My Sister

NIA’S POV.

The car was too quiet.

Kingston drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. I sat in the passenger seat and watched the city move past the window. Atlanta morning traffic. Slow. Stop and go. The leather under me still held the cool of the garage.

I could smell his cologne again. Same one from the club. Clean and dark. It filled the small space every time the air kicked on.

He didn’t speak for the first few minutes. Neither did I. The silence felt thick. Every time he shifted gears his sleeve pulled back and I saw the edge of a tattoo I had traced with my fingers three nights ago. I looked away fast.

“You always this quiet in the morning?” he asked.

“Only when I’m being driven to a job I didn’t apply for by my—” I stopped. The word sat wrong in my mouth. “By you.”

He made a low sound that might have been a laugh. “Fair.”

Another red light. He tapped his thumb against the wheel once, then stopped.

“Dad means well,” he said. “He just… doesn’t ask first.”

“I noticed.”

The light turned green. He pulled forward. My knee was close to the center console. His hand rested inches away. I kept my leg still so we wouldn’t touch.

We didn’t talk again until he turned into the underground garage of a tall glass building. The sudden shade made everything feel cooler. He parked, cut the engine, and sat there for a second longer than he needed to.

“You ready?”

“No.”

“Would be bothered if you were.”

We got out.

The lobby was all pale stone and quiet light. People moved like they belonged there. A security guard nodded at Kingston and barely glanced at me. The elevator was mirrored again. I stood on one side. He stood on the other. I could still feel the heat of the car between us.

The doors opened onto a wide floor of glass offices and low voices. Phones rang soft. Someone’s heels clicked past. The air smelled like coffee and printer ink and money that didn’t need to announce itself. Kingston walked like he owned the place without trying. People stepped aside without being asked.

I kept my arms crossed and matched his pace.

He stopped at an open desk area and introduced me to two people. Both smiled. Both looked curious. When he got to the word, it caught again.

“This is Nia. She’s… she’s my—” He stopped. The word caught. He tried again. “My sister. Stepsister. Renee’s daughter.”

“Nice to meet you.” they said

“You too,” I said.

Kingston’s jaw was tight. He didn’t look at me as we continued walking.

“You didn’t have to say it like that.”

“How else was I supposed to say it?”

I didn't reply. We ended up in his office. Door left half open. Big windows. Clean desk. A single monitor still glowing with charts. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the chair. The white shirt underneath fit too well. I looked at the plant in the corner instead.

He leaned against the edge of the desk and nodded at the chair across from him. “Sit. You’re making me nervous standing there.”

I sat. The leather sighed under me.

He studied me for a second. “Renee said marketing.”

“Yeah.”

“Good grades?”

I shrugged. “Dean’s list. Last three semesters.”

Something shifted in his face. It wasn't surprise. More like he was filing it away. “What part did you like?”

“Consumer behavior. Why people buy what they buy. The psychology side.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s useful here. We spend half our time trying to figure out why campaigns land or die.”

I picked at a loose thread on my jeans. “I’m not asking for a job.”

“I didn’t offer one.”

The quiet that followed felt different. Less sharp. Still dangerous. He reached past me for a folder on the side table. His arm came close enough that I felt the heat of him. I didn’t move back. Neither did he. For a second we were too close. His cuff almost brushed my shoulder. I could see the pulse in his neck.

He froze like he realized it at the same time I did. He pulled back and cleared his throat.

“Anyway. You don’t have to stay the whole day. I’ll show you the main floors and then—”

The door pushed open without a knock.

A woman stepped in and stopped short.

Tall. Perfect hair. Red lipstick. A dress that looked expensive and angry. She took in the two of us—me still seated, Kingston standing too close, the leftover tension still hanging in the air—and her face changed.

Kingston straightened. “Serena.”

She didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on me. Cold. Measuring.

“So this is the bitch you are with now.”

And she fucking lunged at me.