I didn’t answer. I just sipped my cognac.
At eight-fifty, Bianca walked in. Pencil skirt, blazer like she just left the office, hair slicked into a high bun, edges laid. She scanned the table like it was a deposition, then met my eyes and nodded once. She didn’t kiss me. She never did in public. She just took her seat and crossed her legs, already reaching for her water glass.
Eight-fifty-five. Lyric strolled in, sweats on like she had just left her gym and didn’t think to change, midriff showing,diamond belly chain. She had a smug look, like she wanted to test me in front of everybody. “Damn, you really feeding us like queens tonight,” she said, dropping into her chair.
I smirked back. “Queens don’t brawl in parking lots.”
Her smile cracked.Good.
Nine sharp, Naomi entered. Black leather dress, burgundy lipstick, calm as a Sunday sermon. She hugged me quick, sat near Amara, and said nothing. She was always the watcher.
Last was Leona. Always late. Always loud. Red bodycon dress. She blew me a kiss from the door. “Baby, you know I had to look good for you,” she said, sliding into her seat with a laugh that was a little too bright.
The table was set.
Five women. Five meals. One irritated me.
I let the silence hang. Picked up my fork, cut into my steak, chewed slowly while their eyes flicked from me to each other and back.
Finally, I leaned back, drink in hand, voice calm enough to scare them.
“You know why you’re here.”
Nobody answered. Not yet.
I let my gaze slide from Amara to Bianca, from Lyric to Naomi, then to Leona.
“You embarrassed me. All of you. Out there fighting, dragging my name through blogs, letting the world laugh at me like I’m some clown-ass nigga running a circus.”
Leona shifted in her seat, lips parting. “It wasn’t even?—”
“Shut up.” My voice cracked like a whip. She shut up.
I picked up the bouquet of roses and stood. “I built an empire on blood. Off a name men have killed and died for. You think I’m about to let it crumble because y’all want to act like a bunch of jealous birds?”
Amara lowered her eyes. Lyric rolled hers. Bianca didn’t move, didn’t blink.
I frowned. “It’s over. I’m not doing five girlfriends anymore. That shit’s dead.”
Gasps, protests, curses, each one different.
Bianca whispered, “Finally.”
I took another sip of my drink.
“But let me make something clear. I don’t beg women. I don’t explain myself. I decide who stays and who goes. And tonight, I don’t want none of y’all.”
The silence stretched, heavy and sour, like they were waiting for me to laugh and say I was joking.
I didn’t joke.
I let my gaze move around the table, one by one. “You all think you’re different. And you are. I give each of you something nobody else gets. Amara, I let you breathe. B, I give you power you couldn’t buy in ten lifetimes. Lyric, I let you taste my life and call it yours. Leona, I give you access to rooms you’d never touch without me. Nae…” I paused, locking eyes with her. “I let you see me when the rest only see the crown.”
Their faces shifted. I could tell they were hurt, pride, and angered—all of it.
“But all that ended when y’all dragged me into the blogs. Made me look sloppy. Like I don’t run my world with precision. Like I’m some weak nigga drowning in pussy.”
I let the words hang.
