Page 8 of Certified Pressure
I nodded. “In her elegant queenly-ass tone, but yeah. That’s exactly what she said.”
Kay’Lo leaned forward, already grinnin’. “Man, fuck it. Put out an ad.”
I damn near choked on my drink. “An ad?”
Blaqson leaned in, serious. “I’m sayin’. Run it on IG. ‘Future queen of Trill-Land wanted. Must be fine, fertile, and fluent in freaky.’”
That set the whole table off.
“Nigga, what?” I laughed, damn near spillin’ my liquor. “You lost yo’ fuckin’ mind.”
“I’m deadass,” Blaqson said, still grinnin’. “You talkin’ about needin’ to choose a woman? Why not flip it? Let them come toyou. Turn it into a situation.”
Renza rubbed his chin like he was halfway convinced already. “That shit lowkey could be fun. You get to test the waters. Let ‘em show you what they really about.”
“And you ain’t even gotta wife ‘em right away,” Kay’Lo added. “Just vibe it out. You might find one that make sense… or at least one that make it hard to walk away.”
I sat back, thinkin’, still grinnin’ a little even though I wasn’t sure if they was serious or not. But the more they joked, the more it started to sound like somethin’ that wasn’t completely crazy.
“It’ll be like that show,” Renza said. “You know… that Flava of Love shit. Only instead of a clock, you hand out diamonds or some shit.”
“Or Trillium,” Kay’Lo said. “Shit, I’d fight for a hit of that Crown Gas.”
Blaqson pointed at me. “This could be the move that get yo’ head outta Ka’mari’s ass.”
They all paused for a second, watchin’ to see how I’d react. I didn’t say nothin’ right away, but I felt somethin’ shift a little in me. Not ‘cause I was tryna forget Ka’mari, but maybe ‘cause I was finally ready to see what else was out there or at least entertain it.
“I ain’t sayin’ I’m doin’ it,” I said, slowly. “But… if Iwasto do it, y’all gon’ have to help me run it.”
Renza grinned. “Say less. I’ll be the creative director.”
Kay’Lo raised his glass. “I’m head of security. Keep the crazy ones from stealin’ your drawers.”
Blaqson smirked. “And I’ll be the voice of reason.”
I laughed, for real this time. I looked around the room at the three fools I grew up with—my circle, my day ones—and I realized if anybody could pull some shit like this off, it was us.
“I don’t know what the hell gon’ come from it,” I said, still smilin’, “but if I’m gon’ be forced into some royal fairytale shit, it’s gon’ bemystory. My way.”
And just like that, the seed was planted.
I had no idea what kind of storm I was about to welcome into my life… but part of me was already curious. And curiosity was all it ever took.
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
It had been two weeks, and Renza was on a mission to find me a wife.
I wasn’t sure what he had in that crazy-ass head of his, but every time I checked my phone, there was a new flyer, reel, or TikTok edit floatin’ around with my face on it. Half the shit looked like a movie trailer. That nigga had graphics poppin’, audio transitions, even a voiceover that said,“Who will be crowned the next Diamond of Trill-Land?”I didn’t approve none of that shit, and I damn sure didn’t tell him to put that I was givin’ out a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar prize. But at this point, I should’ve known better. Renza wasn’t just playin’ matchmaker—he was treatin’ this shit like the Met Gala crossed with the Trap Olympics.
Every blog had it:Pressure Mensah, the son of Kojo and Abeni Mensah, is looking for a wife.
They were sayin’ I was finally ready to settle down, that I wanted a queen to rule beside me and that I was done with my wild ways. That part was funny as hell, ‘cause I wasn’t lookin’ for no queen. I was just tryna get my mama off my back and make it through this whole Diamonds process with these women without choking one of ‘em. But with Renza pushin’ it like a global event, it was too late to back out now. Trill-Land was hype, and the internet was goin’insane.
Girls was flyin’ in from everywhere. I’m talkin’ about baddies from Drahma Town, Nzuri Hall, the Southside, even a few from overseas. Everybody wanted a shot. It wasn’t just about the money—it was the title:Pressure’s wife.That meant access, power and prestige. That meant you was livin’ in the compound, smokin’ Trillium at the source, and walkin’ around with the type of security that made other women clutch they purses.
Kay’Lo had started beefin’ up the house the minute the ads went live. My six-bedroom mansion wasn’t built for twenty women, and I damn sure wasn’t sharin’ my personal space with that many personalities unless I had no choice. So Kay’Lo made the call, brought in a full team, and started converting the east wing and the second gym I had upstairs. They knocked down some of the storage walls and flipped that whole section into an extended suite space. Bunk beds got delivered by the truckload, but they wasn’t on no jailhouse shit. These beds were customized with metal frames, velvet headboards, satin sheets, and built-in LED strips that changed colors depending on the girl’s vibe. Kay’Lo said it was for ambiance. I told him he sounded stupid, but lowkey it looked hard once it came together.
Each room had four girls assigned, but the way they had it set up, there was enough distance between bunks for the girls to feel like they still had some privacy. We had partition screens,blackout curtains, mini vanities, and mounted flatscreens on every damn wall. If you ain’t know no better, you’d think it was a boutique hotel. Kay’Lo even had scented humidifiers installed and made sure each suite had its own bathroom setup, or at least a shared powder room so there wouldn’t be no early mornin’ fights over flat irons and lashes.
