Page 267 of Kentrell

“Zoe… nothing is going to happen to you,” my mother said, like she could hear the thoughts spiraling in my head.

Then she went quiet.

And I gave myself a second to breathe.

Closing my eyes. Inhaling deep. Trying to reset.

Then exhaling… slow.

“You’re so much like him, Zoe.” My mother added, lightheartedly, just as I was opening my eyes again. “Your work ethic. Your kindness. The way you want the best for everybody. He says it all the time.” Her voice wavered. “That’s why he wanted you at Anderson & Hartman. So he could help shape you into the best version ofhim. He made mistakes, let certain people and things jade him. But you? He wanted you to always do what was right. And go after what you wanted. No matter what anyone thought.”

My heart tightened. Because that last line landed harder than I expected.

Go after what you want. No matter what anyone thinks.

I thought about how I used to feel when I first started catching feelings for Kentrell. I was ashamed. Not ofhim, but of how deeply I wanted someone so far outside the image I spent years curating. I was so obsessed with appearances, with keeping my professional reputation pristine, that I almost missed out on the one man who made me feelseen—and safe.

But now?

Now I didn’t care who knew I loved that man.

Because loving Kentrell didn’t dim my light—it revealed another part of it.

Zora must’ve felt my silence, because her voice softened again.

“You know how we met, right?”

I shook my head. “If it’s not school, like you told me, then no?—”

“It’s not,” she cut in gently, “It actually happened a lot differently.”

I straightened in Kentrell’s big leather office chair, curious.

“He saw me and…” she paused, then gave a small, almost shy laugh. “One of my really good girlfriends from back in the day—we were downtown.”

The smile in her voice made me smile, too.

“I don’t even know what we thought we were doing,” she said, almost to herself, “but we were young, fly, and fine. So we got dressed up—I'd just cut all my hair off into this cute lil’ bob. Real sharp. Like Nia’s inLove Jones.”

I giggled, curling into the chair, already picturing it.

“I was in my all-black phase,” she went on, chuckling. “Brown lips. Dark liner. Real ’90s chic. We were just strolling Michigan Avenue, window shopping and being girls.”

I could hear her slip into the memory, her voice younger with every word.

“And then,” she breathed out a laugh, “we saw this fine brotha coming out the back of a Lincoln Town Car. I mean—Armani suit, briefcase, wire-rim glasses, gold Rolex. Screamed money.”

My jaw dropped playfully. “Not Darius givingThe Law SocietyGazette fantasyin real life.”

“He was,” she confirmed through her laughter. “He was on a cell phone, probably closing some big deal or talking to one ofhis fancy clients. But as we walked past—he looked up. Locked eyes with me. And that man’s mouth just…dropped.”

I couldn’t hold in my laugh. “Stop it!”

“I swear,” she grinned. “Beaniegiggled the whole time. I tried to act like I didn’t see him, but he stopped right there on the sidewalk—still on the phone—then chased me down, business card in hand.”

“Wow…” I murmured, grinning like I was watching a movie. “Did you call him that day?”

“Girl, no,” she snorted. “Ihonestlythought I’d never call him. Thought he was just another bougie dude chasing something he ain’t never had.”

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