Darien
MEN DO CRAZY shit when they are in love, like ask their driver where he drove their girlfriend for the last two days.
Apparently, the day before yesterday, she went to the store and a grave site. Yesterday, she went to the grocery store, and that was it. Might need to speak to a shrink about my stalking tendencies.
I sit at a sturdy brown table with Chris, waiting for my soon-to-be ex-wife to walk through the wide double doors so we can get this shit over with. Chris pushes his glasses up on his nose as he taps away on his phone.
I thought Alana would show up and support me, so I could prove to her that I wasn’t lying. Turns out I was wrong. I sent her a message reminding her of the date and time, but she didn’t respond. Congratulations to me on being the world’s most fucked-up boyfriend.
Mia and an older woman barge into the room and take their seat across from us. The little devil—my wife—wears a purple blouse with a black pencil skirt and a black beanie slumped on her head. She flashes me her dingy yellow teeth as if she’s won this battle. She is so wrong.
My lawyer starts off discussing the assets I had before I met Mia. Two condo buildings, three beach homes—one in Palm Beach, one in Miami, and one in Ocean City—the D&D bank, three cars, and stocks and bonds. Then he states the stuff that I bought after I married her: a few investments and American Banking, which I just purchased. Belle discusses Mia’s assets that she had before she married me, a condo and a car. She didn’t purchase a lot of shit while we were married, but it was designer shit.
“My client doesn’t want to settle. She wants to go to court,” Belle, her lawyer, says. She twists an anchor necklace between her fingers. Three lines sprout from the corners of her brown eyes as she frowns.
“My client will let her keep the condo and that’s it,” Chris says.
“No,” Belle says, tucking a gray strand behind her ear. Her eyes narrow at me. I want to slap both women silly. Not about to give her half of my empire. Mia smirks. She thinks she’s won the war, but she hasn’t.
“Let’s discuss this in private,” I say, gritting my teeth. Mia looks at me and to her lawyer. Chris cocks his eyebrow at me.
“Sure,” she says, plastering a fake smile on her face.
Both of the lawyers leave.
“I’m not changing my mind,” the little devil says, picking lint from her blouse. “I deserve half of the money, Darien.”
What new drug is she snorting? She must be high as fuck if she thinks that I’m going to give her my money. Entitled little brat.
“I need to be compensated for pain and suffering.”
“Pain and suffering?” I tap my finger on the table.
“I wouldn’t have to do so much coke if I wasn’t married to you. You did this to me with your possessiveness and controlling ways.”
Her words don’t even hurt. Maybe it would have a few years ago, but not now. This heart and dick belong to someone else. I can’t stand this woman. Even her breathing is pissing me off.
“Sorry for trying to help you. You know what? Fuck you.” I reach into my breast pocket, taking out photos and laying them on the brown table. “If you try to take me to court, I’m going to leak these photos on the internet, and I’ll make sure that no agent will sign you.” My voice is cold, like Antarctica.
She picks up one photo with shaky hands, and her face goes white as a sheet of paper.
“W-where did you get this?” Her voice breaks. It’s a picture of her snorting coke off another man’s dick. She picks up another picture of her sucking another man’s dick while another is fucking her from behind.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“This is blackmail.” I hear the hurt in her tone, and tears leak from the corners of her eyes.
“Call it negotiation.” My tone is flat.
She tosses the pictures to the side as if they’re burning her freshly manicured hand.
“I could have you arrested,” she whispers, and those black, deep, rich eyes meet mine. She looks at me as if I’m the scum of the fucking earth, and right now, I am—at least in her eyes. Thought her little ass was going to come in here and walk away with half of something she didn’t work for.
“Actually, you can’t, because I’ll make sure that it won’t trace back to me. And, if you win the case and take half the money, those pictures will always be up and people will always know you as the person who sucked dick for a bag of rocks. Good luck on trying to sign to an agent.” She cries harder at my words, and I got her attention. “If you stop crying like a brat, I’ll let you keep the condo and your Porsche and all that designer shit that you love.”
She doesn’t respond, and the door creaks open. I take the pictures and stuff them back in my breast pocket. Chris and Belle come in, take their seats, and I clear my throat.
“I-I want the condo and my Porsche, that’s all,” Mia says.
Little miss Belle’s eyes damn near pop out of her sockets and she says, “You sure? We can nail him if you want to.”
Mia’s eyes meet mine, and I keep a straight face.
“Positive.” Mia’s voice breaks.
Chris slides the papers across the table, and her hands shake as she signs the papers. She grabs her Michael Kors purse and excuses herself from the table. I sigh as relief floods my chest.
Belle turns her view to us, tapping her heels against the ugly green carpet, and says, “Once the papers are notarized by the judge then I’ll send them to you.” Her eyes cut me like daggers.
Am I scum of the earth for what I did?
Absolutely.
Do I feel guilty for blackmailing my wife into walking away from five hundred million dollars? Absolutely fucking not.
In the words of Rose Royce, love don’t live here anymore. Chris grabs the manila folder from the table and tucks it under his arm and we shake hands, parting ways. I make my way to the lobby and find Alana slouching in the black plastic chair. Her white hoodie is zipped up to her neck, and her hair is tucked under a Hello Kitty hat. Her white jeans look like they are painted on her. I walk to her and tap her on the shoulder. Her eyes grow wide, and she wipes the drool from her mouth with her sleeve.
“Is it over with? I’m sorry I’m late. Got out of orientation late.” She stretches her legs out and yawns. I yank her up on her feet and kiss the shit out of her. I missed the fuck out of this woman, can’t wait to bury my dick between her legs. She pulls away, breathing heavily, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders, meshing my body with hers.
“Yeah, and it’s fine. I signed the papers.”
“We need to talk, Darien,” she says, biting her pinky nail.
“I know. We’ll talk at my place. Need to check on my father.” He has been in and out of sleep for the last few days. He says he is feeling better, but I don’t know—kinda worried about him. I left him at the condo with Jade.
I tap the button on the elevator and the door whistles open and we step in and head downstairs.
Back at my condo, I unbutton my jacket and hang it on the coat rack. Jade sits on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hand, eyes glued to the screen. She waves at us and tells me that she gave my dad his medication.
I grab Alana by the arm and take her to my office, shutting the door behind me. She makes her way to the cream couch across from the desk and pops her feet under her butt, and I sit next to her. She glances at the old, carved wooden bookcase. It looks out of place in the sleek, modern décor. This is the only room I unpacked because I need it for work.
“Darien, if we are going to be together then we can’t hide secrets from each other.” She bites her plump pink lips.
“I know. Should have told you about Mia and I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I say truthfully.
“Promise me you won’t keep secrets from me. That if we have a problem, we will talk to each other.” I hear the fear in her voice.The fear that I caused. Don’t want her to worry or think that I’m keeping shit from her.
“Promise. You need to promise me that when things get bad you don’t run from me.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. You ran from me when we had sex at Gunner’s house, you were distant after I ate you out at the gala, and you ran from me after you found out that I was married.” I exhale. “I’m gonna fuck up in the relationship. I’m not perfect.”
“I’m not expecting you to be, just want you to be upfront with me.” She nestles next to me, lying on my chest. God, she smells divine, something fruity or floral. I tilt her chin up so my eyes meet hers, and I kiss the bridge of her nose.
“My mom left me in a trash can when I was four months old, and she didn’t want me. My ex-wife always chose drugs over me. I might not be good enough for them, but I want to be good enough for you.” Hurt stretches in my chest and my bottom lip quivers. Hate sharing my feelings. She strokes my cheeks. I don’t need her pity. She throws her arms around my neck and plants kisses on my face, squeezing the life out of me.
“You are more than enough, Darien. You”—she kisses my forehead—“are”—kisses my chin—“enough.” She kisses my lips. “Don’t ever say that again. You’re my Orpheus.” Her voice is sweet as honey, and she kisses my lips.