15. anthony's angel

Caught between the comfort of friendship and the pull of something deeper, Angel finds herself tangled in the growing tension with Anthony.

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ANGELINA ‘ANGEL’ MOORE

Family.

Never had it.

Not the kind that mattered.

Growing up, I learned real quick—family wasn’t something you counted on. It was something you watched on TV. Something other people had. Big Sunday dinners, game nights, family reunions where people actually wanted to see each other.

I used to wonder what that felt like.
To be surrounded by love.
To belong to people who actually liked you.

Instead, I had a mother who treated me like an obligation she never wanted, her patience thinner than a dollar-store paper towel. A father I never even got to miss—because according to her, he was dead before I ever got the chance.

And Aunt Lina? She was no better than my mother. Letting me rent her rundown, falling-apart trailer didn’t make her kind—it just gave her another way to remind me I owed her.

Owed her my gratitude. Owed her my respect. Owed her my damn life.

That was what family meant to me. A debt. A burden. A lesson in survival.

And now, somehow, here I was.

A hospital room.
A too-small space packed with a lot of people.
Anthony. His brother. His parents.

All of them orbiting around my son like they’d been around him his whole life. Like he was theirs. Like maybe—just maybe—I was, too.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

Anthony and I were…what, exactly?

I knew what he wanted. Knew it not only in his words but also in the way his hands had claimed me, the way his lips had torn me apart and put me back together in the same breath. The way he looked at me after—like he saw all of me and still wanted more.

We hadn’t spoken about it since. We didn’t have a moment to.

The call about Derek came in, and we were out the door—dressing fast, hearts pounding, breaking every speed limit to get here.

My son came first.

But that didn’t stop my body from remembering—at the worst possible times.

Didn’t stop my mind from replaying every second of it.

Every kiss.

Every moan.

Every inch of his tongue and fingers, unraveling me, pulling me under, making me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years.

“We’ll get you in the studio as soon as you’re ready, aight?”

Big Derek—D-Truth, as the world knew him—grinned as he reached over and ruffled DJ’s curls, snapping me back to the present.

DJ’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. “You serious?”

“For sure.” Truth leaned back, arms crossed, looking every bit the rap legend he was. “Gotta make sure my son’s rap skills are up to par.”

Wait a minute. Son?

Anthony didn’t even let the word breathe before cutting in, his voice flat, firm. “He ain’t your son, Derek.”

Truth sucked his teeth, waving him off like a mosquito buzzing too close. “Man, whatever.” Then he turned to me, flashing that signature shit-eating grin, a grill on his bottom set of teeth trying to pull me into the joke. “Angel, tell him.”

I blinked. “Tell him what?”

Before he could drop something ridiculous, Mama Harris—gracious, composed, always keeping the peace—steered the conversation back to where it needed to be.

“Little Derek’s got a long road ahead,” she said, her voice gentle but firm as she filled Truth in as he was the last to arrive. “Physical therapy, recovery… he’s gonna be in a wheelchair for a bit, but if all goes well, he should be able to leave in about two weeks.”

The air in my chest unlocked—just a little—as she filled him in. Two weeks. He was going to be okay. And then we could start the next phase of his recovery, ease into something normal again.

Although, I wasn’t sure what we were getting back to exactly. Everything was changing. Including where we lived. At least temporarily.

Truth nodded, his usual playfulness dimming just a notch. “Angel, whatever y’all need, we got you. You know that, right?”

I lowered my gaze. These people had been here since the night of the accident—for me, for my son—as if they had to be. I was trying to get used to it. Trying to trust Anthony’s word that we weren’t a burden. But it was hard. So damn hard.

“You’ve all done so much already—” I started, my voice catching.

Before I could finish, Mr. Harris spoke up. His voice was deep, steady. Final.

“We take care of family, Angel.”

A pause.

“That includes you and Little Derek now.”

The words settled deep, pressing against something fragile inside me.

Family.

Me? Us?

Mr. Harris wasn’t done. “Now that you see him gettin’ better, me and Camielle can come sit with him sometimes. Give you a break.” His dark eyes pinned me with no room for argument. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to him if you step out for a minute. Go to dinner, go to the beauty parlor, get some air. Have you a little fun.”

I hesitated. Instinct told me to say no.

I didn’t do breaks. Didn’t do fun. Didn’t let myself slip, because the second I did, the world reminded me why I shouldn’t.

But Mr. Harris wasn’t finished.

“Life’s still happening out there,” he said, voice low, sure. “And you ain’t gotta carry this on your own.”

I barely had time to process it before my son—my sweet, oblivious, messy-ass little boy—dropped a bomb on the room.

“Maybe Mr. Ant can take you on a date, Mama.”

The room froze.

Ant damn near choked on air. Coughing.

Truth let out a loud snicker, slapping his thigh like DJ had just said the funniest thing in the world. And Anthony—stoic, controlled, always unreadable—looked absolutely, utterly shook. Had Anthony told his brother about him eating me like the last slice of cake on Earth?

Wait—what was DJ even talking about? What did he see?

My heart started racing, a slow-building panic creeping up my spine. There was nothing for him to pick up on. No flirting, no lingering looks, no sneaky touches. I told him Anthony was my friend because that’s what he was. That’s what we were. Right?

I’d been careful—so careful. Made sure we didn’t act in any way that would confuse my son. And Anthony, without me even having to say a word, had been following my lead. So why would DJ say that?

Did I slip? Did he notice something I didn’t?

I turned to look at him, my mouth already open to ask, to figure out what was going on in his little head, but before I could get a single word out—

The door creaked open.

And just like that, the air shifted.

Carlos.

He stepped in slow, his eyes scanning the room, sizing up the situation before landing on me. Then Ant. His whole body went tight, his jaw flexing like he already knew—knew this wasn’t his space, knew he was stepping into enemy territory, knew that one wrong move could get him buried.

His voice came soft, careful. Too careful. Like he knew he had to tread light.

"Son."

Little Derek looked up. He gave a small, polite smile, but the excitement from earlier? The light in his eyes?

Gone.

"Hey, Dad."

That was it.
No excitement. No warmth.
Just duty.

Truth sat in his chair, arms crossed, eyes locked on Carlos with something just shy of disgust. Then his phone rang. A sharp, buzzing vibration that barely broke the tension. He sighed, pulled it from his pocket, and stood. Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t even look at Carlos.

Just shook his head and walked out, his disappointment so thick it hung in the air like smoke.

Carlos, unfazed, moved in like he belonged here, lowering himself into the chair Truth had just vacated. His attention stayed on DJ. Like the rest of us weren’t even in the damn room.

"Glad to see you awake.", he said.

Mr. Harris cleared his throat.

"I know you’re excited to see your son, but you don’t see anybody else in this room?" he asked.

Carlos blinked. Slow. Like the words had to travel to reach him because, truthfully, he didn’t care who was in the room.

Then, after a beat, like it physically pained him to do it, he muttered, "Hello."

That was it.

A dry-ass, half-hearted greeting that didn’t even try to smooth over the disrespect.

Mama Harris sucked her teeth. Loud.

"Hhhmph," she groaned.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked out as well. I watched her go, my stomach twisting. Carlos never got it. Never had. Never would. That was the problem. He was so embarrassing.

I sighed, rubbing my temples before forcing myself to meet his eyes.

"You got questions about anything?" I asked, out of respect—because I always tried to be cordial in front of our son. I wanted to make sure he was included in the process, even though, truthfully, I hadn’t reached out to Carlos the same day Derek woke up.

I wanted to give my son some time, make sure he wasn’t stressed, just let him have peace. But inviting Carlos when everyone else was here had felt like a good buffer, like it might be safe.

Now, I had the sinking feeling he was about to prove me wrong.

Carlos barely even looked at me.

His focus stayed on DJ as if he was seeing him for the first time, or maybe just shocked that he actually woke up.

"Feel free to update me," Carlos said, voice clipped.

Ant, standing tall with his arms crossed, cut in before I could respond.

"He’ll be here for about two more weeks." His tone was smooth, controlled, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it."After that, Angel and DJ are coming to stay with me while he does his physical therapy and goes into phase two of his recovery."

Carlos’s head snapped toward me so fast, I swore I heard his damn neck crack.

"Stay with him?" His voice dripped with disbelief, his eyes narrowing like he thought he’d misheard.

His laugh was dry, bitter. The sound of a man pissed off but powerless.

"You movin’ my son in with some random man? What happened to your place?", Carlos asked.

I opened my mouth, but Ant was already on it.

“Lina called you about her place, remember? You don’t remember what you said?”

His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—sharp, precise. Like a blade waiting to cut.

Carlos shifted, but Ant didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“Where you want them to go?” Ant pressed, his grin cold, calculated. “You want them on the street? ‘Cause they can’t stay with you, right?”

Carlos’s jaw flexed, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His attention whipped back to me, his voice dropping low, like he thought he still had the right to speak to me like that. Like he still had control.

"Angelina, you can’t just be moving in with some dude, bringing my son into—"

"Dad,” DJ’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, small but steady. "He’s not a stranger," his little voice carried more weight than either of us expected. "He’s my friend. Mommy’s friend. He’s here all the time—even when I was sleeping. The nurses told me. And he takes good care of Mommy."

Carlos flinched like DJ had just reached across the room and slapped him in the face. His mouth opened. Closed. His fingers flexed against his thighs like he wanted to grab onto something. Like he wanted to grab onto control.

"I’m not okay with this,” Carlos’s voice was tight, clipped. Desperate. "If I have to take you to court—"

Ant didn’t even let him finish.

"Take her to court for what?"

His voice came sharp, slicing through the room like a switchblade.

"Custody? You know you can’t do that." He chuckled, low and full of something dangerous. "Besides, you gon’ show ‘em what you barely been paying? Or you gon’ stand in court and tell ‘em what your ex-wife had to do to get it?"

Carlos turned beet red. His whole body went rigid, his jaw tight enough to crack a tooth. He now knew that someone knew his secret. I should’ve felt embarrassed. I used to.

Every time I let Carlos crawl back into my bed just so I could keep the lights on. So I could make sure DJ had food. So I could cover what his sorry ass should’ve been handling anyway.

I used to feel sick about it. Like I was drowning in my own shame. But Ant knew. I told him. And he didn’t judge me.

Carlos, though?

He looked like the walls had sprouted eyes.

Like every single person in that room saw him for exactly what he was.

Ant’s voice dropped just enough to make his next words sting, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall across the room, "Sure your wife would love to know too. And have it on public record."

He smiled, slow and diabolical.

Carlos’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening like he was forcing himself to stay in control.

I caught Ant’s eye and gave a small shake of my head.

Don’t. Please.

Not here. Not in front of DJ. Because as much as a part of me savored watching Carlos squirm, this wasn’t the time or place. And honestly? I was shocked at Anthony’s lack of restraint.

Carlos wasn’t a match for him, and he knew it. He wasn’t stupid. That’s why instead of taking the bait, he turned back to me, latching onto the one thing he thought could give him the upper hand.

“I’m his father,” he said, his voice sharp, desperate for control. “And I have a say in where he lives. He’s not going anywhere I don’t approve of.”

"But his house is safe mommy said," Derek cut in, his little voice rising. "And big. With horses."

Carlos’s jaw flexed, his irritation spiking. His sons words only pissed him off more.

"And Mommy smiles so much around Mr. Ant. I want to go over there," my son finished.

I saw something flicker in Anthony’s eyes as they landed on DJ before shifting back to Carlos. I was floored by that comment myself, but Carlos was here.

"Bringing other men around my son..." Carlos muttered, his tone laced with something ugly.

That was it.

That one little sentence, that one implication—that I was careless, that I had men coming in and out of my son’s life—lit something inside me I couldn’t contain. Like I hadn’t spent years too scared to even look at another man. Like I hadn’t sacrificed everything to protect DJ, to make sure he never felt the absence of the father who was supposed to be there.

And now, the one time someone showed up for me, for us, Carlos wanted to twist it, wanted to humiliate me in front of our son.

I snapped.

“Anthony is my friend,” I spat, my voice shaking, but not from fear—from fury. “And he’s been helping me. If it wasn’t for him, your son wouldn’t even have a place to live.”

Carlos opened his mouth, but I wasn’t done.

“You wouldn’t even help me with Lina! She put me out, threw all our stuff in the dirt like we were nothing, and where were you, huh? Where was your concern for your son then? Where was your say in where he lived then?”

The words tumbled out, raw and sharp-edged, cutting through the air like shattered glass.

Carlos’s mouth closed. Nothing.

Silence.

Mr. Harris’s hand landed on my shoulder, grounding me, pulling me back from the edge before I spiraled too far. His touch wasn’t heavy, but it carried weight. A reminder. A reassurance.

Mr. Harris adjusted his watch, taking his time like he had all the patience in the world—like Carlos wasn’t even worth the urgency. Then he exhaled and leveled him with a stare so steady it felt like the whole room shrank under it.

"Listen, DJ’s Daddy—whatever your name is," he said, the casual dismissal in his voice landing harder than any insult. "Your son is covered. Handled. He’s getting the care he needs. My son flew in the best doctors money can buy, and they’re making sure he walks out of here stronger than before. I didn’t see you do any of that.”

Carlos bristled, shifting like he wanted to say something, but Mr. Harris held up a hand, stopping him cold.

“In two weeks, DJ is leaving this hospital with a wheelchair, a full recovery plan, and people who give a damn about seeing him through it.” His voice was even, but firm. Not a single syllable wasted. “Now, you can be part of that—if you choose to step up.”

Carlos’s jaw clenched. His shoulders squared like he wanted to argue.

But Mr. Harris leaned in just slightly, his presence taking up all the space in the room. “Or… you can keep standing here, puffing your chest, acting like you about to do something when we all know you ain't.” His words were sharp, cutting, and final.

Carlos’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“But what you need to understand," Mr. Harris continued, his voice dropping to something even deadlier, "is that this boy ain’t alone. And neither is Angel. They got family now. Us.”

Carlos blinked, but he didn’t move.

“And DJ? He’s got a whole medical team behind him to make sure he’s better than ever. So for his sake?” Mr. Harris’s eyes darkened, his expression turning as solid as concrete. “We all gon’ have some act right. Right?”

Silence.

Mr. Harris’ eyes scanned the room, landing on me first.

I nodded without hesitation.

Then Ant, who cut his eyes at Carlos before exhaling sharply, his own nod coming a second later.

Then finally Carlos, who swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at DJ, then back at Mr. Harris.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice tight. “Right.”

The room went still, the air thick with tension so sharp it could cut.

Mr. Harris clapped Anthony on the shoulder once, his approval solid and final. “Good. Then let’s move forward.”

Carlos shoved up from his chair so fast the legs scraped against the tile, “I have to go.”

DJ’s face dropped. “But you just got here, Dad.”

Carlos let out a long-suffering sigh, straightening his suit like being here was the biggest inconvenience of his life. “You know I can’t stay long.”

Anthony muttered something under his breath, just low enough to go unnoticed by DJ.

But I heard it.

“Pussy.”

I shot him a look, but he barely registered it before I turned back to Carlos. “Are you serious? He’s awake for the first time since—”

“It’s fine,” DJ cut in, his voice too small, too practiced. He pulled his blanket up higher, tucking himself in like he was trying to disappear. “I’m used to it.”

And that? That broke something inside me.

DJ turned his face into his pillow, like he wanted to disappear.

Carlos barely reacted, barely acknowledged the hurt in his own child’s voice. He just shrugged, then turned to DJ with a smirk that made my stomach turn.

Then his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but more like the ghost of one—tight, bitter, laced with venom. His eyes flickered between me and Ant, like he was putting the pieces together, like he finally saw the shift happening right in front of him and hated it.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he said, his voice smooth but dripping with something ugly. Then, after a beat, he added, “You got a new daddy now, huh, DJ? Mommy found somebody to keep the lights on and tuck y’all in at night.”

I inhaled sharply.

Ant’s entire body went still.

And DJ, my baby, just shrank under the weight of it, his fingers curling into the blanket like he was trying not to show how deep that cut went.

"Carlos!", His name tore from my throat before I could stop it, my voice sharp, cutting.

He turned, eyes narrowing, that same smug arrogance I’d hated since the day I met him curling at the edges of his mouth.

Carlos’ voice cut through the room like a blade, sharp and reckless. “What?” he shot back, stepping forward like he was itching for a fight. His eyes were wild, his stance shifting as his anger swelled. “Huh? You got everything figured out, planning shit out with your friend—” he curled his fingers in air quotes, his lip curling in disgust—"like I’m nobody? Like I don’t exist?”

“She don’t need you to make no decisions about her son,” Anthony said, his voice calm but loaded, like a gun cocked and ready.

Carlos barked out a laugh, bitter and biting. “He’s my son too!” he yelled, chest heaving.

“I couldn’t tell.”

Anthony didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t have to. But the way he said it? It sliced through Carlos like a hot knife through butter. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his presence alone enough to make the tension in the room snap tight.

Carlos’ face twisted, fury darkening his features. His fists clenched at his sides. "Fuck you! You’re not his father. You’re just somebody his mom is f—"

I jumped up before he could finish, shoving myself between them, my pulse hammering in my ears.

“Carlos, stop!” I snapped, my voice breaking through the heat, but it barely slowed him down.

“I’m tired of your shit, Angelina!” Carlos roared, his face inches from mine, spit flying.

Anthony moved before I could react. One second, he was standing behind me, the next, he was up in Carlos’ face, his body tensed like a coiled spring, rage simmering just beneath the surface.

Carlos flinched, just slightly, but I caught it.

“What’d I say about raising your voice at her?” Anthony’s voice was low. Deadly. A promise.

Carlos’ bravado flickered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

Mr. Harris was on Anthony in a second, his hand clamping down on his son’s shoulder, grounding him just in time before the situation exploded. “Not here, son,” Mr. Harris warned, his tone firm but quiet, a thread of authority weaving through his words.

Carlos, still breathing heavy, straightened his tie, slow and deliberate—like the whole thing was beneath him. Like he wasn’t standing in a room full of people who saw him for exactly what he was.

His lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like a sneer. Then, he looked right at me.

“And if you think you’re gonna have my son around this animal—”

He jabbed a finger in Anthony’s direction, his voice dripping with venom, each syllable a calculated strike meant to cut deep.

“—you got another thing coming.”

The air in the room shifted.

It wasn’t just tense anymore. It was lethal.

Anthony’s entire body went still. His breathing slowed, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles going white. His jaw locked so hard I could hear his teeth grinding.

Mr. Harris’ grip on his son’s shoulder tightened.

Carlos had no idea what he’d just done.

Anthony tilted his head, slow, deliberate, like he was assessing something rotting in front of him. He didn’t lunge. Didn’t take a single step forward.

But the shift in his energy alone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Say that shit again," he murmured, his voice too even. Too calm.

Carlos swallowed, his throat bobbing hard.

But his pride was a stubborn thing, a disease he refused to shake. He held his ground, his jaw tight, even as the tension crackled around him like live wire.

I stepped in before things could go left, planting myself in front of Ant. My pulse pounded in my ears, but my voice stayed steady.

“Carlos, you need to leave.”

My hands were shaking.

I was shaking.

Not from fear—that left a long time ago.

But from exhaustion. From anger. From the weight of everything piling on top of me all at once.

Carlos scoffed, but he didn’t argue. Just adjusted his suit, barely sparing DJ a glance before turning for the door.

“I was already on my way out,” he tossed over his shoulder, like it was some kind of promise.

No one responded.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room quiet except for the steady beep of the monitors and the rustling of DJ pulling his blanket up over his face.

I exhaled, slow and deep, pressing my fingers against my temples, willing away the tension pounding in my skull. My eyes flickered to DJ, his little face tight with emotion, his body curled into himself.

I bent down and wrapped my arms around him.

“I’m sorry you had to hear and see that,” I murmured, trying to shield him as best I could.

He clung to me, small hands gripping the back of my shirt. “It’s okay, Mommy. I know you don’t want me to know, but I know.” His voice was quiet, hesitant. “Daddy talks to you like that a lot. Mean. Shouting.”

The words cracked something deep inside my chest.

DJ pulled back slightly, eyes flickering with worry. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. “No, baby,” I said firmly. “You didn’t say or do anything wrong. Your daddy is just having a bad day.”

Behind me, I heard Anthony suck his teeth, sharp and disbelieving.

I didn’t turn around.

“No, baby,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Your daddy is just having a bad day.”

Behind me, I heard Anthony suck his teeth, the sharp sound slicing through the already thick tension.

I didn’t turn around.

“Anthony, I need to talk to you in the hallway,” I said, still holding my son close before letting him go and walking out, still trying to keep my voice even. I didn’t wait to see if he’d follow—I knew he would.

The second we stepped out, he scanned the hallway, his eyes sweeping the space like he was daring Carlos to still be standing there.

“I’m sorry,” he said before I could even open my mouth.

“Anthony, you can’t do that… not in front of DJ,” I pleaded, barely holding onto my own frustration. “You know my ex is gonna make hell for me now.” My voice cracked at the edges. “You don’t know Carlos like I do.”

“Man, fuck Carlos.” His voice was low but sharp, carrying the kind of weight that burned. “He can’t do shit to you no more.”

I exhaled hard, shaking my head. “He’s the father of my son—”

“Barely.” Anthony’s voice was damn near a growl, his eyes dark with anger. “What the fuck, Angel? His kid was laid up in a hospital bed for weeks, and when he finally wakes up, Carlos gives him what? Five minutes? That ain’t no father.”

His words stung, not because he was wrong, but because he was too right. And Anthony wasn’t done.

“I’ve been keeping my cool, but I know what he’s done to you. I know how he’s treated you. Still treats you. I see how he treats DJ, like he’s some obligation he can check in on when it’s convenient.” His chest was rising and falling too fast. “And I’m supposed to sit there and act like that’s normal? Like that’s okay?”

He was pacing now, running a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose like he was holding something violent back.

“Well, I can’t,” he bit out. “And I won’t.”

I took a step closer, lowering my voice. “Anthony, please, I just need you to be calm.”

His jaw tightened, his breathing shallow. His fists were still balled at his sides, his body wound tight like a man trying too hard to keep himself from breaking something. From breaking someone.

“You don’t get it, Angel.” His voice was quieter now, but the intensity hadn’t faded—it had deepened. “I am calm.”

He stepped closer, towering over me, his body radiating so much heat I could feel it against my skin.

"But that motherfucker keep playing with you, with DJ?” He tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping to something lethal. “He gon’ see me when I ain’t."

A shiver rolled down my spine because I knew.

I knew he meant it.

I knew he was barely hanging onto his restraint by a thread.

And I knew the only thing stopping him from fully losing it was me standing in front of him, looking at him like I could pull him back.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I reached up and pressed my forehead against his.

And for the first time since we stepped out into that hallway, Anthony exhaled.

"I tried to be good in front of DJ," he murmured, voice low, rough with restraint. "I’ll do better next time."

"That’s all I’m asking for." My voice barely carried, searching his face.

He let out a long breath, the weight of it pressing against my skin. Then, his eyes opened, burning into mine.

"Can I kiss you since we’re not in front of him?"

I didn’t answer. Just smiled. That was all he needed.

His lips found mine, slow but deep, like he’d been holding his breath for too long and I was the first gulp of air. He kissed me like he needed me. Like he had to have me.

And I let him, melting into the warmth of his hands as they slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

"I’m sorry," he breathed between kisses, his forehead resting against mine. "I’m sorry."

Again and again, like an apology could erase every scar life had left on me.

I didn’t pull away. Didn’t tell him he didn’t have to carry whatever guilt was weighing on him.

I just let him hold me.

Let myself be held.

Just for a little while.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe through the mess of emotions curling tight in my chest.

"His words mean nothing, right?" Anthony's voice was softer now, but I could hear the urgency beneath it, feel the weight of what he was really asking me. "You and DJ will be staying with me like we talked about, right?"

"Of course," I said, the words coming out a little shaky, but still sure. I tried to laugh it off, but the sound barely made it past my lips. "Carlos did all of that, but he would never ask for custody of Derek. He wouldn’t be a father to him—Blithe would have his head, and she’s not gonna take care of my son."

My voice softened, the weight of it pressing down on me. "I fear he’ll never know his brothers and sisters. But this… this is the mess I put him in."

Anthony’s hand found my waist, grounding me. His touch was steady, strong, full of everything I didn’t know I needed in that moment.

"Carlos did this. Not you," he said, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet, firm but full of quiet reassurance. "He’s the one dropping the ball. He’s the one coming up in here like he runs shit, like he even gives a fuck. And if, for some reason, he wants to take this shit to court? I’ll fight with you. You know that, right? Whatever I gotta do to keep y’all comfortable and safe, I will do it."

The lump in my throat was thick now, heavy with emotion I wasn’t ready to unpack. I opened my mouth, but before I could even find the words, a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“All right, secret lovebirds,” Mr. Harris called, stepping into view with a knowing smirk, making my heart nearly jump out of my chest.

I took a quick step back from Anthony, but his grip on my waist didn’t fully drop, his fingers still lingering there, grounding me.

Mr. Harris just chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go find my wife and get out of here. But tomorrow?” He shot a look between the two of us, full of something knowing, something final. “We’re staying, and you two gotta go.”

My breath caught, my heart racing for a whole different reason now. I glanced at Anthony, but he was already looking at me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“A’ight, Pop. Thanks for coming,” Anthony said, releasing me to hug his dad.

Mr. Harris clapped him on the back before leaning in, voice low but not low enough that I didn’t catch it. “And I know Carlton or whatever the fuck his name is ain’t shit, but keep it together in front of the boy. He don’t need to be in grown folks' business. He don’t need an ounce of stress.”

Anthony gritted his teeth. “Working on it,” he muttered.

Mr. Harris gave him a knowing look, then turned to me, pulling me into a warm hug. It caught me off guard, but I melted into it before he released me and began walking away.

Anthony’s hand rested at the small of my back as we stepped back into the room, his touch grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. The tension from the hallway still lingered in my chest, but as soon as DJ looked up at us, his wide grin cutting through the heaviness, I forced myself to let it go.

Anthony didn’t miss a beat. He clapped his hands together, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for battle. “Alright, who’s ready to get their butt whooped in Uno?”

DJ sat up a little straighter, his competitive streak flaring instantly. “Can’t whoop me,” he said, puffing up like he already had the winning hand. “Maybe her.”

I scoffed, walking over to adjust DJ’s bed, raising it slightly so he could sit up more comfortably. “Oh, you really gon’ stop frontin’ on my Uno skills.”

Anthony smirked, shaking his head as he grabbed the removable table and pulled it over, locking it into place at the foot of DJ’s bed. “We gon’ see.” He pulled out the deck of Uno cards like he carried them on him at all times, setting them on the table like we were about to play for high stakes.

DJ grinned as he flexed his fingers dramatically. “Just don’t be mad when I hit y’all with that Draw Four.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” DJ shot back, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Anthony chuckled as he shuffled the cards with smooth, practiced movements. “Man, y’all both about to get worked.”

DJ’s fingers twitched as he reached for his cards, his movements a little slower than usual, but determined. Anthony noticed, subtly shifting the deck closer so DJ wouldn’t have to stretch as much.

The room settled into an easy rhythm—laughter mixing with playful trash talk, the snap of cards hitting the table breaking up the silence. The energy was lighter, softer, a welcome contrast to everything that had happened before.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, even with the chaos waiting just outside this hospital room, I let myself breathe.

Let myself exist in this moment.

Let myself believe, just for a little while, that we were okay.

Mr. Harris hadn’t been bluffing. The moment DJ was settled, he sent me and Anthony out like we were kids in his way.

Anthony didn’t argue. He had the perfect excuse. Bishop was now engaged, and tonight was a celebration.

The guys had something planned, and Anthony made sure I had no reason to say no. He handed me his black card that morning, pressed a kiss to my forehead like it was a command, and sent me off with Niecey—who barely let me breathe before taking the wheel.

And from the moment she picked me up, it was a wrap.

We tore through store after store, Niecey tossing dresses over the fitting room door, her laughter echoing through boutiques while I fumbled with zippers and price tags.

"Anthony wouldn’t care," she said, shoving another designer purse at me. "Matter fact, he’d be pissed if you didn’t go all out."

So I let her push me.

Let her talk me into this dress.

Let her plant me in a high chair at a makeup counter while a woman with a beat so flawless it looked airbrushed painted my face. She swiped rich browns and golds across my lids, traced my lips with the perfect nude gloss, dusted something across my cheekbones that made my skin glow.

I let her talk me into straightening my hair, too. The first time in forever. The silky strands framed my face perfectly, cascading down my back like I belonged in one of those high-end salons I never thought twice about walking past.

Then, the nails. The red-bottomed heels. The little YSL purse she insisted I get.

And now, standing in front of the mirror, I wasn’t sure why I’d agreed. This was too much.

The black silk clung to me, sliding over my curves like a second skin. The neckline dipped just enough to make me self-conscious, the hem brushing the middle of my thighs like it was daring me to pull it down.

And the heels?

God help me.

I took a careful step, gripping the dresser like my life depended on it. If I twisted my ankle before I even made it out the door, Niecey would never let me live it down.

I exhaled, smoothing my hands over my hips, staring at my reflection like she was someone else.

Not just because of the dress.

Because she, me, I looked… different.

Lighter. Less weighed down.

Anthony was changing me.

And I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing… or something I should be scared of.

Knock. Knock.

"Pretty girl, we’re gonna be late," Anthony’s voice carried through the door, deep, smooth, laced with something I didn’t have time to unpack.

I let out a deep sigh, took one last look in the mirror, grabbed my purse, and stepped out.

“Oh good, you’re ready,” Anthony said, buttoning his sleeves as I stepped out. “We can—”

His voice cut off when he looked up at me.

His hands stilled.

His eyes traveled over me, slow and deliberate.

He hadn’t been home when I got back, so he hadn’t seen my hair, my makeup—any of it. And now, he was just staring.

The air in the room thickened.

I shifted under his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of my body in this dress. The way it hugged my curves, the way the heels made my legs look longer. My skin tingled, hot beneath his scrutiny.

Say something.

“I look okay?” I asked, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

Anthony didn’t answer right away.

His gaze dragged over me, from the sleek fall of my hair to the curve of my hips, down to my legs—and then back up, slow as hell, like he was committing this moment to memory.

The air between us shifted.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, his jaw clenching like he was trying to check himself before he spoke.

"You look…" He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, his voice lower when he finally found it. "You look dangerous."

Heat bloomed in my chest, creeping up my neck. “Shut up.”

"I’m serious." He took a slow step forward, his cologne wrapping around me before he even touched me. His fingers grazed my wrist, featherlight. "You really expect me to walk into this dinner and focus when you look like this?"

Oh my gosh! Was he flirting with me?

A small, nervous laugh escaped me. I looked away. “Niecey convinced me.”

"Remind me to thank her," he muttered, more to himself than to me as he continued to stare.

My breath hitched as his fingers trailed up my arm, his touch deliberate. Claiming. My skin tingled where he brushed against it, and when I looked up, his eyes had darkened—like he wanted to say something, do something, but knew better.

His voice came low, thick with restraint.

"Angel, I know I said we’d take this at your pace, but please tell me you’ll let me please you tonight. Even if we don’t go further than we did before."

My knees nearly buckled.

Images of him between my legs flashed through my mind—the heat of his mouth, the slow drag of his tongue, the way his fingers filled me, worked me, ruined me.

I had been thinking about it every single day.

I swallowed hard.

Be brave. You’re a grown-ass woman. It’s okay to have desires.

“I want you to please me tonight,” I whispered.

Anthony tilted his head slightly, his gaze locked onto mine, fingers still firm against my jaw.

"Good," he murmured. His thumb brushed over my lips, slow, deliberate. Testing me.

“‘Cause when we get home,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, rich and smooth like silk, rough like gravel, dripping with intent, “I need you to ride my face in that dress… and those heels.”

His fingers ghosted over my hip, barely touching me, but enough to make me throb.

"Want you above me," he continued, his gaze hooded, heavy with heat. "Want those hands in my hair, those thighs squeezing around my head while I take my time with you." His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, eyes never leaving mine. "Taste you. Wreck you. Make you come on my tongue over and over ‘til you can’t even think about standing in those pretty little shoes."

My breath caught.

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips, like he could smell what his words were doing to me.

Then, just like that, he stepped back, adjusting his cuffs like he hadn’t just shattered every functioning thought in my head.

Turning on his heel, he strode toward the door, all confidence, all control, those long strides eating up the space between him and the night ahead.

“Let’s go.”

A command. Not a request.

And like a damn fool—like some giddy little girl who didn’t know better—I ran right behind him.

The back entrance of the restaurant was all polished steel and the sharp scent of sizzling butter, garlic, and something rich simmering in a pot. The air buzzed with the kind of controlled chaos only a real kitchen had—orders being called, flames flaring, plates landing on counters with quick, practiced hands.

And yet, through all that movement, all that focus, they still noticed him.

Chefs, servers, line cooks—they all recognized Anthony. Nods of acknowledgment, quiet "What’s up, man?" slipping through the rush, like he wasn’t just a guest but someone they knew. Someone they respected.

A man in a crisp black chef’s coat strode toward us, his diamonds flashing under the warm lights. Tall, light-skinned, confident as hell.

Anthony’s grip on my hand stayed firm as he dapped him up.

“Chef Dillion,” Anthony greeted, his voice easy, familiar. Not just a business connection. Something deeper. “Appreciate you accommodating us tonight.”

Dillion grinned, his diamonds catching the light as he shook his head. “Anything for the Harris’. You already know.” His tone was smooth, but there was something genuine underneath it. Then, with a chuckle, he added, “Man, when you talk to D, tell him he really shut The Jubilee down. Can’t believe he came back to lil’ ol’ Jupiter and performed.”

Anthony smirked, shaking his head like he already knew the answer. “You know what that was really about.”

Dillion let out a scoff, his expression knowing. “That man loved her his whole damn life.” He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Y’all Harris men don’t play ‘bout your women. That I know.”

Anthony’s grip on my hand tightened for just a second. Subtle. Intentional. Then, just as quickly, he cleared his throat, his expression unreadable as he glanced at me.

Dillon’s smirk deepened, his gaze flicking between us like he was piecing something together.

“Speaking of… you gon’ introduce me to your lady or…?”

His lady?

My stomach flipped.

Anthony didn’t correct him. Didn’t even hesitate. He just chuckled, turning fully toward me, his tone casual, easy.

“Yeah. This is Angel.”

Dillon’s attention landed on me, his expression shifting slightly as he took me in. “Nice to meet you, Angel.”

I swallowed, managing a small smile as I shook his hand, but my mind was still reeling.

His lady.

He still hadn’t corrected him. Anthony, say something.

“Angel, this is Chef Dillion—owner and head chef here at Capa Dillion. Also, my cousin’s best friend,” Anthony added, his voice laced with something undeniable.

Dillion’s gaze lingered as if taking full stock of me before his smirk returned. “First time here?”

I nodded, glancing around.

Even just from the kitchen alone—the gleaming stainless steel, the sharp efficiency, the way chefs moved like pieces in a perfectly choreographed dance—I could tell this place was top-tier. Everything ran with precision, control. I could only imagine what the dining room looked like.

Dillion flicked his gaze to Anthony.

Anthony smirked back, something unspoken passing between them.

Whatever it was made Dillon chuckle under his breath before shaking his head, like he knew something I didn’t.

And just like that, I felt out of place.

Like maybe he could see through all of this—the labels, the makeup, the styled hair—to what I really was.

Just a girl from a trailer park.

The thought sank into my chest, heavier than it should’ve been. And then—Anthony kissed my forehead. Soft. Reassuring. Like he was telling me stop that shit. Like he knew exactly where my mind had gone and wasn’t about to let me sit there.

Dillon caught the moment, his grin widening. “Hope this place is up to your standards, Angel.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking off my nerves. “I’m sure it will be.”

“I’ll let Raymond continue escorting you to your private room,” Dillon said, his eyes still lingering on Anthony for just a second longer before stepping away, disappearing back into the controlled chaos of his kitchen.

We followed Raymond through the restaurant, past tables set with crisp white linens and chandeliers casting a soft golden glow, until we reached a private room. The second we stepped inside, the energy hit me—warm, loud, joyful.

Laughter. Hugs. The kind of welcome that made it feel like I’d belonged here all along.

“How you late to my shit when you the one who organized it?” Bishop grinned, pushing up from his chair as he pulled Anthony into a hug.

“My bad, bro,” Anthony said, embracing him back.

Bishop turned to me next, his grin still wide as he pulled me in too. “Glad you made it.”

One by one, I was wrapped up in greetings—hugs from the guys, from Niecey, who squeezed me like we were long-lost sisters. Anthony dapped up his boys and hugged Niecey back before we finally settled in, the air still buzzing with so much love that I almost forgot my nerves.

And then, she walked in.

A woman so stunning, she changed the energy of the entire damn room.

Tall, poised, effortlessly elegant—her presence was big in a way that matched Bishop’s perfectly. I didn’t know their history, but looking at them, I didn’t have to. They just fit.

“Angel,” Bishop said, gently taking my hand and leading me toward her. “This is my fiancée, Emery Beaumont. Baby, this is Anthony’s… uhhh—”

Deshawn chuckled.

“Anthony’s Angel,” Niecey smirked from her seat.

Anthony’s Angel.

Heat crept up my neck, but I forced myself to focus as Emery’s dark eyes locked onto mine, a warm smile stretching across her flawless face.

“Angel, so nice to meet you,” she said, reaching out her hand. Her voice was smooth, polished. Effortlessly refined.

I took it, hoping she didn’t notice how soft my grip was compared to hers. Emery Beaumont. As in Beaumont, the family that owned damn near everything the sun touched in Westonberry? Jesus.

I was practically in a room with royalty.

“You’re so gorgeous,” she added, tilting her head slightly. “Have we met before? You look so familiar.”

I hesitated. Met? No. There was no way. This woman was wealthy, polished in a way that came from generations of money. Me? I was a girl from a trailer park who had spent more time surviving than being seen.

“I don’t believe we have, but thank you for allowing me to be here to celebrate your engagement,” I said, keeping my smile polite.

That’s when she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers, flashing a massive ring that could blind a person if the light hit it just right.

“Ahhh!” she squealed, practically vibrating with excitement.

I laughed, “Whoa! Bishop!” I nudged him, wide-eyed.

Bishop shrugged, but the blush creeping up his neck gave him away. “Only the best for Emery.”

Damn.

This wasn’t just a ring.

This was a statement.

And from the way Emery glowed, looking between Bishop and the life she was stepping into, I knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Once we all got settled in we had a lavish dinner, a five-course masterpiece served in a private dining room that felt like something straight out of a movie.

The space was warm yet opulent, wrapped in deep mahogany wood with dim, golden lighting that made everything glow. A long, elegantly set table stretched across the room, dressed in pristine white linen and framed by plush high-backed chairs. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting soft flickers of light against the mirrored walls, making the room feel both intimate and endless.

A delicate floral arrangement—white roses, deep red calla lilies, and sprigs of eucalyptus—ran down the center of the table, filling the air with the faintest trace of something fresh and luxurious. The silverware gleamed under the candlelight, and the wine glasses were so thin and perfect, I was almost scared to touch them.

And then, the food. Five courses, each more decadent than the last.

We started with a butternut squash bisque, velvety smooth and topped with a drizzle of crème fraîche and toasted pepitas that added the perfect crunch. The warmth of it settled in my chest like a hug.

Next came a tuna tartare, fresh and bright, stacked atop creamy avocado and crisp wonton chips, kissed with just the right amount of citrus to make every bite feel like it melted on my tongue.

For the third course, they brought out lobster risotto, the grains perfectly tender, rich with saffron and parmesan, the lobster meat sweet and buttery. Every bite felt like something I was never supposed to experience—something that existed in a world far from where I came from.

Then, the main course—a perfectly seared filet mignon, resting on a bed of truffle mashed potatoes, finished with a deep, glossy red wine reduction that made my eyes roll back with the first taste. Paired with crisp haricots verts, it was a plate straight out of a dream.

By the time dessert arrived—a dark chocolate soufflé, warm and airy, served with a side of house-made vanilla bean ice cream—I was sure nothing could top this meal. The first bite of the soufflé cracked slightly, revealing the molten center inside, the deep cocoa flavor balanced beautifully against the smooth, cold ice cream.

I leaned back in my chair, pressing a hand to my stomach as laughter and conversation swirled around me, warm and full. Everything about this night—the food, the company, the undeniable sense of belonging—felt surreal.

Every day with Anthony felt like a dream, but tonight was next level.

I felt like I was living inside something I had only ever imagined.

DJ and I treat ourselves to Ruby’s, a little diner in Westonberry, on the rare occasions I had a little extra money. That was our luxury. A burger, maybe a slice of pie if we could swing it.

And now, here I was.

In a restaurant I never would have dreamed of stepping into months ago, dining on food I couldn’t even pronounce properly, with a man whose left hand barely left my right thigh under the table as we dined with his friends. His people. And somehow, now my people too.

I was included in this moment, this special occasion, like I had always been meant to be here.

“You okay?” Anthony’s voice was low, his breath warm as he leaned in close to my ear.

I turned my head slightly, catching the faintest smirk on his lips.

“I’m stuffed,” I whispered back, my smile lazy, content.

His fingers flexed against my thigh, slow, deliberate. Possesive. A claim.

“Me too,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, meant only for me. Then, with that damn smirk that always meant trouble, he leaned in just a fraction closer. “But I’m still looking forward to eating that sixth course when we get home.”

The words dripped from his lips like honey, thick with suggestion, laced with intent. He didn’t need to say more—I felt it in the way his grip tightened, in the way his gaze flickered to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

Then, as if he hadn’t just set every nerve in my body on edge, he lifted his wine glass, taking a slow, calculated sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.

The bastard winked.

And just like that, my body went up in flames.

Jesus.

Heat coiled deep in my belly, spreading like a slow burn. I pressed my thighs together instinctively.

Anthony chuckled under his breath, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he felt it too.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom,” I gulped, pushing back from the table.

Anthony’s eyes flickered to mine, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth like he knew exactly why I needed a moment. But he let me go, taking another slow sip of his wine, unchallenged, unbothered.

Thankfully, the restroom was just outside the private dining room. Once I was done, I stood at the sink, washing my hands, the warm water grounding me. I looked up, catching my own reflection in the mirror..

"Mommy smiles more."

DJ’s little voice echoed in my head, the words he’d said to Carlos lingering, settling deep in my chest. He was right. Anthony was healing me from the inside out.

I let myself smile, just a little, before tossing the paper towel in the trash. As I adjusted my dress, smoothing my hands over the fabric, the door opened behind me.

Someone walked in.

And then just stood there.

I glanced to the side, catching her reflection in the mirror. She was staring at me. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly. Just looking.

Like she was trying to place me.

“That is you,” she said suddenly.

I blinked, turning to face her fully. “Me?”

Tall. Model-like. A badass blonde bob that framed her face perfectly. She looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine. My mind scrambled, trying to remember if I had seen her before. This was the second time tonight someone thought they knew me when I was sure they didn’t.

“Yeah, you,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Your hair is different, and you don’t have your raggedy clothes on… but it’s you.”

The words hit like a slap. I took a small step back, taken aback. Then she said it.

"You clean my grandma’s house." she said.

“I—” I started, my mouth going dry.

Her eyes dragged over me, slow and assessing. Calculating.

"Yeah," she mused, tilting her head slightly. "You used to come in once a week. Always quiet, always out of the way. But then you just... stopped showing up. Very unprofessional."

She let out a breathy, almost amused laugh.

"Now I know why. You hit a new lick." she smiled.

My stomach tightened.

What?

I blinked, my pulse ticking up, but she just smirked, shaking her head like she was putting pieces together. Like she had it all figured out.

"Damn," she muttered. "This is wild."

I hated it. I hated the way she was looking at me now, like I was some kind of before and after picture. Like she was running the numbers in her head, trying to calculate the jump. Trying to make sense of how the girl scrubbing her grandmother’s baseboards ended up here at Capa Dillion.

I squared my shoulders, but the weight of her gaze made my skin prickle. She thought she had me figured out. I stiffened, the heat in my body turning sharp, curling hot and tight in my throat like a swallowed flame.

She was still staring, eyes flicking over me like she was putting the pieces together, like I was a damn puzzle she was determined to solve.

“I didn’t recognize you at first when I saw you walk in with him,” she continued, her tone light but dripping with something else. Something edged. Something meant to cut. “But now?" She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth curling into something between curiosity and pure satisfaction. “Yeah, it’s you.”

Then, she let out a small laugh, shaking her head like she had already figured me out.

“Damn. He cleaned you up real nice. Red bottoms.”

My pulse kicked up. My stomach flipped.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you think you know about me, but I’m done with this conversation.”

She just chuckled, like my reaction was expected, like she had been waiting for it.

“Anthony really loves a project,” she mused, laughing under her breath as she flicked her nails which is when I noticed that she had a wedding ring on.

Her eyes dragged over me again, like she was peeling back every layer I’d put on tonight.

The sleek hair. The designer dress. The makeup. The heels.

All of it.

“You’re the new toy,” she said, pointing at me with a perfectly manicured finger.

Toy.

“He bought you all this shit, huh? Upgraded you?” she asked.

Her smirk deepened, like she had just confirmed a suspicion. Like she thought she knew exactly what I was. Like I wasn’t even standing in front of her—just another version of some girl she’d already seen before.

Fuck that.

“Listen, lady—”

"Lady?" She scoffed, cutting me off, her eyes flashing with something sharp, mean. "How old are you anyway? He went and got himself a young bitch, huh?"

My stomach twisted, heat flaring behind my ribs.

What the hell was this woman’s problem? I didn’t even know her. And yeah, maybe I cleaned her grandmother’s house, but that sure as hell didn’t give her the right to disrespect me. I exhaled sharply, already over this entire conversation.

“I don’t know you, and I don’t owe you any explanation—” I began.

She smirked, tilting her head slightly to cut me off. “He’ll be tired of you soon. I hope you know that. He knows you only want him because of his brother and his money.”

My eyes narrowed.

“I don’t want anything from Anthony,” I said, voice steady. “He’s my friend.”

Her smirk twisted into something cruel.

“He’s my friend,” she sneered, dragging the word out like it was something filthy. “Girl, cut the innocent act. Is that how you got him to move you into his house? Playing all sweet and helpless?” She folded her arms, lips curling as she stepped closer, her perfume thick and suffocating.

“Where did he even meet you? Habitat for Humanity or some shit?” She let out a sharp, fake laugh, twisting her neck like she was really trying to piece it together. “Did they run out of houses, so now he’s letting you stay with him temporarily? You some kind of charity case, huh? Trying to upgrade from his guest room to his bed?”

I stiffened, my nails digging into my palms.

But the worst part? The part that made my stomach twist?

How the hell did she know where I lived? That my things were in his house?

She stepped even closer, so close I could see the smug satisfaction in her eyes, the way she was enjoying this.

“You little gold-digging TikTok bitches,” she scoffed, giving me a slow once-over, her tone drenched in contempt. “‘Day in the life of a stay-at-home girlfriend’ bullshit. Y’all love to play pretend until it’s time to actually be somebody. But I see you. And I know exactly what you’re doing.”

She kept talking, her voice a venomous hum in the background as my mind raced, desperately trying to piece together the only possibility that made sense.

Anthony had a woman in the house.

When?

While I was at the hospital?

It shouldn’t have mattered. He wasn’t my boyfriend. It was his house—he could do what he wanted.

But still.

Something sharp twisted in my chest.

Because all Anthony ever talked about was me and DJ.

So who was she?

She must’ve seen it—the flicker of doubt, the way my face betrayed me—because her smirk stretched wider, her head tilting like she was savoring every second of this.

“Oh, what?” she drawled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You thought you were the only one? That he made you special? That’s cute.”

I swallowed hard, my nails digging into my palms.

“He’s good at that, you know.” She took another step closer, her presence suffocating. “Making women feel like they mean something. Making them believe they’re different. Like they’re his.”

I forced myself to breathe, to stand my ground, even as her words curled around my insecurities like smoke, slipping into the cracks of my resolve.

“One thing you need to learn about Anthony Harris?” Her voice dropped lower, the amusement fading just enough for something colder to settle in. “He don’t love anybody.”

The words landed heavy, making my pulse stutter.

She gave me a slow, deliberate once-over, like she was inspecting something pathetic. Something broken.

“What he does love is projects,” she continued, lips curling. “Fixing things. Fixing people.”

Her smirk sharpened into something cruel.

“Captain Save-Everybody. Including hoes, apparently.”

My stomach dropped.

“Look at you,” she said, gesturing at me, her tone thick with pity that wasn’t real. “You really thought you weren’t just another stray, huh? That you weren’t just another lost little thing he found, dusted off, and kept around until the next project comes along?”

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached, my heart slamming against my ribs.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper, a dagger meant to slip between my ribs and twist.

“You’re temporary,” she breathed, her perfume thick, suffocating. “That’s all you’ll ever be.”

I willed myself not to react. Not to let her see what her words were doing.

But how did she know I lived there? That my things were there?

Had Anthony told her?

He wouldn’t.

Even as my stomach twisted, even as my mind screamed with doubt, I stayed still. Held my ground. Kept my head high.

Because Anthony wasn’t like that.

He wasn’t.

Right?

Suddenly, the bathroom door flew open, slamming so hard against the wall that the mirror rattled. The whole damn room went silent.

Then—

"Before I get to swinging in this fine establishment," Niecey’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade, cutting through the thick tension like butter. "Angel, tell me why this bitch is all in your breathing space."

I barely had time to react before I saw her standing there, arms crossed, eyes locked onto Keisha like she was waiting for an excuse to turn this opulent bathroom into a crime scene.

Keisha barely flinched, just smirked, like she had all the control. "We were just wrapping up a conversation."

"Wrap that shit up somewhere else before I flush that wig down the toilet, bitch." Niecey’s voice was smooth, casual, but drenched in pure, unfiltered disrespect. Like she wasn’t just talking to Keisha—she was talking through her.

Keisha’s smirk twitched, like she was weighing her options.

Wrong move.

Niecy took a sharp step forward, a sudden jerk like she was about to lunge.

The reaction was instant.

Keisha screamed—actually screamed—and stumbled back so fast she damn near tripped over her own designer heels, smacking into the sink with a loud, graceless thud.

I bit my lip so hard to keep from laughing, I almost drew blood.

Niecey just stood there, arms still crossed, like she didn’t even blink. "Yeah, that’s what the fuck I thought."

Keisha’s face twisted, equal parts humiliated and pissed. "Ghetto trash," she spat, gripping the doorknob like she was about to make some kind of grand exit.

Niecy tilted her head, smirking. "Yeah, whatever, Keisha."

The name landed like a slap. They knew each other?

Keisha froze. Her whole body went stiff, her eyes going wide for just a second before narrowing.

Niecy grinned, slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. "Oh yeah, I know who you are. Anthony’s trifling ass ex."

Keisha’s gaze darted between me and Niecy, her mind racing, trying to figure out how the hell she knew that.

"Niecey knows all, hoe." Niecy’s smirk deepened, her nails tapping against her arm. "So unless you want me to call Anthony and my man in here to handle your ass, move the fuck around before I use your face as a toilet."

Keisha’s jaw clenched so tight I swore I heard her teeth grind. She wanted to say something. I felt it. But she didn’t.

Instead, she turned back to me, her lips curling, like she wanted to leave me with some final warning, some last little dig.

I held her stare.

She huffed. Then, with a sharp flick of her hair, she yanked open the door and walked out without another word.

"Yeah, bitch. Keep walking," Niecey called after her before turning back to me with a satisfied smirk.

Once she was gone, Niecey turned to me, hands on her hips. “Girl, what the hell was that about? I told you, whenever you need me to beat a bitch’s ass, call me.”

I exhaled, rubbing my temples. “My phone is in my purse at the table.”

“Then send a damn bat signal or something next time. Lucky my Spidey senses went off.” She paused. “Actually, I just had to pee real bad.”

I let out a weak laugh, but Niecy wasn’t letting it go. “What she say to you?”

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the sink’s edge. “She knows where my stuff is at Anthony’s.” My voice wavered, and I hated it. “How would she know that, Niecey? How would she even—” I swallowed, forcing the lump in my throat down. “He’s not correcting people when they think I’m his girlfriend, but he has his ex at the house? Or is he showing her pictures? Talking to her about me? Why are they even—”

“Hey.” Niecy grabbed my shoulders, grounding me. “I know that bitch was in here getting in your head. She’s a piece of work from what I hear. But whatever’s going on? Let Anthony tell you what it is. Because he’ll tell you the truth—he’s a terrible liar.”

I exhaled hard, shaking my head. “Why would he—”

“Ask him.”

Her tone left no room for argument.

I nodded slowly.

“And if you don’t like his answer and need me to beat his ass—well, sis, you on your own with that one.” She laughed.

I let out a real laugh this time, shaking my head.

Niecy nudged me. “Whatever’s going on, I know he’s got an explanation for it.”

But what could he possibly tell me that would make sense?

And more than that—why was I even mad? Or sad? Or… whatever the hell this was?

It wasn’t just Keisha’s words. It was what they meant. She reminded me of who I was. And more importantly, who I’d still be once this fairytale was over. Once he was done fixing me up.

I tried to shake it off. Tried to act normal as Niecey and I returned to the table. I really did. But as soon as Anthony looked up at me, his sharp eyes scanning my face, I knew he could tell.

And that pissed me off too.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, his hand finding its way back to my thigh.

Too familiar. Too easy. Too much.

"Yeah," I said, removing it.

Anthony's brows pulled together slightly. Not expecting that.

"Angel?"

I picked up my wine glass, taking a slow sip, letting the taste settle on my tongue.

I felt him watching me. Felt it like a weight.

Waiting.

Expecting me to say something.

And I hated that I wanted to look back.

Hated that I wanted reassurance.

That Keisha chick had gotten under my skin, crawled into the deepest, ugliest parts of my insecurities and pressed down hard. She made me feel small, like I had no control over my own life, like she knew things about Anthony—about us—that I didn’t. And maybe she did. Maybe she saw me for exactly what I was.

A stray.

That’s what she called me. And deep down, wasn’t that what I was? No home. No money. No plan. Just floating. Just surviving.

That’s why Anthony wanted me, right?

A project. Something to fix.

“I don’t know what happened in that bathroom, but I need you out your head,” Anthony murmured, his voice low, steady, cutting right through the noise around us.

“Leave me alone, Anthony,” I snapped, just quiet enough that no one else heard.

His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes before his jaw ticked.

A beat of silence.

Then—"We’ll talk when we get home," he said, voice still even, still composed, but there was something final in it.

I didn’t respond. Didn’t look at him.

Just swirled the wine in my glass, watching the deep red catch the candlelight.

But I felt him.

His presence. His unwavering attention.

The tension stretched between us, so thick, so taut, I swore it was vibrating in the air.

Then, just like that, Anthony leaned back in his seat, slipping effortlessly into the conversation, his deep laughter blending into the warmth of the room. The clink of glasses. The teasing, the jokes, the joy.

Everyone was here. Present.

Except me.

Because beneath all of it, beneath the celebration of love, of new beginnings, of family—

Something else was settling between us.

Something unspoken.

Something shifting.

And I had no idea if I was ready for it.