That quieted her for half a breath, but not enough.
“You know what,” she snapped, “maybe you deserve this. Maybe you deserve to feel the way you made me feel. Maybe Malik would’ve said the same thing if he were still here.”
That was the wrong card.
The second she said his name, something in the car changed.
She saw it too, because her shoulders stiffened, even though my face didn’t move.
I set the blunt down.
“Don’t do that,” I frowned.
Her chin lifted. “Why. Because I’m telling the truth?”
“No,” I said. “Because you’re using my dead homie to dress up bad decisions.”
Her lips parted, probably expecting more emotion than I gave her.
She wasn’t getting it.
Malik lived in my bones. She didn’t get to weaponize that because she was mad.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, voice low and steady.
“I loved your brother. I don’t owe you shit because of it.”
Her breathing changed.
She looked away toward the window, then back at me.
“So what now?” she asked. “You about to threaten me? You’re gonna tell me who I can and can’t date like I still belong to you?”
I held her gaze.
“No. I’m warning you.”
She went still.
I let the silence do what it needed to do before I said the rest.
“Marcus is moving wrong. Bianca’s lawsuit is moving wrong. And you standing beside any of them puts you in a lane you don’t want to be in.”
Her voice dropped. Less fire. More real.
“So what are you saying?”
I sat back.
“I’m saying leave him.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Tonight.”
She stared at me.
“Leave him,” I repeated. “Stop letting that nigga be seen with you. Stop answering his calls. Stop thinking this is some cute revenge move because it’s not.”
