I made the perfect you in my head.
'Cause physically, you are the blueprint.
But internally, goddamn, you're a mess.
So to stay with you, I had to imagine.
I let my hair blow in the wind with my dark rectangle Dior shades covering my pain while Sabrina sang to me. The engine purred like a symphony of power and freedom.
I finally made it to Prince Valley thirty minutes later.
The muted colors of the mountains surrounded me like a painting—acres of clean land, hills that kissed the sky, and a hazy view of Los Angeles lights twinkled in the distance. It was quiet up here. Peaceful. I wasn’t used to that.
I’d barely been in L.A. outside of fashion shows or quick business. This was different; a whole fairytale duck-off carved into the side of a rich man’s secret.
The gate to the home automatically opened as soon as I pulled up. That made me nervous. Either somebody was inside… or somebody was watching. Either way, this didn’t feel like no Airbnb. This was some real grown, generational wealth-type shit.
I drove through the long circular driveway, lined with palm trees and motion sensor lights, before pulling up to the front of a modern flat estate with panoramic windows and acres of manicured grass wrapping around it.
The house was cold-blooded. No neighbors in sight. Nothing but clean architecture, mountain breeze, and a soft stretch of city glow far beneath us.
I parked and sat still for a second, admiring it all. The silence, the height, and the safety. This was the kind of house a nigga raised his kids in—or his secrets.
The front door opened, and that’s when a tall, dark skinned man stepped out in all black.
“What’s up, Yummi? That’s dope how the doors open by themselves, huh?” he called out as he made his way down the steps. “I’m Marques. I’ll be your security when Mula ain’t around. I got you.”
I’d seen him around Mula before, so I trusted him. He took my bags from the trunk like it was nothing and led me inside through tall matte black doors.
The moment I walked in, my breath caught. This wasn’t regular ass house. This was a damn statement. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened up to the horizon, letting in mountain air and the glow of L.A. in the distance. The house was furnished in deep grays and warm golds, a minimal but rich vibe—everything sleek, modern, and masculine.
A huge plush sectional wrapped around the living room with a fireplace sunken into the wall. There were glass walls, built-ins with rare liquor, and a private chef-style kitchen that looked untouched.
I followed the hall to the master bedroom, and baby…The king-size bed looked like royalty. The en-suite bathroom had marble everything, a tub with a view, and gold fixtures that made me feel like I was in a Black billionaire’s Pinterest board.
I dropped my bags, walked to the vanity, and saw a note taped to the mirror in Mula’s messy handwriting:
I know you saw my shit in the closet. I’ve been living here off and on for a couple of months. I’ll be there for dinner in the backyard. I got a caterer coming through. See you at nine tonight... wear something classy for a nigga.
I smiled and held the note to my chest. Our first date. My stomach flipped just thinking about it. Still, I was drained. The ride, the emotions, and the weight of everything finally caught up to me. I took a quick shower under the waterfall head, laid out my dress for the night, and climbed into bed wearing just my thong.
The luxury, the silence, and the softness of the sheets knocked me out cold.
$$$$$
Nightfall came fast, and I was up getting dressed for Mula.
I had Khamani’sHead In A Jarplaying in the bathroom while I did my makeup and touched up the blowout I’d gotten earlier that morning. I kept it light with nude lip gloss and softconcealer, just enough to give rich energy without doing too much.
I slipped on my red Chanel dress and the matching stiletto heels that made my legs look like a dream. The dress hugged me in all the right places, but it was still grown and classy, just like Mula asked.
By the time I finished, it was nine on the dot. The caterers had already come and gone, and the table was set like something out of a movie with white linen, soft candlelight, and red rose petals glowing beneath warm patio lights. You could see the view of the city below us and the hills stretching out forever behind us.
I stepped outside onto the private balcony with my Apple Pill playing in the background so it wouldn’t be too quiet while I waited. The air up here hit different; it was cool, clean, and rich. Like it costs something just to breathe it.
The infinity pool was lit from within, casting royal blue waves that danced across the patio walls. I made a mental note to get in it after dinner, with a bottle of champagne and a blunt.
I started to get nervous after waiting twenty minutes. I knew he was coming, but still… this was new territory for me. The quiet, the luxury, and the slow pace. I wasn’t used to being taken care of like this.
