2. Pressure Mensah
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
T he sun was barely startin’ to peek through the trees, throwin’ soft shadows across the jungle below.
I was standin’ on my marble balcony, blowin’ Trillium with just my chains on and some Ethikas hangin’ low on my hips while the smoke curled up past my face and disappeared into the breeze.
The God Smoke had me feelin’ relaxed, but I wasn’t really at peace.
I could still hear the tremble in Donovan’s voice.
My body was still floatin’, but my head kept spinnin’ right back to last night on the phone, Ka’mari screamin’ through the speaker, and the way them grown-ass men froze when I fired that warnin’ shot into the ceiling.
I could still see the fear in his face while the whole party watched me flip his whole life upside down without breakin’ a sweat.
That boy ain’t stand a chance when it came to me, and that shit didn’t feel reckless to me. It felt necessary.
I ain’t care if it looked crazy, or give a fuck who recorded the shit. Ka’mari was gettin’ married to a nigga who couldn’t protect her from me, and that was all I needed to know.
Inside, Renza and Kay’Lo was in the kitchen actin’ like we ain’t just crash a whole bachelor’s party last night. Plates was clinkin’, bacon was poppin’, and they was laughin’ loud over whatever dumb shit they was sayin’ between bites.
I leaned my elbows against the rail and stared out at the trees while the smoke worked its way through my chest.
This estate was mine, but I knew I ain’t fully build it alone. It came from power. I just added to it.
My phone buzzed on the small stone table beside me. I glanced at the screen, and my eyes narrowed before I even picked it up. It was Ka’mari.
I let it buzz one more time before I reached back and picked it up.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t answer right away. I could hear her breathin’, real shaky, like she was tryna keep it together and already losin’ that fight.
“You serious right now?” she fired back, already heated. “You really think that shit you did last night was cool?”
I took a slow drag of the Trillium, let the smoke roll off my lips, and didn’t rush to speak.
“You got Donovan lookin’ like a damn fool,” she kept goin’. “You embarrassed both of us.”
“That man embarrassed hisself,” I finally said, keepin’ my tone even. “He the one that folded soon as I walked in the door.”
“Why do you keep doin’ this to me?”
Her voice cracked, soft and broken, and I stayed quiet. It wasn’t ‘cause I ain’t care, but because I needed to hear everything she was holdin’ back.
“Relax.”
“Relax? You think I’m not supposed to be pissed?”
“Be pissed,” I shrugged. “I ain’t stop you.”
“You’re a fuckin’ narcissist,” she said, her voice crackin’ just a little.
“I be tryna get away from you,” she whispered, “and you just keep showin’ up like you own me.”
I took another pull, let it sit, then let the smoke ease out while she kept talkin’.
“You won’t let me move on,” she cried. “No matter what I do. Every time I start to build somethin’ for myself, you show up and knock it down like you own me.”
I didn’t budge. “I ain’t never say I owned you, but I built you, and that part don’t go away.”
“I hate you,” she whispered.
I could hear her tryin’ to hold it together, but I knew Ka’mari. She was emotional, impulsive, and beautiful even in rage. That was what made her unforgettable. But I also knew she didn’t hate me. She hated that I could still touch her without even bein’ there.
“You don’t hate me,” I said, calm. “You hate what you feel when you hear my name.”
She sniffed on the other end, and I knew the tears had started all over again.
“Donovan didn’t deserve that,” she said, softer now. “He ain’t perfect, but he loved me, and he’s tryin’.”
“He was tryna be me,” I corrected. “That’s where he fucked up.”
“You think this shit funny, huh?”
“Nah,” I said. “I think it’s sad. You keep runnin’ from who you really are just so you can say you in a safe relationship. That nigga not built to handle you the way I do, Ka. He’s weak.”
Her silence told me I was hittin’ too close to home. She didn’t argue or hang up either. She just cried.
“I’m supposed to be gettin’ married today and you ruined that! I swear to fucking God, on my soul… I hate you, Pressure!”
I stood there, watchin’ the way the sun was startin’ to bounce off the surface of the infinity pool down below.
“Get some rest,” I said finally, my voice soft but firm. “You sound tired.”
Then I ended the call
A few minutes passed, and my phone lit up again.
It was my mama.
Soon as I saw her name, my whole energy shifted, and I picked up fast.
“Good morning, baby,” she said, her voice smooth like she was sittin’ on silk with her legs crossed, already dressed for a meetin’ I ain’t know about yet.
“Mornin’, Ma,” I said, my voice softer than it had been all day.
Abeni Mensah was the only person who could check me without ever raising her voice.
My mama wasn’t loud. She was regal, but she could move nations like chess pieces.
Seraphine House was her brand—luxury fashion to the outside world, but what she really ran was influence.
She backed Black candidates all across the globe, gave ‘em the resources to win, then owned ‘em from the inside out. Most of ‘em ain’t even realize she was the reason their campaigns ever saw daylight. She didn’t do power like most people.
She wore it like perfume. The shit was subtle, rare, and unforgettable.
“I need you to come by,” she said, still gentle. “Your father wants to speak with you.”
I sighed, but not from annoyance. I just knew I needed to brace myself.
I nodded. “Alright. I’ll pull up soon.”
“And Pressure?”
“Yeah, Ma?”
“Wear something that’s not hanging off your narrow behind.”
She ended the call with a kiss through the phone, and just like that, the weight on my chest felt a little easier to carry.
I walked back inside, left the rest of the weed on the tray, and headed for the shower. I took my time under the water, lettin’ the heat run down my back while I thought about Ka’mari.
By the time I stepped out, I already knew what I was wearin’.
I threw on tailored black slacks, and a sleeveless silk button-down, and let it hang open so my ink and chains could breathe.
The cologne clung to my skin like wealth— Clive Christian X for Men , clean and bold without tryin’ too hard. My rings caught the light as I slid them on, each one placed with purpose. I gave myself one last look in the mirror, then nodded.
It was time to go see the king that raised me.
Eboni Keep in Nzuri Hall
When I pulled up to The Keep—my parents’ mansion—I didn’t even need to announce myself.
The pearly gates eased open like they recognized my presence.
My name carried weight here, but not just because I was Kojo and Abeni Mensah’s son.
It was because even with all their power, I was the one they built to carry the next chapter of it.
The driveway curved like a private runway, lined with royal palms and violet blossoms bred to only grow in this part of Trill- Land.
The marble exterior of the estate gleamed under the sun like it had been waxed twice, then kissed by God.
The Keep wasn’t just a house—it was an empire disguised as a home.
It had its own energy, and own heartbeat.
You could feel the history in the stones.
As I slowed down in front of the circular entrance, the gardener stepped out with a respectful nod. He was older, quiet, and always kept the grounds pristine like his life depended on it. I gave him a chin lift and kept movin’.
I took my time walkin’ inside. The floors were polished white stone, and still cool even through my leather-bottom kicks.
The ceiling stretched high with gold inlays and soft violet lightin’ that glowed through handcrafted chandeliers.
The Seraphine crest was stitched into the rug at the foot of the grand staircase—my mother’s signature in gold thread, remindin’ everybody who really ran things behind the scenes.
They were waitin’ on me in the sittin’ room.
My mother was seated on the velvet chaise in a lavender silk gown, sippin’ somethin’ hot out of a fine glass teacup.
She looked calm, collected and untouched by the world.
That was her way—always poised like she had every answer before the question could form.
My father was on the opposite side, sittin’ straight in his dark tailored suit with no tie, and his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his chain.
He wasn’t flashy, but you knew not to play with him.
Kojo Mensah wasn’t just the man who built Trill-Land’s infrastructure—he was the infrastructure.
He owned the companies behind the entire sovereign defense grid, from the AI drones that patrolled our borders to the smart ammunition that tracked its targets by scent and sound.
Nations and rebel groups alike bought from him through shell corps, unaware they were being supplied by the same man.
It was Black ops meetin’ Wall Street, and Kojo sat comfortably at the intersection.
I kissed my mother on the cheek and shook my father’s hand like a man. His grip was firm like always, and his face was unreadable.
I took a seat across from them, leanin’ back in the chair, tryin’ to keep my energy cool even though I could already feel that somethin’ was comin’. They was both lookin’ at me like they were about to drop news I wasn’t gon’ like.
Kojo spoke first.
“Ka’mari’s father called me.”
I didn’t say nothin’. I just looked at him, waitin’.
“He was furious,” he continued. “He said you stormed into his future son-in-law’s bachelor party, disrespected everybody in the room, and forced the man to call off the wedding.”
He paused like he was givin’ me a chance to explain, but I didn’t have anything to say. He wouldn’t understand anyway. There wasn’t no way to justify what I did to someone who didn’t feel shit the way I did, so I stayed quiet.