Amiyah’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity pulling her from the edges of sleep. “You mean… from Provocateur?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I don’t want to share that part of me anymore. Not with anyone else.”
They were both silent for a moment, not in shock, not in disagreement, but in admiration. It was a big thing, shedding a skin I’d worn for so long. The Black Dahlia had been my armor, my stage, my sanctuary when the world had taken too much and given too little.
“She saved me,” I whispered, more to myself than to them. “When I didn’t know who Iwas anymore. When I needed control in a world that made me feel powerless.”
Amiyah ran her fingers over my stomach, gentle and understanding. “And now you don’t need her in the same way.”
“I need her still,” I said, my voice catching. “But not for everyone. Just for you two. She’s yours now. Yours alone.”
James leaned in, his lips brushing my temple. “Then she’s not a mask anymore. She’s a gift.”
That undid me more than anything else could have. I blinked back the emotion swelling in my chest, nodding against his mouth.
“It means something,” I said. “To give her to you. To say you’re the only ones I trust with every part of me. Even the sharpest ones.”
Amiyah kissed the space over my heart. “Then we’ll keep her safe. We’ll keep you safe.”
The tears that slipped down my cheeks weren’t sad. They were full of release, of peace.
We lay there longer, wrapped in love and sweat and the softest kind of truth. Eventually, I slipped out of bed and lit a few candles around the room, the golden flicker wrapping us in warmth.
I turned the speakers down low, letting Nova Rae’s soft R&B chords fill the space. The kind of music that made everything feel more cinematic, like our lives were finally being scored by something worthy.
James propped himself up on one elbow, watching me with a quiet awe I never grew tired of. “You good, baby?”
I nodded. “Better than good.”
I walked back to the bed and leaned down between them, kissing Amiyah softly, then James.
“There’s one morething I want tonight,” I whispered.
James grinned. “Mistress has more in store?”
“No,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. “Not Mistress. Just me.”
They followed my lead as I moved to the center of the bed. I lay back, legs parted just enough to invite them in.
“I want to be held. I want to feel both of you close. No roles, no commands, just us.”
They came instantly, one on each side, wrapping themselves around me like a second skin.
James kissed my shoulder. “You’ll always be more than enough. Whether you’re commanding or calm. Clothed or bare. We’re not just yours when you lead us, we’re yours when you let us hold you too.”
And that, more than anything, made me feel whole. I didn’t need to prove power anymore. I didn’t need to perform strength. Here, with them, I could just be.
And that was the most liberating thing of all.
Black Dahlia signing off.
AFTERWORD
ASCENSION is more than a story to me; it’s a reflection of my own becoming. Like Calla, and so many other Black women, I know what it feels like to have my power taken, piece by piece, by the expectations of others, by grief, by silence, and by the weight of survival. Writing this book was my act of reclamation.
Through every chapter, I poured in the ache of loss, the trembling of rediscovery, and the unrelenting pursuit of joy that can only come when we decide we are worthy of it. Calla’s journey is mine, and perhaps it’s yours too, the journey of learning to trust softness again, to embrace pleasure without apology, to let love touch the parts of us we once believed were too broken to feel.
I am ASCENSION in human form, flawed, fierce, tender, and still rising.
