Chapter 3

Zaria

Joe stands behind her in the doorway, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His hair is damp, pushed back, his chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, or did something else that required a lot of energy.

When his eyes land on me, he freezes. “Za…ria?” he breathes.

Here it is. The moment. The one everyone talks about. The cliché scene in movies where the girl walks in and catches her boyfriend cheating. Except this is not a movie. This is actually real life and it’s currently happening to me. Jesus Christ. Please let this be a dream.

The woman slowly looks between us, then snorts. “Oh. So this is the one?”

Joe flinches. “Lola, don’t.”

She ignores him, takes a step forward, and shoves my shoulder with the tips of her fingers, like I’m blocking her light. “Listen, bitch, this is not a viewing center. If you don’t have business here, get the fuck out.”

The shove isn’t that hard, but I’m so stunned I stumble back a little.

“Bitch?” I repeat. Did she seriously just call me a bitch?

She rolls her eyes. “What am I supposed to call you? Side chick? Whore?” She tosses her head. “Get the fuck out of her and stop bothering my man.”

“Your… man?” I ask quietly.

Joe tries to step between us. “Lola, stop. Please.”

She shoves him lightly. “No, let me talk. Didn’t you tell me about her?” She turns back to me, eyes gleaming with nasty delight. “Is she not the one that sends you money every month? The one you said is sponsoring everything? He even told me you’ve sent him over three hundred thousand dollars. Are you that desperate to buy a man?”

Three hundred.  I feel like I’m falling down a tunnel.

I remember when I sent him the first hundred thousand. Joe was sitting on the floor of his tiny apartment, head in his hands, telling me how much it would mean to finally have his own studio.

“Don’t worry about paying me back,” I had said. “Just make it worth it.” Now his side chick is wearing my gift, standing in his doorway, using my money as a punchline.

“Lola, enough,” Joe snaps, voice strained.

She laughs. “What? You didn’t tell her? You animal! You told me she was just an old woman helping you. You even told me she was almost sixty and lonely.”

He fucking told her I'm almost sixty. The insult hits harder than the shove.

I stare at Joe. “Is that what you told her?”

His mouth opens and closes. No sound comes out. It’s not just the cheating. It’s not just the lying. It’s the cruelty of it. The way he took everything I gave him and turned me into a joke. Something inside me goes very still. I'm done with this.

“You know what?” I say softly. My voice doesn’t shake. “It doesn’t matter. You can have him.”

She scoffs. “He’s already mine, dear.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Then keep him far away from me.”

I turn to leave, but Joe lunges forward, catching my wrist. “Zaria, please, wait,” he blurts. “It’s not like that. She’s just—”

I spin around with so much force his fingers slip off me. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

“I swear, she’s nothing, baby. She’s just—”

“Just your naked guest, wearing your shirt, in the studio I paid for?” I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to slice. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Joe. It’s already been insulted enough tonight.”

He looks desperate now, eyes wild. “Please, just let me explain.”

“There is nothing you can say that will change what I saw,” I tell him. “You took my money. You took my affection. And you used them to decorate your lies. Congratulations.”

“Zaria—”

“Talk to my ass, Joe.”

I turn and rush down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. I hear him calling my name but I don’t look back. By the time I reach the lobby, my chest feels tight. The air is too hot. Too thick. I push through the glass doors and stumble out onto the pavement, blinking hard.

A taxi is parked just outside, oh, thank God!

“Taxi?” the driver calls.

“Yes,” I rasp, rushing toward it. “Please.” I slide into the back seat and slam the door.

“Just… drive. Anywhere. Away from here.”

He glances back at me, takes in my face, and nods. “Alright.”

As we pull away from the studio, the reality of what just happened crashes into me. The texts. The late replies. The sudden mood swings. The excuses about being tired, busy, stressed. The way he stopped saying “I love you” first.

I should have seen it.

“How could you be so fucking stupid?” I whisper to myself. “God, you’re such a fool.”

And just like that, the tears come. Hot and fast. I wipe them angrily, but more follow. My throat burns. My eyes ache. My heart feels like someone has taken a hammer to it.

My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance at the screen.

Joe. Fucking bastard. I cut the call but he calls again. Twice, thrice, four times. I groan and quickly block his contact then I flip the phone face down on my lap.

My chest tightens. The air feels wrong. My fingers tingle as my hands start to shake.

Please, Not now! Not here!

I know this feeling. The racing heart. The shortness of breath. The sense that the world is closing in.

Panic attack.

“Driver, can you please turn on the air conditioner?” I manage to say, my voice strained.

He frowns at me in the mirror. “Um… it’s on full blast ma’am,”

I swallow, trying to pull air into my lungs. It feels like dragging air through a straw.

“Please just… stop the car. Stop. Now.”

He pulls over immediately. “Are you okay?”

I nod, even though I’m not. I push the door open slightly to let more air in, bend forward, and press a hand against my chest. In. Out. In. Out. I focus on counting my breaths.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

My vision blurs for a moment, then slowly sharpens. Outside the window, a middle-aged couple walks past, their are fingers linked and they’re talking softly, smiling like they’re the only ones that exist in their worlds. Something in my chest eases, just a bit.

I force another breath in. Then another until my heartbeat begins to slow down to it’s regular rhythm.

My phone buzzes again. This time, the name on the screen isn’t Joe. It’s Samantha.

I hesitate for a second, then swipe to answer.

“What’s up?” 

“Where the hell have you been, Z?” Samantha’s voice explodes into my ear. I can hear chaos in the background. People talking. Something beeping. “I’ve been calling you!”

“I…something came up. I’m on my way home,” I mutter.

“Well, forget home!” she snaps. “Get to St. Luke’s Hospital. Now.”

My spine straightens. “What? Why? What happened?”

“Dad just had a heart attack.”

The words land like a physical blow. All I hear is the dull rushing sound in my ears. What?

“Zaria, did you hear me?” Samantha demands, her voice wavering now. “Dad collapsed in the office. They brought him here in an ambulance. They’re still running tests.”

Oh my God. Heart attack?

I press my fingers harder into my chest, as if I can hold myself together that way. “I—I’m coming,” I whisper.

“Good. And Zaria?” she adds, voice dropping lower, colder. “You’re not going to like this part.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“He’s back,” she says, each word dripping with dread. “Tristan King is back. And he’s the reason for dad’s heart attack.”

For the second time tonight, my world shifts and I’m thankful I’m not standing because I would have collapsed right there.

Tristan King.

The man who looked at me four years ago like I was the devil’s incarnate. The man who swore that I would regret ever crossing him.

I close my eyes, my pulse roaring again for an entirely different reason now. As if I haven’t gone through enough heartache, right? As if I haven’t been punished enough.

In just one day, my whole universe is crashing down. 

***