And Rashid Muhammad. New money. Street money. Already running half of DC. Younger than Alexander, but didn’t seem it, wearing those bow ties and carrying himself with that Nation of Islam discipline, even though his money came from places no mosque would sanction. Dangerous in a way that made my knees weak.
They were best friends. Had grown up together. Come up together. Alexander’s legitimate business had benefited from Rashid’s… influence… more than once. They were brothers in everything but blood.
And they both wanted me.
For two years, I played them against each other. Let Alexander take me to galas and fundraisers, let him introduce me to the right people, let him show me what legitimate power looked like. Then I’d slip away to Rashid’s bed, let him show me how power really worked—not the kind they taught in textbooks, but the kind that moved through back rooms and unmarked envelopes.
I loved them both. In different ways. Alexander was my future—money, status, a path to everything I’d ever wanted. Rashid was my weakness—that heat, that danger, that feeling of being truly seen by someone just as ruthless as I was underneath.
But Rashid had his hands dirty. Blood on them. Bodies behind him. And I wanted more than being a kingpin’s woman. I wanted legitimacy. I wanted my name on buildings, not police reports.
So I chose Alexander.
I married into the Banks family. Became respectable. Started my political career with my husband’s money and my own ambition. Climbed from city council to state legislature to mayor of Washington, DC.
But I never stopped wanting Rashid.
And he never stopped wanting me.
The affair started six months after my wedding.
I told myself it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. But one moment became a night, and one night became a month, and one month became years. Decades. An entire secret life running parallel to my public one.
Alex never knew. Or if he did, he never said. He was too busy with his own mistresses, his own distractions. Our marriage was a business arrangement dressed up in wedding vows. We both understood that.
But Rashid… Rashid was real.
I helped him over the years. Used my position to smooth things over when his organization ran into trouble. Blocked investigations. Lost paperwork. Made sure the right people looked the other way. It wasn’t hard—half the politicians in DC were on someone’s payroll. I just happened to be on his.
When I threatened Prime with that evidence against Rashid, I knew I’d never actually use it. Never in a million years would I send this man to prison. But Prime didn’t know that. He didn’t know about our history, our love, our decades of secrets.
He just knew I had leverage. And I needed him to do a favor for me.
It worked. Prime destroyed Dante, and I got my divorce. Everyone got what they wanted.
Everyone except Rashid. Who was dying. Who I couldn’t save, no matter how much power I had.
His eyes opened.
Slowly. Like it took everything he had just to lift his lids. But when he saw me, something flickered there. Recognition. Warmth.
“Viv.” His voice was a rasp. A ghost of what it used to be.
“Hey, baby.” I took his hand. It felt like holding paper. “I’m here.”
“Took you… long enough.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Tears burned behind my eyes but I refused to let them fall. Not yet. “I should have come sooner.”
“You’re here now.” He squeezed my hand weakly. “That’s what matters.”
We sat in silence for a while. Just being together. The way we used to after making love, tangled in sheets, not needing words.
“I’m dying, Viv.”
“I know.”
“Doctors say… a few weeks. Maybe less.”
