twenty four-Jordin
Three months had passed since the mediation, weeks since the club incident. I was back in Miami and I was still with Ciarán. Our whatever-it-was felt strange, like living in this in-between space that resembled a relationship in every way except for the sex. The no-sex part was driving me crazy. Everything about Ciarán was sexy—the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he looked at me like I was the center of his universe. The chemistry between us was palpable, suffocating.
The only reason I hadn’t initiated anything was Oak. His messages were getting to me. Every voicemail reminded me of the mess I left behind. I knew I should’ve closed that chapter before starting something new with Ciarán.
Pushing away from the soundboard where I’d been for hours trying to write something—anything—I headed to the kitchen. Before I even made it out of the room, I heard Ciarán’s voice thundering through the house.
“Why the fuck would you bring him here?”
My feet moved quickly, and I made it to the front of the house in seconds. Ciarán stood in the center of the living room, his face a mask of fury, with his manager Tyrell standing to the side, shaking his head. And then there was Ezra Lane, the artistI had worked with once, standing about twenty feet away like he owned the room, his cocky smirk making my skin crawl.
Ezra looked like every woman’s R&B fantasy come to life—silky brown skin, a razor-sharp lineup, and a jawline that could cut glass. But his eyes were cold, dead, like he’d left whatever soul he had in some dimly lit VIP room years ago.
I couldn’t stand his ass. He’d tried to corner me in the studio once. I maced him for putting his hands on me, and he got me fired. I sued him and his label because I had recorded the entire thing. I got a nice little six-figure settlement from him. He had other sexual assault cases he’d been paying off since then. It pissed me off that he’d probably never end up in jail because he only targeted Black and Hispanic women. If he had pulled that shit on one of his white groupies, they’d have put his ass under the jail. But this was the way of the world. Black and brown women had to scream twice as loud to get half the justice.
“Ciarán, let me explain—” Tyrell started.
“No,” Ciarán cut him off, his tone sharp enough to slice through steel. “You don’t bring motherfuckers like him here. Ever. Get him out of my house. Now. Fucking bad energy and shit.”
Ezra smirked, crossing his arms. “Relax, Ci. I’m not here to start trouble.”
“Fuck trouble. I thrive on it. What I don’t do is fuck with rapists, nigga,” Ciarán growled, his fists curling at his sides.
The room felt like it might implode from the tension. My heart raced as I stepped forward.
“Ciarán—”
“Don’t start,” he snapped, his eyes cutting to me.
“I wasn’t going to say nothing,” I said quickly. “But you need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” Ciarán’s laugh was dark, humorless. He turned his glare back to Ezra, stepping closer. “Do you know howmuch restraint it’s taking for me not to beat this nigga’s ass right now? I’m calm as fuck!”
Ezra shrugged, his eyes landing on me. “You wouldn’t risk your career over something stupid like her overreacting.”
Ciarán tilted his head, the way he smiled made me take a step back. “My career? You think that’s what’s stopping me? Let me be clear—it’s not. I will kill your ass and then sing at your fucking funeral.”
“Ciarán,” I warned, stepping between them. I placed a hand on his chest, trying to put his focus on me, but his body was taut, coiled like a spring ready to snap.
“Move, Jordin,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving Ezra. Now I wished I had never told him about what happened.
“No,” I said firmly. “He’s not worth it.”
“Listen to her,” Ezra said, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. He was the type who thought his money and fame made him exceptional, and bulletproof.
Ciarán lunged. I threw my arms around him, holding him, knowing he might hurt me trying to get to Ezra.
“Enough!” I planted myself between them, my back to Ciarán's chest, and grabbed his wrists, holding him tight. My focus was on Ezra.
“What the fuck did you tell him, Jordin?” Ezra sneered. “You signed an NDA. You can’t say shit. I’ma sue your ass—and him if he lays a hand on me.”
“That NDA was voided the second you wrote me that check," I shot back. "So you can shut the hell up about suing people. I yelled, my voice echoing. “What are you even doing here, Ezra? What the hell do you want?”
“I want to work with you again,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Despite our… misunderstandings, you’re the best. And I need the best.”
I shook my head violently. “I’m not working with you,” I snapped. “But I’ll finish the song we started, and I’ll send it over. That’s it.”
Ezra’s grin faltered slightly, but he nodded after a beat. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone light, but I could see the anger in his eyes. “You know where to send it.”
