And when she did, you showed up.
I pulled a black button-down from the hanger—nothing flashy, nothing that screamed money. Just clean, simple, and expensive in a way that only people who knew fabric could recognize.
I didn’t overthink it.
Not like I had with Truth.
Slacks. Belt. Watch.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
The man staring back was composed. The kind of man who sat at a dinner tables and made polite conversation and never let anyone see the violence simmering beneath his skin.
I could do this.
I’d done it a thousand times before.
I grabbed my keys and headed out.
My parents lived in a sprawling estate in Lakeview—old money architecture, manicured lawn, the kind of house that saidwe’ve been here longer than you, and we’ll be here long after you’re gone.
Winston had bought it twenty years ago with money he’d made in ways he’d never admit in polite company. I moved to the lower ninth out of spite and stayed there until I could buy my house in the Garden District on my own.
Now he played the part of the respectable businessman.
And everyone pretended to believe him.
I pulled into the circular driveway and saw a silver Lexus already parked near the entrance.
Alexis.
Of course she was already here.
Mama didn’t believe in letting people arrive at the same time—she wanted control of the narrative, wanted to set the tone before I walked in.
I sat in the car for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, staring at the front door.
I could still leave.
Turn the car around.
Text Mama that something came up.
But I didn’t.
I got out, locked the door, and walked up the stone steps.
The door opened before I could knock.
Mama stood there in a cream-colored dress, pearls at her throat, and her hair styled in soft curls that framed her face. She looked elegant. Fragile.
Lupus had stolen some of her strength over the years, but she’d never let it steal her presence.
“Amai,” she said, smiling. “You’re late.”
“Traffic.”
“Mm-hmm.” She stepped aside to let me in. “Alexis is in the sitting room with your father. Go say hello.”
