Page 37 of The Black Wife Blessing

I stir the sauce vigorously, but my mind keeps drifting. What if Benjamin sends those photos to Henry? To the restaurant? To my family? The thought of being exposed, of everyone seeing me like that—vulnerable, naive, under Benjamin's control—makes me want to vomit.

Just when I was starting to believe I deserved something good. Just when Henry and I were becoming real.

My phone buzzes yet again, pestering me. I ignore it, but the damage is done. Benjamin has found a way back in—not physically, but into my thoughts. Into my sense of safety.

"Need to use the restroom," I mutter to Nya, who gives me a concerned look.

In the small employee bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection. The woman looking back at me isn't the same person who let Benjamin dictate her worth. I've built something here—respect, a career, a relationship with a man who sees me.

But the fear remains. What if Henry sees those photos and realizes I'm damaged goods? What if he decides I'm too much trouble? The thought of losing what we've built makes my chest ache.

I grip the edge of the sink. Benjamin might have these photos, but he doesn't have me anymore. I won't let him take my future too.

I splash more cold water on my face, taking a deep breath. The bathroom's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows, but I force myself to look directly at my reflection.

"He doesn't own you anymore," I whisper to myself.

My phone keeps buzzing again and again in my pocket, making me want to throw it at the wall. Should I just ignore these messages? Delete, block the number, and hope that Benjamin doesn't send these to anyone else? A small part of me wants to hide the embarrassing truth from Henry. I can deal with this on my own. I always have.

But then, the truth hits me with startling clarity: I care what Henry thinks. Not just about the photos, but about me. About us. The realization sends a wave of vulnerability through me that's both terrifying and freeing.

I've spent so long protecting myself, building walls so high that even I couldn't see over them sometimes. But with Henry, those walls have been crumbling, brick by brick. And now I have a choice—rebuild them stronger than ever, or let him see the mess behind them.

I dry my hands and pull out my phone. Three more messages from Benjamin, each more threatening than the last. My finger hovers over Henry's contact. What would I even say? "Hey, my psycho ex is threatening to send you naked photos of me"?

But I know what happens when secrets fester. They poison everything good, everything real.

I text Henry: "Can we talk tonight? Something's come up with Benjamin."

His response is immediate: "Of course. Are you okay?"

I'm not okay. I'm scared and angry and ashamed. But for the first time, I don't have to pretend I am.

"Not really. But I will be."

I tuck my phone away and straighten my chef's coat. Benjamin wants me cowering, wants me hiding. He wants todrive a wedge between me and Henry before what we have can fully bloom.

Not this time. This time, I fight back—not alone, but with someone by my side who I'm starting to believe might actually stay there.

26

HENRY

Iset my fork down with a clatter against the fine china. The candlelight that had moments ago cast a warm glow across Monica's face now illuminates tears welling in her eyes.

"He did what?" My voice comes out sharp, dangerous.

Monica's hands tremble as she sets her phone face-down on the table. "He texted me photos. Of me. Naked." She swallows hard. "From when we were together."

Blood rushes to my head, pounding in my ears. The perfectly cooked steak before me might as well be cardboard now. I clench my jaw so tight my teeth might crack.

"That fucking piece of shit."

I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the hardwood. My fists ball at my sides as I pace the length of my dining room. The Manhattan skyline outside my penthouse windows blurs as rage narrows my vision.

This isn't random. This isn't a desperate ex lashing out. This is calculated psychological warfare. Benjamin knows exactly what he's doing—trying to make Monica feel violated, exposed, vulnerable. Trying to poison what we're building together.

"Let me see the texts." I extend my hand.

---