lips parted, then closed. Swallowed once. Twice.

His voice was thick when he finally spoke.

“They yours now,” he said low. “Forever. Just like everything else here.”

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t have to.

The way she leaned into Justice’s side, smiling with her eyes closed?

It said everything.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX — “Zoomies & Healing” Location: Fatu Estate — Living Room — Kenya’s POV

For the first time in what felt like forever— Kenya laughed.

Not a sarcastic chuckle. Not a half-bitter huff through her nose. A real, messy, unfiltered laugh.

The sound burst out of her chest like it had been held hostage, head tilted back, curls bouncing, mouth wide as her two massive dream dogs turned the whole living room into their racetrack.

Loyal thundered past first, sleek black coat flashing under the lights as he darted after the chew toy she’d tossed—tail wagging like a weapon. Justice wasn’t far behind, all power and muscle in his sturdy frame, barking once like he was announcing his win before he even got there.

They zig-zagged around her, weaving between the couches and that big navy ottoman like it was an obstacle course. But never once bumping her. They knew. They always slowed down near her legs, gently brushing past and circling back, like they were checking in.

And Kenya? She just kept laughing.

She bent over slightly, wincing just a little from the soreness in her core but still smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

“Y’all better not break your mama’s knees,” she giggled, waving a hand at the spinning blur of fur that was Loyal, who was now doing tight circles just to show off.

Hardwood floors echoed with their paws thumping. Claws tapped rhythmically, tails thwapped against table legs. The toy squeaked from under the couch.

Chaos. Joy. Real peace.

It was the first time since she’d bled out in her own kitchen that she forgot what fear felt like.

Behind her, Jimmy leaned against the wall just out of sight, phone in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other, completely frozen watching her.

That laughter? That glow? That joy?

It didn’t come from a place he controlled. It came from something real.

And he swore on his last breath— he’d protect that laugh for the rest of his life.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SEVEN — “Pitbull Blessings” Location: Fatu Estate — Living Room — Shared POV

Loyal made a beeline like he had a mission. His black-and-white body was a flash of speed, ears perked, tongue lolling sideways—until suddenly—skrrrt!

He slammed on the brakes just a foot in front of Jimmy.

Big paws splayed. Chest puffed. Butt straight in the air.

And then came the wiggle.

That pitbull wiggle. Tail wagging so hard his whole backside swayed like it was on hinges.

Jimmy blinked. The glass in his hand tilted slightly, nearly slipping from his fingers.

“The fuck you doin’, boy?” he murmured, half a laugh in his voice.

Loyal let out one excited bark—not aggressive, not warning—just straight-up joy—and then did a little bunny hop forward, butt still raised, wagging like he was playing tag.

From the couch, Kenya nearly wheezed.

“Oh my GOD.”

Her hand flew to her mouth as she burst out laughing, her curls bouncing with every chuckle, stomach tightening so hard she had to hug a throw pillow for support.

“You see this?? You see your big bad self bein’ chosen by a whole ass wiggle monster?”

Jimmy looked between her and the pit like he couldn’t decide if he was being punk’d or blessed. Loyal took that as encouragement, launching forward to paw at his thigh with the excitement of a dog who knew this man was part of his family now.

Kenya wiped at her eyes, still cracking up.

“Oh nah, Loyal done claimed you! That’s yo son now. Better get him a lil Fatu chain and some Air Forces.”

Jimmy stared down at the excited dog, then up at his woman—laughing, alive, glowing— And something warm, fierce, and terrifyingly permanent bloomed in his chest.

He crouched low and held out a hand. Loyal licked it once, then promptly shoved his whole head against Jimmy’s chest.

Acceptance. Chosen. Family.

Kenya caught the whole moment, her grin softening into something sweeter— And deeper.

“He don’t wiggle for just anybody,” she whispered, chin resting on the pillow now. “Guess he knows you love his mama.”

Jimmy didn’t speak.

Didn’t have to.

He just scratched behind Loyal’s ears and watched Kenya— The only home he’d ever really needed.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHT — “Guard Dog & Goofball” Location: Fatu Estate — Living Room — Kenya’s POV

The warmth on her side was heavy—solid—comforting.

Justice, her new rottie, had quietly maneuvered his massive frame right up against her hip. He was all black muscle and calm authority, his big head resting near her thigh, one paw curled protectively over her ankle like it was his full-time job to guard her.

He let out a deep, rumbling sigh, chest rising and falling like he’d just clocked out from a long-ass shift at the plant.

“Tired, baby?” she murmured, gently stroking his back. “You been on duty for what—twenty minutes?”

Justice didn’t move—just gave a small huff like, ‘and I’d do it again.’

But across the room?

Pure chaos.

Loyal was on a full sugar rush of serotonin and new-family energy. The pit had bodied Jimmy to the floor like he was nothing but a chew toy in his way.

Now Jimmy was laid out flat on his back, half-laughing, half-grunting, while Loyal—tail wagging like a windshield wiper in a hurricane—pinned him down, smothering his face with excited licks.

“Yo—yo!” Jimmy shouted, trying to sit up. “Get this little freak off me!”

Kenya couldn’t stop the giggles bubbling out of her as she watched Loyal slap Jimmy’s face with kisses like it was his favorite toy.

“You better not push my son,” she warned, amusement thick in her tone. “He just tryna love on his daddy.”

Jimmy finally wrangled the dog just enough to sit up, face shiny with slobber, curls disheveled, tatted chest rising and falling. He looked downright defeated.

Loyal? Still wagging like a maniac, plopped his butt right into Jimmy’s lap like “we cuddlin’ now.”

Kenya held her stomach, laughter slipping past her lips like it hadn’t in weeks.

Justice huffed again beside her—content, steady, her quiet knight.

Loyal yipped in triumph.

And for the first time since the chaos, the blood, the hospital, and the truth—

Home didn’t feel like a trap. It felt like hers.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE — “Don’t Tell Me What I Wanna Hear” Location: Fatu Estate — Living Room — Kenya’s POV

The laughter faded slow, like the echo of a soft song.

Kenya’s fingers were still buried in Justice’s thick fur, his weight leaning on her leg like a silent oath—but her eyes weren’t on him anymore.

They were on Jimmy.

He sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor across from her, still looking half-winded from Loyal’s ambush. His curls were messy, skin dewy, eyes dark—but focused.

Only on her.

Kenya tilted her head just slightly. Her tone wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t playing either.

“You happy?” she asked, voice a little quieter than it had been before. “And don’t gimme what you think I wanna hear. That ain’t never worked for me.”

The dogs quieted like they felt the shift. Loyal rested his head on Jimmy’s thigh, tail still wagging but slow now. Justice, still curled against her, gave a low huff but didn’t move.

Jimmy swallowed once, his jaw ticking. His hands rested palm-down on his thighs, tatted fingers flexing.

“I’m not happy like this is some fairytale shit,” he said slowly, eyes locked on hers. “But I’m... satisfied. Fulfilled. More than I’ve ever been. You the only thing in my world that makes the chaos feel like it’s worth keeping.”

Kenya blinked once. He wasn’t rushing. Wasn’t performing. It was too quiet for lies.

“You think I’m some kingpin with everything,” he added, voice lower now, “but I been movin’ like a ghost, Kenya. All this weight on my name but nothin’ real. Not til you.” “Now I got laughter in my halls. Dogs that love like they been here forever. And you—cussin’ me out one minute and cuddling these beasts the next.”

He exhaled, long and honest.

“So nah, I’m not happy like some clown with a trophy. But I’m yours. And I’m better for it.”

Her throat tightened—just a bit.

The dogs shifted again, sensing her quiet.

But Kenya didn’t cry. She just nodded slowly, once.

She heard him.

She didn’t fully trust it yet. Not completely. But for once, she felt like she wasn’t being fed fantasy.

And that? That was the first real piece of peace she’d had in a long, long time.

✨ PAGE ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY — “What Made You Like That?” Location: Fatu Estate — Living Room — Kenya’s POV

Justice shifted again—closer this time, his heavy head draping across her thigh like a weighted comfort she hadn’t asked for but needed.

Loyal let out a low groan of contentment, flopped across Jimmy’s lap with his tongue lolling out, but even he seemed to sense the shift in mood.

Kenya leaned back slightly, arms braced behind her. Her shirt was a little loose, her bandages a little tight—but her gaze? Sharp. Focused.

She looked at Jonathan Fatu, not like the man who'd spent hours between her thighs, not like the one who bled men quiet behind docks.

But like the question she’d never been able to answer.

“What made you like that?” she asked softly.

He blinked.

“Like what?”

“Like... this,” she said, gesturing vaguely with her hand. “The craziness. The obsession. The way you picked me and hunted me down like it was instinct. Like the second you saw me, you decided I was your end game. What happened to your brain that steeled it like this?”

For a long moment, Jimmy didn’t answer. He just looked at her—really looked. And then he shifted his jaw and licked the corner of his mouth, a visible tension coiling in his spine like a muscle memory.

“The short version?” he said, voice quiet. “I grew up watchin’ my uncles and my pops get everything they wanted with control. Power. Fear. They ain’t wait for shit, they took it.”

He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his knees, eyes never leaving her.

“You grow up with that kind of blueprint, you don’t learn patience. You learn domination. Ain’t no slow burn in my family. It’s blood or bonds. You pick a path and you stomp it until the ground knows your name.”

Kenya tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as he kept going.

“But I wasn’t like them at first. I was the softer twin. The quieter one. Until we lost someone we loved and I realized softness don’t survive where I come from.” “So I flipped the switch. Started watchin’. Hunting. I was already good at it, I just... never used it for anything that mattered.”

He looked down for a moment, hands clasping and unclasping like he was debating something.

“Then I saw you. That night. In the gold dress. Laughin’ with your homegirls like the world never tried you. And somethin’ in me—snapped.” “I didn’t wanna own you. I wanted to belong to you. And that shit scared me so bad I turned it into control ‘cause that’s what I knew. That’s what I’d seen win. But you weren’t built to be owned. You were built to be worshipped. So now I’m relearning every fucked up instinct I ever let rule me.”

His voice cracked just barely at the end. Kenya noticed.

She didn’t say anything right away. But she reached out slowly, her fingers brushing the top of Loyal’s head—and then resting gently on Jimmy’s knee.

Not soft. Not forgiving.

Understanding.

And it was the first time Jimmy realized he didn’t have to chase her love through obsession.

She was right there. Asking. Listening. Watching.

The real test?

Was what he did next.

#crime au #romance #x black oc #mature fic #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso x black oc #plus size oc #dark romance

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