KIMORA’S POVHis voice wouldn’t stop echoing in my head. I’m not a good man. The words kept circling, sharper each time, even after he’d left. They hung there while I sat in front of the table and stared at the food someone had set out for me.It looked too perfect to touch — steam still rising, plates stacked neatly, the smell of butter and spice filling the air. My stomach turned from the scent, not from disgust but from the strange weight of it all.A good man doesn’t feed you, I told myself. Maybe he was right about what he said. Maybe this wasn’t kindness. Maybe it was just part of the deal my father made when he sold me off like a piece of land.I stepped closer, slow, careful, afraid that if I moved too fast, the food would disappear. There was more than I’d ever seen in one place — eggs, fruit, bread, things I used to cook for my father and his guests but never for myself. I stood there, my fingers tightening around my robe, wondering which part I was even allowed to touch.It
Last Updated : 2025-11-06 Read more