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⎯ fashion killa
The steel gates groaned as they slid open, revealing the long, sun-drenched road ahead. Cookie Lyon stepped forward, her leopard-print coat swaying lightly in the warm breeze as if it, too, had waited seventeen years to feel freedom again. The coat was unmistakable, just like the woman who wore it bold, unapologetic, and dripping with power even in the face of uncertainty.
Beneath the coat, a sleek black dress hugged her curves, paired with simple heels that clicked sharply against the pavement, a sound that echoed her determination. The faint smell of freshly cut grass wafted in the air, mixing with the familiar metallic tang of the prison gates, a reminder of the years she could never get back.
She adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, shielding eyes that had seen too much and endured even more. Her lips, painted in a deep berry red, curled into a slight smirk as she stepped onto the asphalt. Behind her, the prison gates clanged shut, but Cookie didn't look back. Not once. Whatever was behind her was staying there dead and gone, where it belonged. Today wasn't about the past. Today was about taking back everything she'd lost.
The heat from the pavement rose in waves, and Cookie swore she could taste freedom on her tongue bittersweet, with a hint of defiance.
As she approached the sleek black car waiting for her at the curb, she noticed her reflection in the tinted window. She paused for just a moment, tilting her head as if reintroducing herself. She still had it—the poise, the fire, the grit that had carried her through nearly two decades of hell.
"Time to remind them who Cookie Lyon really is," she murmured to herself, her voice low but dripping with resolve.
The driver stepped out, a young man in a sharp suit, and opened the door for her. Cookie slid into the backseat, the cool leather immediately soothing against her skin. She pulled her coat closer, not because she was cold but because it felt like armor. As the car pulled away from the prison, she leaned back, her eyes scanning the cityscape that had changed so much since she'd last seen it.
Her hand brushed against the glass of the window, tracing the skyline with her fingers. Seventeen years. Long enough for buildings to rise and fall, for trends to come and go, and for life to move on without her. But what ate at her most wasn't the city she'd missed. It was her family. Her boys. And... her daughter.
Y/N.
The name lingered in her mind like a bittersweet melody she couldn't quite place. She'd missed every first—first steps, first words, first heartbreak. She'd seen Jamal, Hakeem, and Andre grow into men, even if it was from a distance, but Y/N? She didn't even know what her baby girl's laugh sounded like.
