Will Selah finally embrace the man who's always been willing to fight for her? Or will her past convince her that she doesn't deserve happiness at all?
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May 3, 2019
East Side Commons Apartments - Bronx, NY
Selah strutted down the narrow hallway of her apartment building with Jhene Aiko's soft vocals humming in her headphones. The bass from "Spotless Mind" pulsed through her ears, keeping her grounded. She needed it this morning-bad.
She had on her white button-up tucked into high-waisted black slacks, her work shoes clicking against the linoleum with each confident step. Her curls were slicked back into a neat bun, edges laid, not a single hair out of place. Her skin was glowing, golden and unbothered, and her almond-shaped eyes sparkled with a quiet fire.
Despite the argument she'd had with Dante not even an hour ago, Selah's mood refused to sour. She was used to it by now. Arguing had practically become a love language in their six-year relationship.
Dante had been her first everything. They met back in high school, sophomore year-textbook shy-girl-falls-for-popular-guy type of situation. She was lowkey with her head always in a book, and he was that tall, smooth-talking star basketball player every girl wanted and every dude envied.
But what they had? It felt deeper. Real. Dante was 6'2", cocoa-brown skin smooth like satin, deep ocean-wave cut spinning tight under a fitted, with those hooded hazel eyes that made it hard to look away. That Colgate smile and soft-spoken tone had her hooked since day one. He wasn't just fine-he was smart too, which made their connection feel inevitable.
But lately, that same bond made them extra unforgiving toward each other. Selah didn't play about her intuition, and Dante didn't like being questioned-especially when he wasn't doing anything wrong. The irony? Half the time she accused him, he was guilty. It was the few times he was actually being faithful that made his blood boil when she still threw shade.
Selah had a presence that spoke for itself. 5'5", curves in all the right places, rich honey-brown skin that glowed under even the harshest fluorescent light, full lips that begged to be kissed, and those big brown eyes that had the power to guilt a man into confession. Dante loved showing her off-but lust had a chokehold on him that love alone couldn't break.
As Selah stepped outside the building, still scrolling through her phone, she didn't see the man walking toward her until-bam.
The collision sent a large box tumbling to the sidewalk.
"Damn-my bad, ma." The stranger crouched down, long fingers scooping up her phone and offering it to her. "This big-ass box got me blind out here."
Selah blinked, stunned. Her mouth parted slightly. She wasn't sure if it was the impact or the man's face that knocked the breath from her chest.
He was tall, with skin the color of sun-toasted caramel, dreads cascading past his shoulders, and a strong jawline you could carve a steak with. He looked like a darker King Von, only bulkier in the chest. His white tee clung to his muscular frame like it was tailor-made.
Selah cleared her throat, trying to pull it together. "It's cool. Thanks." She snatched her phone gently, barely able to meet his gaze as she stepped around him, cheeks flushed. She knew a handsome face when she saw one-and she knew exactly the kind of chaos that came with it.
Sliding into her 2019 Chevy Malibu, she exhaled deeply. Her heart was doing the most and she hadn't even had coffee yet. Something told her that tall, golden-brown stranger wasn't just passing through.
---
Across the street - Same time
Dante stood in the third-floor window, fuming.
He had just finished rolling a blunt, but now the lighter felt useless in his hand. He'd watched every second of the exchange from behind the blinds-Selah bumping into some new dude, locking eyes too long, smiling like she forgot they had just been beefing.
His jaw clenched. His instinct was to fly down there, wild out, and mark his territory, but he knew Selah wouldn't hesitate to embarrass him right back. Especially after the week they'd had.
So instead, he did what he always did. He called up one of his go-to distractions. Giselle.
She replied in under sixty seconds: "Say less. Omw."
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
Dante opened it, eyes raking over Giselle's thick frame. Cinnamon-brown skin, green eyes that almost looked fake, glossy pink lips, and a waist that dipped before flaring into thick hips. She wore confidence like perfume-and barely anything else.
But before he could fully let her in, a movement caught his eye. It was him. The same dude from outside-now moving a big-ass couch cushion into the building.
Their eyes met. Tension crackled for a split second before Dante mugged him and slammed the door.
He had plans for dude. Not tonight-but soon.
Turning to Giselle, who had already dropped her jacket and was walking deeper into the apartment, Dante closed and locked the door behind them.
"Where's your girl at?" she asked, kicking off her shoes.
"Don't worry about her. It's just me and you, ma." He grabbed her waist, pulling her close.
"Say no more," she said, peeling off her clothes like it was second nature.
And it was.
This wasn't love-it was escape. And Dante needed it, even if only for the night.
