11. Egypt #2
I stayed still for a moment, my chest tightening.
I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But the edge in his voice, the heat in his tone—it said more than he probably ever would if I asked.
I waited a moment, then stepped toward the room just as he opened the door.
His jaw was tight, shoulders broad and tense under his black tee.
When he saw me, he paused. Didn’t say a word.
I didn’t either. Instead, I walked right up to him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pressed my cheek against his chest. He let out a slow and measured breath.
“I’m not asking questions,” I murmured. “Just letting you know… I’m here if you wanna talk.”
His hands wrapped around my waist. “I know,” he said quietly.
“C’mon,” I whispered. “Shower with me.”
By the time we stepped out the shower, steam rising around us like we were wrapped in clouds, my heart felt…
lighter. We didn’t say much, but the way he held me under the hot water said everything.
I towel-dried off quickly, wrapped in a plush white robe, while Nasseem threw on a pair of sweats and a tee.
There was a knock at the suite door, soft but quick.
“That’s glam,” I said, grabbing my robe belt and cinching it tight. “Don’t scare them off.”
Nasseem smirked and kissed my temple. “Only one scared of me in this room is you.”
I rolled my eyes, but my smirk matched his as I opened the door. “Y’all on time for once,” I greeted my team—Amaya on makeup, Tiffani on hair, and Kaia on styling.
“Only cause we knew you’d threaten to replace us if we weren’t,” Amaya joked, already unpacking her brushes and palettes. They breezed in like a glam hurricane, turning the suite into a temporary dressing room, lights and mirrors going up fast.
Nasseem came up behind me, still drying his beard with a towel. “I’m finna go holla at Creed for a minute, grab a drink.”
“You leavin’ me with this madness?”
He leaned in, kissed my lips soft and slow. “I’ll be right back, baby. Don’t miss me too hard.”
“I make no promises.” He left smelling like my soap and fresh cologne, and I sat in the highchair they’d set up in front of the window.
“You doin’ Fallon and an arena concert in the same week?” Tiffani asked while curling the top section of my hair. “Celebrity flex if I’ve ever seen one.”
“You love to see it,” Amaya added, blending my concealer like I was about to walk a red carpet. “How you feelin’? Nervous?”
“Nah.” I smiled, closing my eyes. “I’m good. Excited. This feels right.”
“Your glow says otherwise,” Kaia teased, sorting through my outfit on the rolling rack. “You in love or something?”
I kept quiet, just chuckled to myself. They didn’t need to know that the man I was in love with had just lathered me up in the shower ten minutes ago.
Tiffani finished the last curl and let my thick, wavy hair fall down my back, full and soft.
Amaya dusted highlighter across my cheekbones and pressed a final coat of red gloss on my lips.
When I stood up, robe still on, they helped me into the catsuit.
It was jet black, body-hugging but tasteful, with rhinestone embellishments that traced my silhouette from collarbone to hip.
I stepped into open-toe heels that made my legs look endless, and Kaia handed me a small black clutch and spritzed me down with Marc Jacob’s Daisy.
“Chile, I wish I was somebody’s fantasy like this,” Amaya said, stepping back to admire me.
“You are,” I told her, flipping my hair. “You’re gorgeous.”
Just then, the suite door opened, and Nasseem walked in, looking down at his phone.
“I’m back, y’all—” His voice cut off. When he looked up and saw me, I saw his whole soul pause.
His gaze dragged from my curls down to my hips, then back up to my mouth like he couldn’t decide which part of me to worship first. “Y’all can go. ”
Tiffani blinked. “Huh?”
“I said y’all can go,” he repeated, not even looking at them. “She good now.”
“Nasseem!” I scolded, trying not to laugh. “They still gotta pack up their stuff?—”
“I’ll help,” Kaia said quickly, clearly knowing what kind of energy was in the room.
They moved fast, all three of them grabbing their tools and packing with military precision. I mouthed I’m sorry to them as they left, but they were already giggling on the way out.
When the door clicked shut, I turned to Nasseem, who still hadn’t moved. “We are not skipping this concert, Nasseem.”
“I didn’t say nothin’,” he replied, walking up to me slowly, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me. “But you talkin’ about gettin’ on stage lookin’ like that… and expect me to sit in the crowd while niggas lose they minds?”
I smirked, placing a hand on his chest. “Be cool.”
“You tryin’ to start a riot,” he muttered, eyes still drinking me in. “Swear to God.”
“Go get dressed.”
He kissed my cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”
While he was in the bedroom, I walked over to the mirror and took a selfie—just the top half of my body and a glimpse of the rhinestone detail. Then I turned to the door just as he walked back out. And whew. That man was too damn fine.
He had on black jeans, a black and gray Dolce & Gabbana sweater that fit his broad frame like it was tailored just for him, black Dolce shades pushed on top of his head, and a pair of black, gray, and white Jordan 1 Mids.
Around his neck hung thick Cuban links with his Nas pendant shining, a diamond-studded Cartier watch peeking from under his sleeve.
“You clean up nice,” I said, biting my lip.
“Just tryna match yo’ fly E.”
We turned to the mirror together and posed—his arm draped across my waist, my hand on his chest. I snapped a photo on my phone. “We look too damn good,” I murmured.
He smirked, brushing my hair off my shoulder. “We look like trouble.”
Backstage at the venue was buzzing. Artists, dancers, managers, makeup artists running around. We stayed close to the rest of our crew, laughing and snapping pictures. Right before Royal’s set, we circled up for a group prayer.
“You ready?” Nasseem whispered.
“Always,” I whispered back.
Royal’s set was electric. Track after track had the crowd lit. By the time he called me out to perform Post Up , my adrenaline was already peaking. The lights hit. The crowd screamed. And I walked out.
“ATL, MAKE SOME NOISE FOR MY SIS EGYPT!”
I felt the beat hit before the lyrics came.
“He say he love my vibe, that I’m bad and I’m mean. But I ride for my man, like a G, know what I mean?”
I rapped, I sang, I danced. The chemistry between me and Royal was undeniable, but professional. The crowd fed off our energy. When the song ended, Royal gave me the mic solo.
“You ready?” he mouthed.
I nodded. The lights shifted. Soft pinks and purples filled the stage. My band started to play the chords to Notice Me and the screams rose even louder.
I’m right here, in plain sight.
But you pass me by like I’m not your type.
Tryna play it cool, but I’m breakin’ inside. Hoping one day you might… notice me.
I sang my heart out. Every lyric a story. Every note a confession. Looking into the crowd, seeing thousands of people singing it back to me—I wanted to cry. This was everything I ever dreamed of.
Backstage again, I was buzzing. My pulse still racing. My body vibrating with energy. And then I saw him—Nasseem—waiting with open arms. I ran straight into them. He lifted me off the ground, and I kissed him like no one was watching. Like it was just us in the whole damn arena.
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, eyes soft.
“Thank you,” I breathed. “For everything.”
The afterglow from the concert still clung to my skin like body glitter. Every time I blinked, I could still see the stage lights. Every time I swallowed, my throat tingled from belting lyrics. And every time I looked at Nasseem, I felt like I could float straight up off the ground.
“Where we goin’ next?” I asked as we exited the venue, hand tucked in his, our fingers laced like we’d done this forever.
“Royal said he booked a lil’ section at Opium ,” he said, helping me step into the SUV. “Said he wanted to party a little before we all head back to reality tomorrow.”
I smiled, heart racing in the best way. “Perfect.”
Opium was exactly what you’d expect a premier Atlanta club to be—low lighting, velvet booths, champagne towers, and a sea of black excellence dressed in silk, leather, and designer logos. Royal, already in the section, stood up and dapped Nasseem while Averi squealed and pulled me into a hug.
“My bitch tore that stage up!” she yelled over the music. “You looked so good!”
“I did what I had to do,” I grinned.
We were surrounded by our crew—Serenity and Creed, Brodie and Arielle, Royal and Averi, even Zay was somewhere nearby, acting like security without actually being security.
Drinks flowed, music boomed, and at some point, I ended up dancing on Nasseem in the middle of the booth, my arms around his neck, his hands resting dangerously low on my hips.
“You proud of me?” I asked, breathless from dancing, sweat kissing my temple.
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Always. You was a whole problem tonight, you hear me? A problem.”
I giggled, tilting my head back as he kissed my neck. “Good. I like bein’ your problem.”
We didn’t get back to the hotel until almost 4 AM. But the next morning there was nothing but peace. Soft, sunlit, grown-folk peace. We slept late, ordered room service, then decided to be tourists for once—no disguises, no wigs, no stylists. Just Egypt and Nasseem.
We hit up the aquarium first, then walked hand-in-hand through Centennial Park. He let me drag him into a trap museum, and I let him drag me to a sneaker shop that damn near emptied his wallet.
“You keep buyin’ me shit, I’m gonna have to change my last name,” I teased.
“I’m not mad at that,” he said without missing a beat, slipping his hand into mine as we walked back to the car.
By the time we made it to Slutty Vegan for a late lunch, we were laughing too loud, touching too much, high off the kind of joy that comes when you know—for certain—you’re right where you’re supposed to be. But that feeling didn’t last long.
It started with a buzz from Nasseem’s phone. Then another, and another. He pulled it out with a furrowed brow, thumb swiping fast. His jaw tensed.
“What’s wrong?” He didn’t answer at first. Just kept scrolling. His nostrils flared. “Nasseem.”
He finally looked up, eyes stormy. “You seen this?”
I reached for my phone and opened X, only to be met with a screen full of Lipstick Confidential’s blog post..
Lipstick Confidential EXCLUSIVE
"The Price of Loyalty? Nasseem Walker’s Brother Speaks Out"
Posted: 10:44 AM PST | By: Kai Monroe
Y’all know we don’t sleep over here at Lipstick Confidential—and today, we’re waking you up with a certified BOMBSHELL.
Boxing superstar Nasseem Walker, fresh off his soft-launch with actress/singer Egypt Armstrong, is now at the center of some messy family drama.
In a Lipstick Confidential exclusive, we received a tip from a very close source claiming to be connected to Nate Walker, Nasseem’s older brother, and what they had to say? Whew.
According to the source (and we’ll quote directly here):
“Nate took a whole charge for Nasseem back in the day—real talk. He did time so Nas could go live his dreams, get rich, be famous, and now? Now he won’t even answer the man’s calls.”
If you’re clutching your pearls, sis… same.
The source continues:
“It’s one thing to move on with your life, but to ghost the person who sacrificed his for you? Nate did 8 years. Not 8 months. EIGHT YEARS. Nasseem’s whole boxing career got built while his brother sat in a cell.”
Yikes.
Now, while we can’t confirm the full story, what we do know is that Nate Walker was recently released from prison and has been spotted in L.A. looking real agitated.
Apparently, this whole situation with his brother has been bubbling beneath the surface for a while now. Could it be impacting his mental state? Is Nasseem cracking under the weight of secrets?
And just when fans were celebrating his new public romance with Egypt (ICYMI: she made it social media official), now they’re wondering…
What else is Nasseem Walker hiding?
Still, the fans are torn. Half are demanding answers. The other half? Saying family or not—if Nate’s out here talking to blogs, maybe Nasseem was right to cut ties.
Whatever the truth is, one thing’s for sure:
Lipstick Confidential will be watching.
Want to keep up with the Walker/Armstrong love saga and Nasseem’s rise to the championship belt? Hit that bell. You know we’ll have the tea.
#NasseemWalker #EgyptArmstrong #WalkerFamilyDrama #LipstickConfidentialEXCLUSIVE #BoxingAndBS #FamilyOrFumble #TeaWithACut
I blinked, stunned.
“What the fuck is this?”
“My brother on some bullshit,” he growled. “Talkin’ to blogs like a bitch. Tryna make me look like I’m dirty.”
“Is any of it true?”
He gave me a sharp look. “You really askin’ me that?”
“No, I—sorry. No. I just—why would he say all this?”
“‘Cause I ain’t fold. ‘Cause I told him I wasn’t throwin’ my fuckin’ career away for his dumb ass. He tryna back me in a corner.”
My stomach sank. “What do we do?”
“Imma handle it,” he muttered, pulling cash from his wallet and tossing it on the table. “Right now.”
He held his hand out for me and I accepted it without hesitation.
As we left out of the restaurant, I couldn’t help but think that our perfect trip had been ruined.
But I also wondered if what Lipstick Confidential reported was true.
Did Nate take the charge for Nas and if so, what the fuck was the charge for?