19. Derek’s Destiny

EDEN

Eden Oliver

“Destiny’s Details” was a sight to see the day before the Jubilee. Usually, our office buzzed with the nervous energy of fresh-faced interns, clumsy and jittery, trying to impress us for a college credit or two. But today, it was swarmed with Derek's crew—men who looked like they’d just stepped off a rap album cover, all swag and bravado, their gold chains glinting under the fluorescent lights, muscles bulging, baggy jeans, and faces set in that don’t-mess-with-me scowl. You'd expect chaos—fights breaking out over God knows what. But instead, they moved like a well-oiled machine, an efficient assembly line in motion that truly shocked me.

These men, were handling everything with a precision that could rival a five-star hotel staff prepping for a celebrity wedding. Big Mo, with his face full of tattoos and a voice that could make a grown man reconsider his choices, was surprisingly delicate as he folded stacks of Juneteenth flyers like they were priceless artifacts, each crease crisp and clean. His massive hands, the kind you’d expect to see throwing punches, instead moved with a careful rhythm, smoothing each paper like he was handling silk.

Across the room, Trey—built like a linebacker but with the focus of a surgeon—was overseeing the merch table. His fingers worked swiftly, expertly rolling up T-shirts and tying them off with ribbon, making sure the colors popped just right. His face was set in concentration, beads of sweat forming on his brow, but he didn’t miss a beat. Every now and then, he’d bark out instructions like a drill sergeant. “Keep that gold on top, reds on the left! We ain’t sending no wrinkled shit out there. Make it tight!”

Nearby, Rich, usually the loudest of the bunch, was surprisingly quiet, hunched over the printer, his brow furrowed with focus. He was adjusting the settings, making sure every single Jubilee concert poster came out crisp, colors popping like they were painted by hand. When one didn’t make the cut—ink smudged or misaligned—he’d crumple it up and start over, muttering curses under his breath but never losing his flow. I watched him as he laid each finished poster on the drying table, spacing them just right like he was dealing out cards in a high-stakes poker game.

And in the middle of it all, Hakeem moved like a general surveying his troops, issuing orders with a calm authority. “Boss Man said we need to be outta here by four so we can take Eden to the stage by 4:15 to watch the opening acts and the MC rehearse,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the buzz of activity.

“Yo, Big Mo, you ever gonna fold those without making them look like they came from a clearance bin?” Orlando called out.

“Better than your sloppy-ass ribbons,” Mo shot back, but his smile was quick, his hands never stopping their methodical work.

It was something else, watching these men—each of them built like they could snap a man in two—yet they treated every task like it was a matter of pride. I found myself standing there, caught between awe and disbelief, trying to reconcile the hardened exteriors with the meticulous work unfolding before me.

Derek wasn’t lying when he said I’d be in good hands. “Just give the guys some direction, and they’ll handle the rest,” he’d promised, his voice filled with that easy confidence he carried like a second skin. I was skeptical when he first pitched the idea—I didn’t know these guys and when they came on my Zoom screen, I almost screamed. But he was so sure of himself, and he’d dropped a hint about having something big planned for Destiny, something she couldn’t miss. And whatever it was, I didn’t want to be the reason Derek’s surprise went up in flames.

Now, looking around the room, I had to admit he was right. Everyone had a role, and they were handling it with a focus that caught me off guard.

Then my gaze landed on Hakeem, leaning against the doorway like he owned the damn place. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that cut through the chaos like a knife. The way he watched me, like he was seeing something I didn’t want anyone to see, made my skin prickle. His gaze felt like a spotlight, hot and unyielding, and suddenly, the air in the room seemed too thick to breathe. My chest tightened, and I fought the urge to look away, to find something—anything—else to focus on.

But he didn’t let up. Those eyes stayed on me, steady and searching, like he was trying to figure me out piece by piece. There was a heat in that stare, something that simmered just below the surface, and it made my pulse quicken in a way I wasn’t sure I liked.

I shifted on my feet, the weight of his gaze pressing down on me, making my heart pound a little too hard, a little too fast. I was used to chaos, to navigating fires and putting them out, but Hakeem’s eyes on me felt like a different kind of pressure—one that I wasn’t sure how to handle.

I swallowed hard, the noise of the room fading to a dull hum around us. I could feel my skin heating under his scrutiny, a prickling awareness that had me searching for an exit, a reason to move, to break whatever this was. I mumbled some excuse to no one in particular, my voice lost in the buzz of the room, and slipped out, my feet moving faster than they should’ve.

I needed a breather. I needed space.

I made my way to Destiny’s office, my steps quickening as I went, desperate for a moment to breathe. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing me off from the noise, the pressure, and those eyes. I sank into one of Destiny’s plush chairs. I let my head loll back, my eyes falling shut, trying to let the tension drain out of me.

For a few precious seconds, I let myself melt into the stillness. I could feel the thrum of my own heartbeat slowing down, my breaths coming in long, deep pulls, savoring the rare moment of quiet. The soft hum of the air conditioner, the faint scent of vanilla from Destiny’s diffuser.

When I opened my eyes, there he was—Hakeem, standing so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Jesus, Hakeem," I breathed, clutching my chest. "You trying to scare the life outta me?"

"My bad," he said with that crooked grin, the one that could charm the spots off a leopard. "Thought we could talk."

Oh, I knew this was coming, and I wanted no part of it. The shame of it was still fresh, sticking to me like sweat in this nasty June heat. No one was supposed to know about my second gig—least of all, the fact that it involved a strip club and that damn skimpy outfit they made me wear. Running into Hakeem there had been a nightmare come to life. And he didn’t just see me; he stormed over like he had some claim to me, dragging me off that man's lap right when I was about to score a fat tip that I really needed. Yelled at me like I was some kid caught sneaking out after curfew and ordered me home. Nobody had ever spoken to me like that. Not once.

"There’s nothing to talk about," I snapped, folding my arms like a shield across my chest.

"Cut the bullshit, Eden." His voice dropped an octave, his tone flat and sharp enough to slice through steel. He slid into the chair in front of me, closer than he had any right to be, his knee brushing mine.

Why the hell was he all up in my space? And who died and made him king of my damn business?

"You told Destiny?" I fired back, my eyes narrowing on his face, searching for any flicker of guilt.

"I will if you keep playing these games," he shot back, his voice like gravel over steel.

“Hakeem, what I do is none of your damn business," I snapped. "I don’t even know you outside of being Derek’s right-hand, his assistant...bag handler...or whatever it is you do.”

He ignored my jab, leaning in with that laser focus. “Why were you in that club, Eden?” He dodged my question like a pro, eyes boring into mine.

“You didn’t have to talk to me like that, and you damn near yanked my arm out of the socket,” I said, giving him all the drama he deserved, my voice dripping with indignation.

“You lucky D didn’t see you up there,” he shot back, his tone hard and unyielding. “I took it easy on you, trust that.”

I was done. “Hakeem, get out of this office,” I said, turning my chair away from him like I was dismissing a child, hoping he’d get the hint.

But I felt the chair spin suddenly, the world tilting back to him. He was out of his seat now, leaning over me, so close I could count the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“Stop fucking playing with me, Eden,” he growled.

My breath hitched. Hakeem was close—too close. His breath warmed my skin, and that dark, smoldering look in his eyes felt like a dare. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t about to back down.

“Or what?” I shot back, my voice sharp, defiant, even though my pulse was skittering like a wild thing. “What are you gonna do, Hakeem?”

He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Just stood up right, arms crossed like some immovable force, eyes locked on me with a heat that could scorch. “First off, I’m gonna make sure you don’t set foot back in that club. A girl like you? You don’t belong there.”

“Girls like me?” I echoed, my voice climbing, cracking with something between outrage and disbelief. I moved closer, practically daring him to flinch. “What do you know about girls like me?”

“A lot more than you think,” he said, and for a heartbeat, his eyes softened, like he’d let me peek through a crack in his armor. “Look at you now—dressed like Michelle Obama, all prim and proper and shit. But last night?” He shook his head slowly, his gaze dragging over me like a challenge. “You looked like you were on the set of Players Club, ass and titties out.”

Something twisted deep in my chest, a tangle of anger, shame, and something else that felt too much like fear. I shoved it down, buried it under the weight of my pride. I could feel the heat rising in my face, a flush of rage mixed with the sting of humiliation.

“You don’t know me like that,” I shot back, my voice steady, but my insides trembling like a leaf in a storm.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in closer, his broad frame looming over me, his eyes narrowing into a focused, unyielding stare. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl, each word deliberate and heavy, like they were meant to burrow under my skin and stay there.

“Maybe I’m trying to, Eden. Maybe I’m trying to know you better,” he said, his words rough around the edges, but there was a softness there too—something almost tender that caught me off guard.

He wasn’t letting go of my eyes. His gaze pinned me down like a weight, heavy and unyielding, refusing to give me a moment to breathe, let alone escape. It was like he was peeling back layers, searching for something buried deep beneath the surface, something I wasn’t sure I wanted him to see.

I tried to look away, to break the intensity simmering between us, but I couldn’t. His eyes were pulling me in, dragging me closer to some unspoken edge.

Every instinct screamed at me to do something—to push him away, to shove that intensity right back where it came from. I wanted to slap him, push him hard enough to make him stumble, scream in his face until he finally backed off and gave me room to breathe. Anything to break this tight, suffocating tension that felt like it was coiling tighter around us by the second.

“Eden, tell me what’s going on so I can fix it,” Hakeem said, his voice deep as a rumble of thunder just before the storm breaks.

“Why would you care about fixing anything for me?” I shot back, arms folding tight across my chest like armor, my defenses snapping into place. “I’m not your problem, Hakeem.”

His eyes dragged over me, slow and deliberate, like he was studying me, trying to read the secrets etched into my skin. I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand twitched at his side like he was holding himself back, fighting the urge to reach out, to grab hold of me and shake the truth free. The heat in his gaze burned, and for a moment, I felt pinned under it, exposed.

“This would be a problem for Destiny,” he said, his voice like steel wrapped in gravel, “which means it’s a problem for D, and that makes it a problem for me.” His gaze stayed locked on mine, unwavering, daring me to challenge him, to deny that he was right.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes even though his words pricked at something tender, something raw inside me that I wasn’t ready to face. “So that’s all this is? Just business?”

“Nah, Shorty,” he murmured, and there it was again—that softness in his voice, like he’d put down his armor just enough to let something real slip through. It was almost gentle, and it made me freeze. “This is personal.”

Those words hung in the air between us, heavy and unexpected, like he’d thrown a punch and I hadn’t seen it coming. I didn’t want to believe him. Didn’t want to let myself feel that warmth spreading through my chest, that dangerous flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, someone was in my corner without an angle, without a price.

I shook my head, trying to stay steady, to keep my guard up even as my voice wavered. “Please leave it alone.”

His eyes softened, but behind that softness was a fire, a stubbornness that felt like it could burn through steel. His voice was low and steady, each word delivered with a weight that felt like it had been carved into stone over years of battle scars.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone cutting through the air between us like a knife, unbreakable. It was the kind of no that left no room for argument, like he was ready to go to war for me but didn’t know where the battlefield was yet.

“You talk like it’s easy, like you can just waltz in and make everything okay,” I snapped, the frustration boiling over as I felt the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. “But you don’t know what it’s like to carry this shit alone, to feel like you’re drowning and nobody even sees you. You don’t get it, Hakeem.”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered from mine. “I see you, Eden. I’ve seen you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I saw you handling things when no one else even knew there was a problem. And I’m telling you, you don’t have to carry this by yourself anymore. Not if I’m here.” He took a step closer, the sheer intensity radiating off his body like a promise he was willing to bleed for.

“Now tell me what’s up,” he demanded, his voice sharp with urgency, laced with something that felt like both a command and a plea. His grip on my arm was steady, but I could feel the tension in his fingertips, the barely restrained need to pull me closer, to shield me from whatever hell was clawing at my heels.

I wanted to make him understand that this wasn’t his fight, that people like me didn’t get saved, that every promise I’d heard before had been made of smoke and lies. But the way he looked at me—like he could see straight into the parts of me I kept locked away—had my resolve wavering.

“It’s not that simple, Hakeem. You can’t just say you’re gonna fix it and expect me to believe it. People make promises all the time, and they break them just as easy.”

“I’m not other people. I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Eden. You’re not just anybody. Let me in.”

Maybe I did need to tell somebody, before it ate me alive from the inside out. My chest heaved, and I suddenly buried my face in my hands as the tears came, hot and unrelenting, the kind that burned because they’d been held back too long. I’d convinced myself I could handle this, that I was strong enough to keep all the pieces from falling apart. But right now, I was crumbling.

Suddenly, I felt Hakeem drop to his knees in front of me. His presence was solid, like a wall I hadn’t realized I needed to lean on. He pulled my hands away from my face, his grip firm but not forceful like last night, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Talk to me,” Hakeem demanded, his voice low and commanding, like he was trying to anchor me back to the present, to him.

I sucked in a shaky breath, staring into those dark, intense eyes that refused to look away. I let out a deep, trembling sigh and finally sank further into the chair, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them.

“Well... initially, I started looking for a second job because... now that Destiny is back with Derek, I know she’s gonna leave Juniper behind. He doesn’t want to live here. She’s gonna leave me behind, Hakeem. Close up shop and go be on Love & Hip Hop or something, and where does that leave me?”

I could hear the panic in my own voice, the raw, jagged edge of it that I’d been trying to smooth over for weeks.

“It’s not like Juniper is full of opportunities, you know? This place is a dead end. So I figured I’d do what I could to make as much cash as possible so that when she does leave, I won’t be strapped for money while I figure out my next move.”

The room fell quiet, except for the sound of my ragged breathing, the weight of my confession settling heavy in the space between us. I half-expected him to tell me to stop whining, to get my shit together. But instead, Hakeem’s thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away the tears that had slipped free. I blinked, surprised by the tenderness in his touch.

“I don’t think Destiny would leave you hanging like that, Eden. She cares about you like family,” Hakeem said, his voice softer now, almost tender, like he was trying to reassure a spooked animal. There was something earnest in the way he said it, like he truly believed it, like he thought those words could patch up all the cracks.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a command—it was a plea. I could hear it in the way his voice softened, like he was afraid the sound of my tears might break something fragile between us.

I’d always thought of him as big and doofy, this overgrown watchdog shadowing Derek, with his broad shoulders and that intense scowl. And last night, he’d been downright terrifying, dragging me out of that club like he owned me. But here he was now, crouched in front of me like some kind of protective teddy bear, softening in a way I didn’t think was possible.

His words felt like salt on a wound though, stinging and sharp. He didn’t get it. Couldn’t get it. My chest tightened, a mix of frustration and hurt swirling inside me, and I felt the tears welling up, hot and uninvited. I turned my face away, trying to hold it together, but the ache was too deep, too real.

“Hakeem,” I whispered, my voice trembling, barely holding back the tears. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand.”

He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine, his eyes searching mine for something I wasn’t sure I had left to give.

“Then make me understand, Eden,” he said, his voice a rough whisper that brushed against my skin. “Help me see what you see.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But letting him in meant opening up all the doors I’d slammed shut, facing the mess I’d buried deep. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that—or if he was.

I sucked in a deep breath, feeling it burn on the way down, and finally let the truth come rushing out.

“I ran into Johnathon one night at that check-cashing place on Seventh,” I said, my voice low, testing the waters. “Destiny’s ex.” I watched as Hakeem’s eyes darkened.

“He asked how I was doing,” I continued, each word feeling heavier than the last. “I told him I was looking for a job, said to let me know if he knew of anything. He acted all friendly, like we were old friends catching up, and said he knew a guy who could hook me up with some waitressing work. Sounded easy enough, you know? I thought, sure, why not. I’d make cash every day, keep things simple.”

I paused, my stomach twisting with the memory. Hakeem’s eyes stayed on me, dark and intense, like he was bracing himself for what was coming next.

“But when I got there…” I hesitated, my voice faltering. “I realized it wasn’t just some restaurant—it was a strip club.”

The words hung heavy between us, sinking into the space like stones in water. I could see the shift in Hakeem’s expression—the way his brows pulled together, his eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and concern. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel the tension radiating off him, a slow burn that was building into something dangerous.

“I walked in and knew right away it was bad news,” I said, my voice trembling, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “The way the lights were dimmed low, the smell of cheap perfume and stale smoke clinging to everything. Johnathon was there, grinning like...like he knew something I didn’t. Arnold told me I was gonna work for him and that I’d make more money there than I’d ever see at a regular job. But I told him no—no way. Tried to walk right out of there.”

Hakeem’s hands clenched at his sides, his whole body tense, like he was ready to swing at something—or someone. “And he didn’t just let you leave, did he?” he said, his voice tight, barely controlled.

“No, he didn’t,” I whispered, my throat tightening with the memory of it. “He said I didn’t have a choice. Not if I wanted to keep things quiet about Destiny.”

His eyes widened, the darkness in them deepening. “Quiet about what?”

“Turns out the guy who owns the club, Arnold, is another ex from Destiny’s past,” I said, feeling the bile rise in my throat. “He and Destiny...they had a thing back in college, I guess. He showed me pictures of her—nasty ones. Said if I didn’t work for him, those pictures would be all over the internet. ‘Show the world what D-Truth’s girl is really about,’ he said.”

Hakeem’s face twisted, a muscle ticking in his jaw. I could see his rage building, boiling up like a pot about to spill over, his eyes going dark and dangerous. “Motherfuckers” he muttered under his breath. “So Arnold and Johnathon are working together to blackmail, Des?”

I didn’t have to answer. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and he started pacing, his movements sharp and restless, like a caged animal ready to break free.

“It ain’t happening,” he growled, his voice like a low thunder. “They want to play dirty? Fine. But they’re about to find out we play harder. What exactly do they have on Destiny?” he demanded, his grip on my face tightening just enough for me to feel the intensity radiating off him.

“I don’t know exactly, but it’s bad, Hakeem,” I said, my voice edging on panic, rising like a tide I couldn’t stop. “He said she’d be arrested, that everything would come crashing down. Destiny… she’d lose everything—maybe even Derek—and they know it. I’m not letting her drown. She deserves to me happy, so if I can handle this by myself, I will. I told them leave her out of it, and I’ll work off the money by working there.”

He stared at me, and for a moment, I thought he might explode, his fury boiling just beneath the surface.

“You think it’s your job to protect her?” His voice was a growl, low and rough, like he was barely holding himself back. “Take this all on by yourself?”

“Yes, she’s basically my big sister,” I said, the words breaking, raw and exposed, more a plea than a statement. “She’s finally happy. She got saved up and bought her house. We got the office. She got the Jubilee. Then Derek came back. This would ruin everything.”

Suddenly, Hakeem pulled me up to my feet, his hands steady but firm, his forehead pressed against mine. His breath, warm and steady, fanned across my skin, grounding me in the chaos spinning inside my head.

“Eden, it ain’t going down like this,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the small space between us, settling deep in my bones. “I love your loyalty, Ma, but fuck this. Do you know how long it would take you to work off $100,000 at that little raggedy-ass club?”

I fiddled with my fingers, my gaze dropping to my feet.

“Well, Arnold said it would go faster if I would just get on stage,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. “But I told him I’d try my luck waitressing first. He laughed at me—like he thought I was cute for even thinking I had a choice. He said go ahead, but that he’d see me on stage eventually. And that…”

“What?” Hakeem’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “The real money is if I’d go to the private rooms,” I continued, my words heavy with a dread I couldn’t shake. “I think most of the girls who go back there… they give him all their money. They’re probably all paying off something.”

When I dared to look up at Hakeem, I saw a flash of rage darken his face, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. Without a word, he turned and stalked across the room, his movements restless, wild, like he was trying to burn off the fury coursing through him. He started pacing in tight circles, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Hell nah,” he shouted, his voice booming off the walls, making me flinch. “It’s not happening!”

His anger was like a live wire, sparking hot and dangerous, and for a moment, I was scared of what he might do.

“Hakeem…” I started, my voice trembling, but he cut me off, his eyes blazing as he turned to face me.

“Don’t ‘Hakeem’ me, Eden,” he growled, his chest heaving.

I watched him, my heart pounding, the room feeling smaller with every step he took. I wanted to tell him I had it under control, that I knew what I was doing. But the truth was, I didn’t. And the way he was looking at me—like he was ready to tear the whole world apart to keep me safe—made me feel things I wasn’t ready to admit.

“What are you gonna do?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with all the things I couldn’t say.

“Don’t worry bout that, but know I gotta D when he gets back,” he said, his tone like steel—unyielding and sharp. It was the kind of tone that cut through all the noise, slicing clean through any illusions I might’ve been holding onto, leaving nothing but cold, hard reality in its wake. The kind that brooked no argument and had no room for compromise.

A wave of frustration crashed over me, heavy and hot.

“Ugh,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands, my fingers pressing against my temples like I could somehow squeeze the weight of this mess out of my skull.

The thought of this getting back to Derek felt like a punch in the gut. Hakeem didn’t budge. I could feel his presence looming over me, solid and unmovable, like a wall I kept running into.

“Eden,” he said, his voice softer now but still carrying that edge, like he was trying to keep his own temper in check. “We can’t play around with this. You know that. It’s not just about you.”

I knew that. God, I knew that. But hearing him say it, hearing that certainty in his voice, made something inside me twist up tight with a mix of fear and frustration. I dragged my hands down my face, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, and let out a shaky breath. A cold knot tightened in my stomach.

“If it didn’t involve Destiny, I’d keep it between me and you,” he added, his voice a little softer but still firm, like he was trying to make me see reason. “But it does. And that changes everything. Truth has a to know.”

My heart sank like a stone dropped in a well, the hollow feeling spreading through my chest, heavy and suffocating.

“I knew you’d say that,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper, my hope deflating like a slow leak. It was the answer I’d expected, but somehow hearing it still felt like a blow.

“We got people who fix everything,” he went on, his grip tightening on my arm like he could will his confidence into me. “Those pictures? They ain’t coming out. And you ain’t working off no fucking debt for nobody. You hear me? Whatever this shit is about Destiny’s past, it’s staying in the vault. That’s my promise to you, aight?”

His words hit like a hammer, each one a declaration, a vow made on a battlefield where the stakes were blood and bone. I could see the fire blazing in his eyes, bright and fierce, and it almost made me believe him. Almost. But I knew this world too well, knew how promises could shatter like glass under pressure, leaving you cut up and bleeding.

“Hakeem…” I started, my voice fragile, like I was afraid it would shatter the moment if I spoke too loud. “This isn’t just about pictures. People like Arnold and Johnathon? They don’t just go away.”

His eyes narrowed, a shadow falling over them, a darkness settling in that sent a shiver racing down my spine. “Yeah, well, they’re about to learn that we don’t go away either. Not when it comes to family.”

Family.

I felt something shift inside me, a small flicker of hope trying to catch flame, a dangerous thing to hold onto when the world was filled with gasoline.

“And what if it doesn’t work, Hakeem?” I asked, my voice trembling with all the what-ifs that haunted my thoughts. “What if telling Derek just makes it worse?”

He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing my ear, his breath warm and steady against my skin. His voice dropped to a rough whisper, low and resolute.

“Let me handle this shit, aight?” Hakeem said, his voice low and rough, each word laced with a quiet command that left no room for doubt. His hand moved to my cheek, his thumb grazing my skin with a tenderness that felt so out of place it almost hurt. “We got this. You don’t know me well enough to trust my word yet, but you will.”

His touch was gentle, but there was a promise in it, a solid weight behind every syllable he spoke. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his, the intensity of his gaze pulling me in, holding me in place like a magnetic force I had no hope of resisting. There was something in those dark, unflinching eyes—something that made me want to believe him, even though every instinct screamed at me to be careful, to protect myself. But I couldn’t help it. In that moment, I found myself trusting his word, despite all the times I’d been burned before.

“Destiny will be okay?” I asked, my voice barely more than a breath, hanging on the edge of fear and fragile hope.

“Yeah,” he said, tilting my chin up with the roughened pad of his thumb, guiding my gaze back to his. His touch was firm but tender, and I could feel the strength behind it, the unspoken promise of protection. “And you gon be alright too. I’ll personally make sure of that.”

The way he said it, like it was a vow etched in stone, sent a jolt through me. I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure, but my body had other ideas. A heat flared deep inside me, unexpected and overwhelming, a slow, aching pull that coiled low in my belly. I felt a rush of warmth between my thighs, an unfamiliar wetness pooling there that made my breath hitch. It was like my body was betraying me, responding to his presence, his words, his touch, in ways I’d never felt before. It was electric, terrifying—like standing too close to an open flame.

I fought to steady my breathing, my chest tightening as I struggled to keep my cool. But the way he was looking at me, like I was something worth fighting for, like he was ready to take on the world just to keep me safe, had my head spinning. I’d never felt this way—so seen, so vulnerable, and so dangerously close to giving in.

It scared the hell out of me, this feeling. This draw to him, like gravity pulling me closer and closer, even though I knew how easy it would be to fall. But there I was, teetering on the edge, wanting more and terrified of what that meant.

“I can see by the way you’ve been trying to play this,” Hakeem said, stepping closer until there was barely any space between us. His hands came up to cradle my face, his touch firm but gentle, grounding me in the chaos of the moment. “You try to fix everything on your own, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You think you gotta save everybody, and you’re convinced no one’s ever coming to save you.”

A tear I hadn’t even realized was there slipped down my cheek, unbidden, the truth of his words cutting deep, slicing through all the walls I’d built around myself.

“But Eden,” he said, his voice dropping to a deep, rumbling whisper, thick with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt, “I’m that nigga. I’m here to save you.” His words hung heavy in the air, laced with conviction. A slow, confident grin spread across his face, a look that was equal parts promise and challenge, his eyes locked onto mine like he was sealing a vow between us, unbreakable and absolute.

In that moment, something shifted. It was like the ground beneath me wasn’t solid anymore, like every line I’d drawn around myself was being redrawn in an instant.

And it was then I knew, with a certainty that rattled me to my core: nothing would ever be the same.