A text from Zahara:Thank you. For the recommendation. For the opportunity. I don’t know what to say.
I stared at those words for a long moment, feeling something shift in my chest. Something that felt almost like hope.
I typed back:You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take you to dinner. Celebrate your win.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Finally:Okay.
I smiled despite everything. Despite Vivica and her blackmail. Despite the fact that I was about to dig throughanother man’s life to save someone who’d never saved me. Despite all the darkness I carried.
At least there was one good thing in my life.
One pure thing.
And I wasn’t letting her go.
23
ZAHARA
I sat at my vanity, mascara wand trembling in my hand like I was about to perform surgery instead of just putting on makeup for a man I had no business wanting.
The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked good—I’d give myself that. Dark jeans that hugged my hips and thighs in a way that made me feel like I still had it. A terracotta-colored sweater that clung to my breasts and dipped just low enough to show a hint of cleavage without screaming “I’m trying too hard.” My hair was down, falling in soft waves around my shoulders instead of pulled back in the tired ponytail I wore to work.
I looked like a woman going on a date.
But this wasn’t a date. It was a thank you. That’s all. A simple dinner to show appreciation for the catering hookup that could change my whole life. Professional. Polite. Nothing more.
So why were my hands shaking?
Why had I changed outfits three times before settling on this one?
Why had I shaved places that hadn’t seen a razor in months?
Stop it,I told myself firmly.This is business. You’re thanking him for the recommendation. That’s it.
But my body wasn’t listening to my brain. My pulse was racing. My skin felt too warm. And every time I thought about Prime and those blue eyes, that dangerous smile, the way his body had felt on top of mine when that car almost killed us, heat pooled low between my thighs.
I didn’t want to want him. Wanting led to questions. Questions led to exposure. Exposure led to everything falling apart.
I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not when I was finally building something. Not when Yusef needed stability.
Not when men like Prime—dangerous, complicated, covered in tattoos and secrets—never stayed. They took what they wanted and left wreckage behind.
I’d seen it with my father and his wives. Watched him collect women like trophies, promise them the world, then move on to the next conquest when he got bored. I’d watched my mother break herself trying to be enough for a man who would never be satisfied with just one.
I wasn’t doing that. I wasn’t breaking myself for anyone.
This was just dinner. Just a thank you. Nothing more.
I applied the mascara more precise than usual, trying to convince myself I believed my own lies.
“Z!” Yusef’s voice called from the living room, pulling me out of my spiral. “You almost ready?”
“Almost!” I called back, setting down the mascara.
The piano music stopped. I heard his footsteps padding down the hallway, then a soft knock on my bedroom door.
