Blinded

Chapter 16

Kayla POV

It's late—one of those nights where the silence feels too thick to sit in alone.

The house is dark except for the soft glow coming from the kitchen lights and the flicker of my ring light reflecting off polished hardwood floors. Mama's house is big—almost too big when it's just me wandering around after midnight, trying to ignore my phone and everything that's been attached to it lately.

Two-story home, clean marble countertops, tall windows that show just how much life we used to have in here before everyone left. Her house always felt kind of like a dream growing up—now it just feels like I'm floating through someone else's success, trying to figure out what mine even means.

But I guess that's what comes with blowing up for the wrong reasons.
Clout has a nasty way of making everything feel bigger but emptier.

I check my reflection in the dark window. My hair is big tonight—curls everywhere, wild and untamed the way I like it when I'm too tired to care. I've got on my comfy bra and short shorts, legs out, fuzzy bunny slippers soft against the cool tile floor. No makeup. Just me and the echo of strangers' opinions I can't seem to escape.

My phone buzzes again. Another DM request. Probably more of the same: thirsty comments, offers, fake love from people who don't know me beyond those damn videos.

Whatever.

I swipe, open Instagram, and hit "Go Live."

⸻

Viewers pop in almost instantly, faster than usual. I guess everyone's still up scrolling.
Still talking.
Still waiting to see what the "girl from the party" does next.

"Night vibes? 👀"
"Can we get a house tour?? That kitchen look expensive af."
"Shorts looking dangerous."
"She lowkey living good..."
"Is that a Benz key?? I see youuu."
"Okay big money moves!"

I glance at the counter where my keys are tossed casually next to my purse. The silver Mercedes emblem catches the light, just enough for everyone to notice.

The perks of brand deals and going viral for all the wrong reasons.
Booked and busy... even if my mental is anything but.

I laugh lightly and stir the onions in the pan, acting like I don't see the comments creeping toward places I don't want to go.

"Y'all nosey," I say, shaking my head with a smile. "It's late, so don't be judging my midnight cooking. I was craving arroz con pollo, and yes, I can cook for myself—even if y'all swear I'm always outside."

The scent of garlic starts filling the kitchen. It smells like home, like stability, like something I forgot I needed.

"You living real nice sis 👏🏽"
"Cooking AND got a Benz?? Marry me."
"ISO invite to the crib 😍"
"Damn, this the same girl from that NBA party? Major upgrade."
"Shorts doin what they supposed to do tho."
"Who bought you that car? 👀"

I roll my eyes at that last one. "Me. I bought it. Brand deals pay well when you're trending, I guess."

I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice, but it's there. Lurking underneath every forced smile.

"Secure that bag queen."
"See what happens when you LEVEL UP."
"We need to know the baller who put you on tho 👀"
"You and Alyssa still outside or what?"

I pause for a second, leaning against the counter, phone angled just enough to show the sleek kitchen behind me, the faint reflection of myself in the dark windows.

"Y'all really think everything gotta be tied to a dude for it to matter, huh?" I ask, an edge creeping into my tone. "Crazy how people only start paying attention when your life gets loud."