She smiled like she’d heard it a thousand times but somehow my version was different. “Thank you. First time here?”
“That obvious?”
“You’ve got that ‘I didn’t know I needed this’ look.” She tilted her head. “Let me guess. Lawyer? Finance?”
“Lawyer.”
“Called it.” She extended her hand. “Lyric.”
“Camille.”
We talked for three hours. She was a model and influencer—had campaigns with major brands and a following that most people would kill for. But the pole dancing was her passion, her meditation, her way of staying connected to her body between shoots and brand deals. The way she talked about movement, about self-expression, about owning her sensuality without apology—that’s what pulled me in.
I didn’t leave her side for the next two years.
Lyric was everything I didn’t know I needed. Soft where I was hard. Creative where I was analytical. She taught me how to slowdown. How to breathe. How to exist outside of billable hours and court dates. How to feel sexy in my own skin. And she was wild.
I loved her completely. Still do.
But then we met Quest.
It was at a charity gala.Some bougie event for a cause neither of us cared about, but the open bar was top shelf and Lyric wanted to people-watch.
He walked in like he owned the place. Because, as I’d later learn, he partially did.
Tall. Dark. Shoulders that filled out his custom suit like it was painted on. He moved through the room with this energy—confident but not cocky. Powerful but not aggressive. Every woman in the room noticed him. Half the men too.
Lyric grabbed my arm. “Who is THAT?”
“I don’t know. But I’m about to find out.”
I didn’t have to. He came to us. She and I sat close enough and kissed a bit. It was clear that we were here together.
He walked over and introduced himself to both of us. He extended his hand. “Quest Banks.”
Banks. As in Banks Reserve. As in one of the wealthiest Black families in DC. My firm had handled some contracts for them. I knew all about that net worth.
I shook his hand. Felt the electricity. Saw Lyric feel it too.
“I’m Camille. This is Lyric.”
“Camille. Lyric.” He said our names like he was tasting them. And that was how it began. From that very first night, he knew how to give us equal yet special attention. Together we shared an Alaska King Size bed and had some of the best sex you couldn’t even imagine.
That was two years ago.
Most men,when they find out you’re with a woman, either fetishize it or run from it. Quest did neither.
He didn’t try to get between us. Didn’t try to make it about him. He pursued us both—equally, intentionally. Took Lyric to the clubs. Took me to art galleries. Took us both to dinners where he listened more than he talked.
When we finally fell into bed together—all three of us—it felt natural. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place.
The world didn’t understand us. Hell, most of our friends didn’t understand us. But we worked. For two years, we worked.
Quest gave us stability. Security. A love that was expansive instead of restrictive.
And I gave him my whole heart.
But things were changing. He was focusing more and more on work. Lyric was so damn materialistic and self centered. And well, I just wanted to be a mom. I sat in my rental car outside the jail, staring at nothing.
