Page 28 of Kentrell

Checked the mirror.

I ain’t never cared this much about how I looked—not for no woman. I knew I could pull any bitch I wanted.

But Zoe?

She had me second-guessing. And I hated that shit.

I always thought I was immune to her type of pull. I had options. Always been the one in control.

But now? I’m standing there with a knot in my stomach, wondering if she saw through all this composure I wear like a uniform.

It wasn’t just about looks either.

It was how she stayed in my head—quiet, steady—like she lived there rent-free.

Clenching my jaw, I grabbed the three bags near my bedroom door, desperately pushing those feelings aside. A surge of curiosity bubbled inside me; I was eager to see what my money had paid for, anything to distract me from the creeping doubt. As I pulled out each item, a smirk crept across my face, envisioning them draped over Zoe’s body.

She must love the color black—four out of the eight outfits were devoid of color, a subtle nod to her preference. But then there was the pink catsuit, standing out like a sore thumb for a multitude of reasons. I'd spotted it on a model during fashion week, thinking it was too tight for someone already underweight. Yet on Zoe, I could practically see the fabric contouring and accentuating her curves for everyone to see. I sucked my teeth, imagining the heads she would turn, and for a moment, I contemplated keeping this shit out of her bags.

"She got me fucked up," I muttered before I could catch myself.

I tossed the pink suit back in the bag, grabbed my keys and phone, and kept it moving.

Quick glance at the time—10:45.

If I moved fast, I could catch her before she stepped out for lunch.

My mind was still running, but I kept it tight. I wasn’t about to sit around trying to process whatever the hell this was. I needed to see her. Face to face.

As I stepped out the bedroom, Star’s moans echoed from the living room—followed by skin slapping and her voice breaking.

“Oshon—fuck, boy, you got me coming!”

I kept walking.

They’d figure out I was gone once they finished.

Shon always cleaned up after himself. Anything he couldn’t fix, he paid for without blinking. I wasn’t worried.

I locked the door behind me and dipped.

“Good morning, Mr. Caldwell—starting a bit late today?”

Samantha looked up as I walked into the lobby. She was always stationed up front. We didn’t talk much, but she never missed a chance to speak.

“Yeah.” I gave her a small nod and kept walking toward the garage elevators.

It was quieter than usual. Fewer people moving around. I made it to my truck in half the time it normally took.

I slid into the driver’s seat, pulled out my phone, and typed in Hartman & Anderson’s address. Let the GPS load while the engine warmed up, then eased out the garage.

Traffic was slow but steady. Took about fifteen minutes to get near the building.

I glanced at the time on the dash, then looked out the window as I pulled into an open spot across the street.

To the right of the entrance was a small café—quiet, no crowd, tucked away.

Something about it just felt like her.

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