Outlaw 2

• Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Ne me quitte pas"

'Bitch this is fame, not clout' — Drake

Kauner
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Milan Mari💕: He's not eating or talking to anybody. He asked the nurse to block his room off from all visitors for the rest of the day. 8:23 p.m.

Reading Milan's text message made my heart hurt for Amir. I couldn't imagine how he felt. Physically, I'm in New York for fashion week but mentally I'm still in Atlanta. Still in that cold ass hospital that I grew an ick for. Not only was that the hospital they took me to after me and Amir's accident, but that's also where I lost our son.

I was all out of sorts when I thought Amir was going to die in there too. Even though I'm sure that's what he would've wanted, if he had to choose. His paralysis isn't forever and the doctors said the damage done to his spine wasn't completely irreparable, he would just have to really commit to physical therapy over the course of the next year if he ever wants to walk again.

Me: I'll be home tomorrow night, hopefully he'll change his mind about having visitors by then bc he won't take my calls. 8:24 p.m.

"Hey." Ky calls out from behind me, through the reflection in the window I can see him standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I turned around to face him. "We're leaving. You sure you don't want to come? I can stay in with you if you need to talk."

"No, go. Have fun and be safe." I assure him, putting my phone down on the nightstand and fold my arms across my chest. "I don't even wanna see another fashion week afterparty, I'll just live vicariously through your IG stories."

"That you will, because I have a full battery tonight." He chuckles, holding his phone up in the air. "The driver's downstairs so I'm gonna go but I'll see you in the morning. Don't wait up for me. Despite everything going on back home, you killed it this week so at least try ride that high. I love you."

"I love you too." I tell him with a subtle smile before he turned to walk towards the private elevator in my parents' New York apartment.

A few seconds later I heard the bell chime as the doors close and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I haven't had a single moment to myself in the last week, Kyran agreed to dress me for fashion week since I kept butting heads with the stylist my brother paired me with. He kept trying to put me in some ugly ass pieces and I wasn't going for it.

Since Milan couldn't make it, my assistant found some loud mouth girl from the Bronx named Nisha to do my hair. I had my opinions about Miss Nisha but she knows how to lay some hair so I'll let her have that.

Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for all the hard work and effort that Greyson is putting into my career but all week long it's been party after party, fashion show after fashion show. In the past five days I've attended Dior, Louis Vuitton, Tory Burch and Saint Sintra to name a few. A bitch is tired.

I can barely step out of my hotel without some six-foot-something, three hundred pound man shoving a camera in my face and taking my picture.