25. Dream
T he soft light of the late afternoon spilled into the room as I sat on the cushioned rocking chair in Donshay’s—now Donta’s—room at the Knight Estate. Mrs. Knight sat beside me on the chaise lounge, her usual poised and elegant self, while Hocus’s wife, Chanel, leaned against the crib, bouncing her six-month-old daughter on her hip.
“You know,” Chanel said, her voice warm, “being a mom looks good on you.”
I glanced at Donta, who was nestled in my arms, his tiny fingers curling around my necklace as he drifted off to sleep. “Thank you,” I said softly, the words wrapping around me like a hug.
“I’m falling in love with him already,” I admitted, brushing a finger across Donta’s cheek. “But I know I’m not his mom. I just… I hope he doesn’t hold that against me when he grows up.”
Mrs. Knight smiled, her expression kind and thoughtful. “Children don’t judge love by blood, Dream,” she said. “They judge it by presence, care, and consistency. If you show up for him—and I know you will—he’ll grow to see you as the mother you’ve chosen to be.”
Her words settled something in me, but they also carried weight. I glanced down at Donta, his soft breaths steady against my chest. I was all in, even if the path ahead wasn’t entirely clear.
As the conversation shifted, my phone started ringing from the side table. I reached over and glanced at the screen. Zaraa.
Curiosity stirred in my chest, but I hesitated. I wasn’t ready to hear her excuses or whatever half-baked apology she had prepared. Not yet.
I’ll call her back later , I thought, silencing the call and turning my attention back to Chanel and Mrs. Knight. They were now the important people in my life.
We talked a little longer before Donta’s tiny yawns let me know he was ready for bed. After tucking him into the crib, I stood and stretched, feeling the day catch up with me.
Chanel and I walked out together, the crisp evening air brushing against our skin. She was easy to talk to—relatable in a way most women weren’t. Being married to a man like Hocus meant she understood things that other women couldn’t.
“I like talking to you,” I said as I helped her buckle her baby into the car seat of her Porsche truck. “There’s so much I can’t share with most people.”
She smiled, her hand resting on the doorframe. “Same here. And for what it’s worth, you’re doing great. But marrying a man like Damier? It takes patience, trust, and a lot of understanding. Just remember, you’re building something with him—not against him.”
I nodded, her words sinking in. “Thanks, Chanel. That means a lot.”
We hugged, and I made my way to the sleek new two-seater Mercedes that Damier had surprised me with a few days ago. As I slid into the leather seat, I couldn’t help but think about how much he’d been opening up when it came to spending money on me.
He’d already paid off the house, and even though he’d said I didn’t need to change anything, he’d deposited money into an account for renovations if I wanted them. I loved how generous he was, but more than that, I loved him .
As I drove, my thoughts drifted to the future. I realized I wouldn’t be able to keep the two-seater once I started taking care of Donta full-time—and especially not when we had our own kids. I couldn’t believe I was even thinking like that, but it felt right.
My phone buzzed on the console, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and remembered Zaraa’s earlier call. For a moment, I debated ignoring it again, but something made me answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Zaraa said, her voice softer than usual. “I’m glad you picked up. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“Look,” she said, a hint of emotion creeping into her tone. “I messed up. I know I did. I cut things off with Lamari—I swear. I just want to make things right with you, Dream. Can we have dinner? My treat.”
Her words caught me off guard. She sounded sincere, almost desperate. Against my better judgment, I found myself agreeing. “Alright, bitch, just because I want to see where yo’ head is at, and I want you to know where I stand with all this shit,” I said.
“I’ma pick you up in an hour. We’ll go somewhere nice.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly, the knot in my stomach loosening just a little.
When I got home, Zaraa’s black BMW was already parked in front of my house. No matter how low her income was, she always kept a fly car. I grabbed my purse and slid into the passenger seat, noting how calm she seemed.
As soon as Zaraa pulled out of my driveway, the silence in the car became unbearable. My jaw tightened as I stared out the window, the passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across my face. I wasn’t going to pretend everything was okay, and the words were bubbling up before I could stop them.
“You were wrong as hell for sleeping with Lamari and coming at me the way you did about it. Now, you want to make up,” I said, my tone sharp, cutting through the tension. “And then you were even wronger for being jealous of me being with Damier for real. You could’ve come to me, Zaraa, about how you felt. If you needed money, I would’ve given it to you. You didn’t have to betray me for it.”
She flinched at my words, her hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I know,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“Do you?” I snapped, turning to face her. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. You had no problem sneaking around with him, no problem lying to my face. And for what? A couple of dollars and a man who ain’t worth shit?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she sniffled, her voice trembling as she replied. “Imani, I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I was stupid. I let Lamari get in my head, and I made the worst decision of my life.”
I folded my arms, watching her carefully. Her tears were real enough, but something in the way she was breaking down didn’t sit right with me. It felt… forced, like she was playing a role she thought I wanted to see. After years of studying people, I knew when somebody was off.
“Zaraa,” I said, my tone softening just slightly. “If you really mean that, then prove it. Words aren’t enough. You can’t just cry and think it’ll fix everything.”
“I know,” she choked out, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I just… I want to move forward. I want to fix things between us.”
Her voice cracked again, and I sighed, turning back to the window. Despite her tears, there was something hollow in the way she was talking, like the pieces weren’t quite adding up. But I ignored the nagging feeling in my gut.
“Before dinner,” she said, sniffling and trying to pull herself together, “I was thinking we could go to North Hollywood to grab some weed. My plug’s house isn’t far, and it won’t take long.”
Her tone had shifted, and the quick subject change made me glance at her out of the corner of my eye. It felt off, but I brushed it aside. This was Zaraa—weed and a quick detour were just part of her routine.
“Alright,” I said flatly, still keeping my guard up.
We drove in silence again, the uneasy feeling in my chest refusing to fade. But I pushed it down, telling myself I was just being paranoid. After all, this was Zaraa.
When we pulled up to a small house on a dimly lit street, my stomach tightened. The place didn’t feel right—too quiet, too isolated in the valley.
“We’re just grabbing it and going?” I asked, glancing at her.
“Yeah, won’t take a minute,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
I reluctantly stepped out of the car, my instincts screaming at me to leave. But before I could act, the sound of footsteps behind me made my heart race.
Turning, I saw two men approaching—one of them was Lamari.
“Imani,” he said, his voice dripping with fake charm. “Long time no see.”
Panic surged through me as I realized what was happening. My fingers tightened around the small canister of mace in my purse.
“What is this, Zaraa?” I demanded, my voice trembling as I turned to her.
She looked away, her guilt plastered across her face.
Lamari grabbed my arm, his grip rough and unrelenting. “You’re coming with us,” he said coldly.
My instincts kicked in. I yanked my arm free and pulled out the mace, spraying it directly into his face. Lamari let out a guttural scream, stumbling backward as he clawed at his burning eyes.
“Zaraa, what the fuck,” he bellowed, his voice raw with pain.
I didn’t waste another second. I turned and ran as my Balenciaga tennis shoes moved as fast as they could go.
“Grab that bitch!” Lamari shouted, his voice echoing behind me.
I made it only a few steps before one of his friends caught up to me, his hands gripping my arms like a vise. I thrashed and screamed, my voice raw as I cursed at Zaraa.
“Zaraa, you lame ass bitch!” I shouted, my voice breaking with anger and betrayal. “You scandalous ho! You set me up!”
Through the haze of my panic, I saw her walking Lamari toward the yard, her expression a mix of guilt and fear. She didn’t look back at me as she helped him rinse his eyes at the water hose.
The men forced me to the ground, tying a shirt tightly around my mouth to muffle my screams. Tears burned in my eyes as I struggled against them, my heart pounding with terror.
“Let’s go,” one of them muttered, dragging me toward the house.
I kicked and fought, but it was no use. The door slammed shut behind me, the sound sealing my fate. Damier had flown to Paris for business, so there was no way he could save me. But I hoped like hell he would get triggered by my absence and try to find me.
$$$$$$
The room was dark and smelled of damp wood and sweat. My head pounded from the chaos that had just unfolded. They’d taken my phone, and one of Lamari’s men had walked out with it earlier, locking the door from the outside. I silently prayed that they hadn’t tampered with it. My location was on, and Damier and I had been sharing locations since the day he insisted on it for “safety.”
Please, God, let him find me , I thought, the knot in my stomach tightening as I sat on the cold floor.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and my chest tightened. The door creaked open, and there he was—Lamari, his face twisted in fury. His eyes were still red and swollen from the mace, but that didn’t stop the smirk from spreading across his face.
“You got me fucked up,” he sneered, stepping closer.
Before I could respond, his hand came down hard across my face, the force sending me crashing into the wall. Pain shot through my cheek, but anger quickly replaced it.
“You bitch ass nigga!” I snapped, scrambling to my feet despite the ache in my body.
I launched myself at him, swinging wildly, but he caught my arms easily and shoved me back onto the bed. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?” he growled, grabbing a length of rope from the floor.
“You’re a bitch,” I spat, thrashing against his grip as he tied my wrists to the bedposts with the rope that had been lying on the floor. “You can’t handle a real man like my nigga, so you have to sneak around like a little bitch!”
His face darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might hit me again. Instead, he leaned in close, his breath hot and sour against my face. “You think you’re that girl, huh?” he hissed. “You think you’re untouchable because you’ve got some billionaire nigga in your corner? Let me tell you something—he’s about to pay a fortune to get your ass back, and when he does, I’ll be set for life.”
“You’re disgusting,” I snapped, my voice filled with venom. “Damier’s going to bury you.”
That was all it took to set him off. His hands shot to my neck, squeezing hard enough to make my vision blur.
“Keep talking,” he taunted, his grip tightening with every word. “I want you to remember exactly how powerless you are when I take every penny from your nigga.”
I gasped for air, my vision narrowing as the room spun around me. My hands jerked against the ropes, but it was useless. His laughter rang in my ears as the pressure grew unbearable.
“Don’t worry,” he sneered. “You’ll wake up just in time to see your boyfriend’s money hit my account.”
The world went black, his voice fading into the void as I passed out.