Page 14 of Love's Free Will

King leaned back, arms crossed. “You might have her fooled, but you ain’t got us fooled.”

Zay nodded. “Nigga, you want her ass. Real Bad. And I don’t even blame you, she was fine as hell.”

I laughed, genuinely amused. “Y’all niggas sound stupid.”

King ignored me. “I don’t give a fuck if you do or don’t, but you better not fuck this up.”

I frowned. “What?”

“You heard me,” King said, expression dead serious now. “This project? We need this to happen. We done put too much into this album for you to let your ego and your temper get in the way.”

Zay nodded. “And you already know Logan ain't playin’ with your ass.”

I inhaled slow, letting their words settle. They weren’t wrong. We’d been working toward this album for months—the rollout, the singles, the features. Averi being brought in was a last-minute move, and I still wasn’t sure if it was the right one.

But if this shit didn’t work? It wouldn’t just be me that suffered. It’d be King, Zay, my mama and my little sister. The whole damn team.

I exhaled through my nose. “I hear you,” I muttered.

King gave me a long look before nodding.

Zay smirked, slapping my back. “Try not to fuck this up, lover boy.”

“And aye, don’t fuck that girl. She here to work, that’s it, that’s all.” King added.

“I ain’t tryna fuck that girl. It’s badder bitches out here, fuck I look like downgrading.”

“Nigga, who you tryna convince of that shit; us or yourself?” That was Zay, always tryna call me out.

I flipped him the bird. They had no idea what they were talking about. Averi St. Claire? She wasn’t my type. She was too damn bossy. Too opinionated. Thought she was always the smartest person in the room.

And yet…

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she carried herself. The way she didn’t back down. The way she didn’t give a fuck about who I was or how many people worshipped me outside this studio.

I didn’t want her. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

5

AVERI

Iwas one argument away from throwing my phone off the damn balcony. “Royal, you can’t be fuckin’ serious right now.”

“That shit don’t fit my sound, Shawty. It’s all trash.”

I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. This man was going to make me lose my damn mind. Plus, I hated when he called me Shawty. Hearing it so much while growing up put a sour taste in my mouth behind it. Still, I didn’t correct it.

I had been sending him tracks for weeks, carefully curated beats and compositions that I knew fit his style—shit that could elevate his sound without stripping it of the essence that made it his. And yet, this arrogant pain in my ass rejected every single one of them.

“Okay, so what exactly is your sound then, Royal?” I asked, voice dangerously calm.

“Nigga, it’s me.”

Oh, I hated him… like really fuckin’ hated him.

I felt my eye twitching as I clenched my jaw. “You sound exactly the same on every track.”

“If it ain’t broke, why fix it?” he shot back, smug as ever.

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