I laughed, bitter. “You want to know the worst part?”
He turned his head slightly.
“I don’t even know what I want. Not really. Not anymore. I think I used to. But now it’s just noise. Silas. The weddings. My name is all over every detail, and none of it feels like mine.”
Still, he said nothing. He waited.
I pushed myself to my feet, the dress swishing around me. I crossed the room, half-blind, and stopped in front of the full-length mirror.
She looked back at me, this curated goddess. Perfect posture, perfect skin. The kind of woman who made other women feel inadequate.
“I built her,” I whispered. “I made her from nothing. From ashes.”
Monte rose, slow and careful, but kept his distance. “She’s not nothing.”
“She’s a mask.”
“She’s you.” His voice had edge now. The kind I rarely heard.
I turned, sharply. “No. She’s who I have to be. To survive. To win. To be trusted. You think I don’t know how this looks? A Black woman planning six billionaire weddings? I have to be perfect. I have to be above reproach. Every second of every day.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” I snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like to be measured in a room just for showing up. To walk on eggshells in heels. To have to smile wider, stand straighter, never need help. Because help makes you look weak. And weakness gets punished.”
Monte stepped forward then. One step. Just one.
“I see you,” he said.
“No, you see the mask.”
He didn’t blink. “No. I see you. Right now. Here. Falling apart in an expensive dress and trying to apologize for it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how to be soft. Not really.”
He closed the distance.
“You don’t have to be.”
My eyes filled. Finally.Finally.
I looked back at the mirror. My shoulders sagged. My hands trembled. The image stared back—beautiful, yes. But tired. Fractured.
“I don’t know who I am if I’m not the one holding everything together,” I whispered.
Monte’s voice came rough this time. Thick. “You’re the woman I trust more than anyone else on this earth. The woman I’d follow without a question.”
He paused. “It’s okay to fall apart.”
That did it. That split something open.
I sagged forward, my face burying in his chest, and he caught me—arms around my back, holding me like I might break and knowing he wouldn’t let me.
“I’m so tired,” I breathed.
“I know.”
“I keep loving the wrong things. The wrong people.”
