But I didn't. And that was the part that pissed me off the most. Three days, and somehow, despite every reason I had to despise him, my body was betraying me. I was attracted to the man who had taken me from my home, locked me in his world, and told me straight up that he owned me now. It was insane. It was wrong. But it was real. And I had no damn clue how to make it stop.
One night, when I couldn’t sleep, I grabbed the phone off the nightstand and slipped under the blanket like I was doing something dirty. I downloaded a few apps—just to scroll, just to look. A couple messages here and there. Nothing wild. Some old flings, a few strangers. Just distractions to remind myself that he wasn’t the only man alive. That I wasn’t losing my mind. But I got sloppy. The next morning at breakfast, my phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. I kept trying to ignore it, sipping my orange juice like my hands weren’t sweating. But he noticed. Of course he did. Juste reached across the table and snatched the phone up like it belonged to him. Unlocked it without even asking. I watched him scroll—quick—his jaw twitching. Then he slid it back across the table. All the apps were gone.
“Chiana, baeeby…” he said, pushing his plate away and standing up so calm it made my skin crawl. I stood too, on edge, already backing toward the pantry. He didn’t raise his voice, but the way he moved had my heart stuttering.
He cornered me against the pantry door, one hand catching my arm. Firm but not hurting me. “I want you to understand something,” he said, voice low, steady. We were so close his breath touched my lips. “I get real sensitive about my shit. And I consider you that now. My lil shit. On the way to bein’ my lil shit, whateva’ you wanna call it.” His eyes never left mine. “That sneaky social media shit? That ends today.” My chest was rising fast. I was stuck staring at him and found myself nodding in response.
After that he’d started monitoring everything I did, but He'd allow me to talk and text with Amina .He’d introduced himself when he spoke to her. She had heard whispers about the St. Jeans just like I had. Her concern never seemed to be on my safety though. She didn't care to know her only focus was I was living under the same roof as a man she was determined to get me to sleep with , to open up my life as she called it .
Amina:So, what he like?
I rolled my eyes at my phone, already knowing where this was going. I was sitting at Juste's desk, drowning in paperwork, and now I had to deal with this too.
Me:Like a headache.
The typing bubbles popped up immediately.
Amina:That a good headache or a bad one?
I sucked my teeth.
Me:The kind that make you wanna fight. He’s crazy forreal
Amina:Mmhmm. Fight or fuck?
I knew she was gonna say that.
Me: Amina.
Amina:Bitch, don't "Amina" me. I know you. Three days in a house with a fine-ass man? Ain't no way you ain't thinking about it.
I shifted in my seat, glancing toward the door like I expected Juste to be standing there, reading over my damn shoulder. But I was alone. And the truth was? I had been thinking about it. Too much. Too often. But I wasn't about to tell her that.
Me:Bye, Amina.
Amina:Bye nothing. If you don't do it, I will personally dog you for the rest of your life.
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head. I tossed my phone onto the desk, exhaling as I ran a hand through my braids. The problem was... she wasn't wrong. The tension between me and Juste was thick. Too thick. We never talked about it, never acknowledged it, but it was there. Lurking in the stolen glances, in the way my skin heated whenever he was close, in the way he looked at me sometimes—like he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing to me. Like he was waiting for me to stop fighting it. But I couldn't. Wouldn't. Because I knew if I did? It would change everything.
I looked up at the door again, expecting nothing. But this time he was there. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes locked onto me like he had been watching me for longer than I realized. I froze, my fingers tightening around the pen in my hand. He didn't say a word. Just stared. And I stared back. I hated how my gaze dragged over him without my permission, soaking in every damn detail—his sharp jawline, the way it flexed when he was thinking, the deep brown of his skin that caught the light just right, his full lips that sat in that permanent smirk like he always had the upper hand. And the way he stood. Like he knew exactly who the fuck he was. Like dominance was stitched into his DNA. He was calm, composed, but his presence carried weight. The kind of weight that let you know he was in control. Of himself. Of this house. Of me.
I swallowed, straightening in my chair, forcing myself to speak first. "You always just gon' stand in doorways like a damn shadow?" His lips curved slightly, like he was amused. "Noles and Pierre will be here in a few," he said, ignoring my question completely. His voice was deep, smooth, that slow Louisiana drawl curling around his words. "They takin' you shoppin'."
I frowned. "Shopping?" He nodded once. "We got a business meeting tomorrow. Think of it like a formal party—but still business." I lifted an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. "So, I'm just supposed to play dress-up and smile while you handle whatever illegal shit y'all about to do?" His smirk deepened, and I hated how fine that shit looked.
"You gon' do what I tell you to do, Chiana." That low, commanding tone made my stomach tighten. But I wasn't about to let him see that. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "And what if I don't feel like going?" He didn't flinch, didn't even hesitate. "You still haven’t realized you don’t have a choice in any of this huh? ." I rolled my eyes, turning back toward the laptop, like I had a choice in any of this.
Juste pushed off the doorframe, stepping further into the room. His scent hit me first, wrapping around me like a silent warning. I kept my eyes on the screen, pretending like I wasn't hyperaware of him closing the space between us. He stopped beside my chair, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him, his presence suffocating in the best and worst way. Then he leaned down, just a little, his voice dropping low. "Don't make me come get you, Chiana."
A shiver ran down my spine, but I masked it quick, keeping my breath even, my face blank. He pulled back just slightly, but not all the way, still close enough that I could catch the scent of his cologne. Then he hit me with the next demand. "St. Jeans wear black. Find something black. I'll make sure you have jewelry." His tone was smooth but heavy, full of silent authority. He was hovering over me now, his deep eyes locked onto mine, daring me to deny him. To test him. To tell him no.
My lips parted slightly, and for a second, I thought about saying it—about digging my heels in, pushing him just to see what he'd do. But instead, something else came out. "I'm not a St. Jean." My voice was softer than I meant for it to be, but the words carried weight. I wasn't one of them. Didn't belong to his world. Didn't belong to him. His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. Like I had just told him something he knew wasn't true. Like the idea of me not belonging to him was laughable. Like it was only a matter of time before I stopped fighting what we both already felt. "You wearin' black," he murmured, voice smooth, certain.
Then, just as quick as he had closed in on me, he straightened, giving me one last glance before turning to walk out. I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. What the hell was happening to me? Because I was starting to realize something...I wanted to defy him. Not just because I wanted control back. But because I wanted to see what he'd do about it. "They waitin' on you out front." I looked up to see Juste standing in the doorway again, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression.
I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my phone off the desk, and brushed past him without another word. He followed me to the front door, his presence behind me, but I ignored him, stepping outside where my chauffeurs were waiting. Noles and Pierre stood by the truck, looking like two bad-ass kids that had just been told to watch somebody's little sister. Pierre grinned when he saw me. "Look at you, finally comin' outside. We was startin' to think you liked bein' locked up in there." I rolled my eyes. "Y'all ready to go or y'all wanna keep playin'?"
Noles yanked the door open. "Get in, trouble." I climbed in the truck while they talked to Juste for a minute. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but whatever it was made both of them look irritated as hell when they finally slid into the front seats. I smirked. Juste must've given them some kind of don't let her out of your sight speech. Too bad I had other plans. The mall was my intended stop. But before that, I had to work my magic.
