If I Was Your Man

8 - Ex Next

Amar stood in the hallway, arms slightly spread, posture relaxed but confident as he took in the sight of Selah. His deep brown eyes roamed her frame, lingering on her soft curves and radiant glow.

"You look gorgeous," he said with a low, warm smile.

Selah blushed slightly, her cheeks rosy against her honey-toned skin. She tugged at the hem of her pink bodycon dress that hugged her figure just right. Her lace-up stilettos gave her legs an elegant, sculpted look. Her curls were pinned in a side part, cascading softly down her shoulders.

"Thank you. You look handsome," she responded, eyes scanning his fit in appreciation. Amar was dressed in a navy tailored button-down and slacks that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist perfectly. His signature chain peeked from underneath his collar, glinting under the hallway light.

"I like this look on you," Amar murmured, stepping closer to pull her into a hug. His arms wrapped around her waist with ease, her hands landing gently on his chest before sliding around to his back.

They held each other like time had paused. For a moment, they stood in silence, listening only to the rhythm of their breathing.

Finally, Amar pulled back slightly, grinning. "Ready to go?"

Selah nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

Hand in hand, they made their way to his car parked curbside. The moonlight kissed the edges of the vehicle, and the soft hum of the city made everything feel alive.

They rode in silence for a moment, the quiet comfortable, the kind that only comes when two souls are in tune.

Selah looked over at Amar, the corner of her lips lifting. "You always this quiet before dinner dates?"

He chuckled, eyes still on the road. "Nah. Just taking you in. Letting it all soak."

She smiled, looking out the window to hide how giddy she felt.

The upscale Italian restaurant Enzo sat on a quiet corner, its front covered in ivy and warm golden lights. Amar greeted the owner with a firm handshake and a dap. It was clear he was known and respected there.

"Right this way, Mr. Givens," the host said, leading them to a private booth near the back window.

The restaurant exuded warmth with its amber lighting and exposed brick walls. Jazz music hummed softly overhead. Selah sighed in contentment as she settled into the plush booth seat.

"You’ve got taste," she said.

Amar raised his glass after pouring the red wine they’d ordered. "Only the best for the one who deserves better than she’s ever been given."

Her lips parted slightly, touched by the statement. She clinked her glass with his. "Thank you, Amar. For this, and for just being... you."

They fell into easy conversation—Selah sharing funny stories from work, Amar recounting the time he got kicked out of a poetry lounge for heckling an offbeat performance.

Laughter rang between them like old friends catching up after years.

The food arrived, steaming and fragrant. Amar had insisted she try the gnocchi alla sorrentina, while he dug into a seafood risotto.

Halfway through dinner, Selah glanced down at her plate, suddenly quieter. Amar noticed immediately.

"You alright?" he asked, wiping his mouth.

"Yeah. Just... I haven’t felt this kind of peace in a long time. It feels unreal."

He reached across the table and brushed her fingers with his. "You deserve peace, Selah. You deserve soft."

After dessert—a shared tiramisu with two spoons—they headed back to Amar’s apartment.

The hallway was quiet until they reached the door. Amar unlocked it, but before they could step in, a figure at the end of the hall made Selah freeze.

Dante.

He was leaning against the wall outside his apartment, arms crossed, face shadowed but unmistakably furious.

Selah sighed, exasperated. "Of course."

Amar stepped forward, holding her hand protectively. "Ignore him. Let’s go inside."

But Dante pushed off the wall and approached. "Selah. Come inside with me. Let’s talk."

Amar frowned. "She ain’t going nowhere with you. Back up."

Selah stepped between them, holding up her hands. "Y’all, please. Don’t do this. Not tonight."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "You serious with this clown now? Thought you said you needed space."

"I did," she snapped. "And I took it. Amar’s been nothing but respectful. Something you never were."

Dante scoffed. "Man, fuck that. You mine. Always been."

Amar’s jaw clenched. "She’s not property. Step off."

Dante took another step. "Make me."

Before Amar could respond, Dante pulled a pocket knife from his hoodie.

Selah screamed. "No!"

Amar reached quickly into his waistband. He warned, "Don’t do it, bro."

Dante lunged.

Two quick pops echoed through the hallway. Selah dropped to her knees, hands over her ears.

Dante hit the ground with a heavy thud, groaning, blood spreading from his side.

"Oh my God!" Selah screamed.

She ran to his side, tears falling instantly.

"Dante, stay with me! Stay with me!"

Amar stood frozen, pistol lowered, breathing hard.

Selah cradled Dante’s head, sobbing. "Why?! Why did it have to come to this?!"

Amar’s heart cracked. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to end. He turned away, shame burning his chest.

He had protected her. But at what cost?

Selah didn’t even look at him.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

Amar placed the gun on the ground and raised his hands.

When the cops arrived, Selah was still by Dante’s side.

As they cuffed Amar and read him his rights, he locked eyes with Selah one last time.

And in that look, he saw it.

She wasn’t ready to let Dante go.

Not yet.