“Nothing,” I quickly said. Too quickly. “I was just waiting for the bus and—I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t paying attention and I?—”
“Truth.”
One word.
My name.
But the way he said it stopped me cold.
I glanced at him.
He was watching the road, his hands steady on the wheel, his jaw tight. But I could feel his attention on me like a physical weight.
“I spilled something on myself,” I finished weakly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
And I knew—knew—the moment it left my mouth that he didn’t believe me.
We pulled up to a red light, and Amai turned to face me fully.
His eyes locked onto mine.
Dark. Unreadable. Seeing straight through every wall I’d tried to build.
“That’s your first and last time lying to me,” he said quietly. “Understand?”
My breath caught.
There was no anger in his voice. No heat. Just cold, absolute certainty.
This wasn’t a request.
It was a rule.
And I understood, in that moment, that Amai Landry didn’t make rules he didn’t enforce.
“I wasn’t—” I started.
“You were,” he said, cutting me off. “And you’re going to tell me the truth right now, or you’re going to get out of this car and walk the rest of the way home.”
The light turned green.
He didn’t move.
Cars honked behind us, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just kept his eyes on me, waiting.
My hands were shaking.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
He pulled through the intersection and kept driving.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my chest aching with the weight of everything I’d been holding in.
“My ex-husband,” I said finally. “Phillip. He drove by with his—with Destiny. His girlfriend. The one he left me for.”
The words felt like glass in my mouth.
