Page 29 of The Black Wife Blessing

I plant my foot against the base of the door before he can slam it shut. "We need to talk about Monica."

His expression shifts, that earlier hesitation morphing into something darker. "The hell you want with my girl?"

"She's not your girl. She's my wife." I step forward, forcing him to back up into his apartment. "And you're going to stay away from her restaurant."

Benjamin laughs—a hollow sound that echoes off the bare walls. "Or what? You gonna try to buy me off like you bought her?" He spreads his arms wide. "Look around, rich boy. I got nothing to lose."

"That's where you're wrong." My voice drops lower. "You've got plenty to lose. Your job at the body shop. That deal you've got going with Marco's suppliers. The apartment you just fixed up with money that isn't yours."

His smirk wavers. "You don't know shit."

"I know everything." Heat rises in my chest. "I know about the restraining order Kylie Miller filed. About the 'accident' at your last restaurant job. And I know you've been stalking Monica."

"Stalking?" He snorts. "I'm looking out for her. Making sure she doesn't get caught up with guys like you who just want to use her."

The accusation hits a nerve I didn't know existed. "Use her? I'm trying to protect her from manipulative bastards who can't handle seeing her succeed without them."

"You don't even know her." Benjamin steps closer, jabbing a finger at my chest. "I was there when she was nothing. When she was just another line cook with big dreams. Where were you?"

My hands curl into fists. "I'm here now. And I see exactly what you are—a coward who can't stand that she's better off without you."

The truth of those words slams into me. Monica isn't just someone I'm pretending to be with anymore. She's become something real, something worth fighting for.

Benjamin's eyes narrow, a predatory gleam reflecting in the dim light. "You think you can just waltz in here and threaten me? I know Monica. I know what makes her tick, what she fears?—"

"If you go near her again—" My voice comes out as a growl.

"What? You'll do what exactly?" He steps closer, trying to use our similar height to his advantage. "Face it, you're just temporary. A distraction. She'll come back to me. She always does."

The thought of Monica returning to this manipulative piece of shit makes my stomach turn. Images flash through my mind—her tension whenever his name comes up, the way she flinches at sudden touches, how her voice gets small when discussing their past.

"The only place you're going is away from her." I advance, forcing him back against the wall. "I've got eyes everywhere. One more incident at her restaurant, one more 'coincidental' appearance, and I'll bury you so deep in legal problems you'll never surface."

"Fuck you and your money." He shoves against my chest. "You think you can protect her? You don't know what she needs protection from."

The threat in his voice sends ice through my veins. This isn't just about sabotaging her business—he wants to hurt her, to break her spirit. The realization hits me like a physical blow.

"Try me." I lean in close, dropping my voice. "Because right now, the only thing standing between you and complete destruction is my restraint. And that's wearing real thin."

Benjamin's facade cracks. For a split second, uncertainty flashes across his face. He steps back, hands raised. "Get away from my apartment before I call the cops."

I hold his gaze, letting him see exactly how serious I am. "Stay away from Monica. This is your only warning."

Walking away is harder than I expected. Every step feels wrong, like I'm leaving a knife unsheathed. The depth of my reaction surprises me—this isn't just about protecting our arrangement anymore. The thought of him hurting Monica, of him even being near her, makes me want to turn around and finish this.

When did she become so important? When did this stop being about appeasing my mother and start being about keeping Monica safe?

21

MONICA

Islice through the fresh herbs with practiced precision while Olivia stirs the reduction sauce and Celia prepares the protein. The kitchen fills with aromatic steam and sizzling sounds as we work in perfect sync - three chefs who understand the delicate dance of sharing a kitchen space.

"So, Mrs. Blackwood." Olivia shoots me a knowing smile. "How's married life treating you?"

"God, that still sounds weird." I scrape the herbs into a small bowl.

"The fake marriage part or just being called Mrs. Blackwood?" Olivia asks

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