Page 187 of Kentrell

Idolizing him.

Measuring every man I met against him.

But he didn’t exist.

Not the way she told it.

All that time… it was him.

Darius fucking Anderson.

The man with tailored suits, courtroom charm, and a voice that made judges lean forward like schoolgirls with a crush.

The man I’d passed legal briefs to… smiled at across conference room tables… nodded at in hallways like he was nothing more than my employer.

Turns out…

We’d been strangers.

Turns out…

The man I looked up to and the man she laid down for were one and the same.

I swallowed hard.

Mistress.

I hated that word.

But what else could I call her?

My throat tightened, the memory playing back in full color whether I wanted it or not.

Her giggling.

Soft. Girlish. Like she was sixteen again and sneaking out the house for him.

The way he touched her. Held her. Like they belonged to each other. Like time hadn’t dragged them apart or left scars.

Like none of it was shameful.

“She tried to protect me,” I whispered my mother’s words outside of my head.

Like that explained anything.

My hands balled into fists in my lap.

I wanted to scream. To break something. To crawl out of my own skin.

“You want music?” Kentrell asked, his voice low. Careful.

Like he knew this was one of those moments where the wrong move could tip me right over the edge.

I didn’t look at him. Just shook my head.

He nodded once… and kept driving.

His hand stayed steady on the wheel. And mine stayed clenched tight across my stomach—trying to hold myself together.

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