13. Imani Blaze
Trill-Land, Jungle Estate
“ S he’s having an allergic reaction to something!” I blurted as I jumped up from my chair, pretending to panic right along with the rest of them.
Zaniyah was laid out across the floor, her eyes wide, gasping for air with one hand clawing at her throat while the other tried to hold herself up.
Her lips were swelling fast, and her skin had turned a blotchy red.
You could hear the scratch in her throat every time she tried to breathe.
Most of the women were frozen, staring in shock, and Pressure was already kneeling beside her, his voice booming through the dining room.
“Move! Everybody move back!”
I stayed close though, because I knew what was coming next.
I needed to be the one to save her. I had planned this moment down to the minute, and I wasn’t about to let anybody else take credit for it.
I knew she was allergic to pistachios because she ran her mouth too much.
She told me one night while she was oiling her legs and complaining about how the chefs better not use nut oils in the kitchen.
She said she carried an EpiPen in her bag just in case.
I smiled at her, nodded like I cared, then made a mental note of it.
I didn’t know what it was about Pressure that made me this way, but the second I found out I made the cut for the Diamonds, it felt like fate.
I’d been watching him for years—every picture, every caption, every story he posted.
I knew what kind of jeans he liked. I knew he hated overly filtered women.
I knew his mother wore perfume with jasmine in it and that he always posted her on Sundays.
I’d memorized everything. I just needed a way to stand out.
I needed him to see me as valuable, and not some bitch crying or begging for a rose.
I had to earn my spot. And if that meant letting Zaniyah’s throat close up for a second or two? So be it.
“She got an EpiPen!” I shouted. “It’s in her purse—upstairs in our room. I’ll go get it!”
“Run!” Pressure barked, not even looking at me as he focused on keeping her steady. “Go now!”
I took off, but I wasn’t running like no crazy person. I paced myself, smooth and careful not to trip or look frantic. I had to make sure the timing lined up. I needed her close to slipping into death before I brought her back.
Once I got upstairs, I walked in our room and closed the door behind me.
Her purse was right there on the bottom bunk where she always kept it.
After I unzipped it, I didn’t even have to dig for it.
Her EpiPen was tucked in a small velvet pouch next to her allergy meds and lip gloss.
I grabbed it and stood there for a second, staring at it.
This little thing could bring her back from the brink of death.
I wondered if she’d remember my face when she came back to. If she’d thank me or cry. Honestly, I didn’t care either way. The only person I wanted watching was Pressure.
By the time I got back downstairs, things were worse. Zaniyah was barely moving now. Her lips were swollen so bad it didn’t even look like her face. Pressure looked up the seconds saw me.
“Give it here!” he shouted, reaching for the EpiPen.
“I got it,” I said quickly, already moving to kneel beside her.
He stared at me, but I kept my hand steady and found the side of her thigh. “It has to go into her outer muscle,” I said confidently. “I got this.”
I clicked off the safety cap, pressed the orange tip to her leg, and pushed until I heard the hiss. Her body jolted slightly, and for a second, nobody said a word.
“Come on. Don’t let her die.”
A few seconds passed, then her chest rose. Not just a weak breath, but a full one. Then another. Her fingers stopped clawing at her throat, her eyes blinked, and she looked around like she didn’t know where she was.
“She’s okay,” I whispered, fake tears in my eyes as I leaned back on my heels. “She’s breathing.”
Pressure’s eyes were locked on Zaniyah, but I could feel his energy shift. His hand was still on her back, but his head turned toward me slowly, his eyes narrowing, like he couldn’t believe I knew what to do.
The other women started crowding in, their voices rising, their faces full of worry, but I blocked them out.
I stayed kneeling on the floor, my hair slightly out of place and breathing hard, like I had just ran a marathon to be the hero.
I looked up at Pressure with wide eyes and said, “I remembered what she told me about having some sort of nut allergy and that she kept an EpiPen in her bag. I just—I couldn’t let her die, Pressure. I had to help.”
Pressure didn’t nod, give me a pat on the back or a slow blink of approval. He stood up like his whole body was filled with rage, his jaw tight and voice thunderin’ through the dining room.
“Who the fuck put nuts in the goddamn food?!”
Everybody froze. The girls, the chefs, even Zaniyah, who was still laid out recovering, flinched a little at the sound of his voice.
Pressure turned toward the kitchen staff, his finger pointed like a trigger. “Y’all knew she had a fuckin’ allergy? Did she tell y’all? Huh? Somebody tryna kill in my fuckin’ house now?”
One of the chefs stepped forward, their palms raised, shaking his head fast. “No, sir. No nuts were used, I swear to you. We triple-check every ingredient. That wasn’t us.”
Another chef chimed in, nervous as hell. “She asked about ingredients earlier, and we told her there were no nuts in the crab cakes. Breadcrumbs, herbs, seasoning, lump crab—that’s it.”
Pressure looked down at Zaniyah, who was now sitting up with her hand on her chest, her eyes watery but focused. “You told them you had an allergy?”
She nodded weakly. “I did. I asked them. I told them I was allergic to pistachios. They said I was good…”
Pressure looked like he was about to flip the entire dining table. “She could’ve fuckin’ died. In my house. On my damn floor. Y’all gotta be more careful around this muthafucka!”
The room was quiet except for Zaniyah’s shallow breathing and a few girls whispering, trying to make sense of what just happened.
“I don’t play about people’s lives,” Pressure snapped, his eyes cutting back toward the chefs. “Somebody better figure out what the fuck went wrong, and y’all better do it fast.”
After Pressure finally calmed down, he turned to me. “Thanks for lookin’ out. You savin’ a life is major.”
I stayed still, letting the storm swirl around me, but I knew this was the moment.
He was no longer brushing me off like some loudmouth with a slick tongue. Right now, he was looking at me like I mattered, and that I stepped up when everybody else froze.
And that was the whole point…
Zaniyah coughed hard, then winced and mumbled, “Yeah, thanks Imani.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I stood up and backed away, giving Zaniyah space as one of the chefs came running in with water and towels.
The whole room had flipped from laughter and eating good food to emergency and panic.
People were shaking their heads, wiping tears, holding their chests like damn, that was close .
And through it all, I stood still, calm and in control.
Because deep down, I knew I had just secured my spot.
I had taken a gamble, put a woman’s life on the line and won. None of these other bitches in this house had that kind of drive. They flirted and joked and argued about simple shit, but they weren’t willing to actually fight for Pressure. Not like me…