Intoxicated || An Eminem Fanfiction

Chapter 81

Leila's POV

The café is filled with the quiet buzz of conversation, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the air. Alec steps in first, scanning the room with that unmistakable air of authority he carries. For someone who used to be one of Trick's most feared enforcers, the fact that he's now my glorified babysitter is a running joke between us. He holds the door open for me, his expression deadpan as usual.

"Quite the career shift you've made, huh?" I murmur as I pass him, smirking. "From being a name that sent half of Detroit running, to following me around with coffee orders. Impressive."

Alec lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. But hey, somebody's gotta keep you out of trouble, right?"

I grin, sliding into my seat across from him, crossing one leg over the other and letting myself settle into the café's calm, quiet energy. I'm dressed with intention—a black fitted dress under a distressed denim jacket hanging off one shoulder, my slinged arm resting in place like a quiet reminder of what I've been through. My long, dark hair cascades down in waves, and my white Air Force Ones ground the look, adding a touch of casual defiance.

There's a lot weighing on me, if I'm being honest—the pregnancy that I'm still coming to terms with, trying to reconcile my own fears with the protective instincts stirring inside. But for now, that's something only I carry, and I'm not about to let anyone see a hint of vulnerability.

For a moment, I let myself enjoy the warmth of my coffee and the rare sense of calm. But peace, of course, doesn't last.

"So, this is what he spends his money on?"

The voice cuts through the café's background noise, loud and dripping with judgment. I glance up to see a woman standing beside our table, arms crossed, a smug smile plastered across her face. She's dressed to get attention—hair, makeup, and clothes all screaming for it. And by the look in her eyes, she thinks she's about to deliver some earth-shattering truth.

Alec's gaze sharpens, but I give him a subtle shake of my head. I want to handle this one.

"Can I help you?" I ask, letting the words roll off my tongue with a calm curiosity, though I already know where this is heading.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," she snaps, sliding into the seat next to Alec without an invitation. Her gaze zeroes in on me with a mix of anger and contempt. "I'm just someone who actually cares about Marshall, unlike some people. Must be nice, living off his money and dragging him down in the process."

I let out a small, amused laugh and glance at Alec, who raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. For a split second, I almost feel pity for her. Almost. She's convinced she's here to "save" him from me, like she's the hero of some twisted fanfiction. It would be adorable if it weren't so pathetic.

"Oh, is that what you think?" I ask, keeping my voice calm, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. I lean back slightly, letting my slinged arm rest against the table—a reminder that, even if I'm injured, I'm far from vulnerable.

"Oh, I know it," she snaps, her voice thick with self-righteousness. "Everyone sees it. You're just another gold digger, pulling him back into his worst habits. Do you think people don't notice?"

Her words are heavy with contempt, but they don't sting. If anything, she's almost pitiful. She's convinced her opinion matters, like she has some grand insight into our lives. For a second, I almost want to laugh at how seriously she takes herself.

"Dragged him down?" I echo, tilting my head with amused disbelief. "Let me guess—you're one of those 'real fans' who thinks they know him better than anyone?"