Chapter 12 #4
Saroya laughed, slapping her thigh. “Sounds like an experience you’ve had already.
But I can assure you, my husband doesn’t involve himself with any of that…
we trust each other and communicate in our household.
That’s the only way it works—listening to understand, not just listening to reply.
And choosing each other daily, not just on the good days.
That’s the kind of glue that holds a marriage together. ”
Her expression softened, voice lowering with sincerity.
“And since you’re a newlywed , let me tell you now…
you’re gonna need that same trust and communication.
That’s what carries you through the storms, keeps outsiders out, and keeps your home standing strong.
Pride can’t talk louder than love. Remember that, and you’ll be alright. ”
I nodded, tapping my fingers against the table, mentally storing her advice.
“Noted. Alright… you’ll start on Monday.
Angela will get you a key card and brief you on your first-week layout.
I don’t do hand-holding, but you’ll have access to my calendar, my staff, my general operations—anything non-sensitive.
That includes public events, press correspondences, project releases, and vendor management. ”
“And if I abuse that access?” she playfully challenged me.
“Then you’ll be escorted out faster than a side chick at a baby shower.”
Saroya grinned. “Got it. Keep your secrets. Fix your headlines. Look good while doing it.”
I stood, and she did the same.
“I’m not easy to work for, Saroya.”
“Lucky for me, I’m not easy to scare.”
For a moment, there was silence. I respected it.
Her confidence. The poise. No flirting. No fan energy. Just a woman who knew her worth and wasn’t about to shrink because my name sat on skyscrapers.
I nodded. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”
I extended my hand. She took it—firm shake, no hesitation.
As Saroya turned to leave, she glanced back.
“Oh—and Mr. Kors?”
“Yeah?”
“Your grumpy reputation? It’s not that intimidating.”
I smirked… just barely.
“Give it a week. Have a good weekend, Mrs. Evergreen.”
“Again, I prefer to be called by y first name. But you have a better one, Mr. Kors. I’ll see you on Monday.”
I chuckled to myself at how Saroya kept calling me Mr. Kors like we weren’t about to be working side by side.
But somehow, I was just supposed to call her Saroya ?
Cute. She was going to be a challenge; I could already tell.
Most people fell in line when I spoke; Saroya looked like she had read the line, folded it into an origami swan, and put it on her desk for decoration. But I liked a challenge… I welcomed it.
Back at my desk, I settled into my chair, tapped a button on my tablet, and pulled up the security cam feed in the guest room.
Naji was lounging on the bed, legs tucked under her, watching some show with the volume low and a cherry-red popsicle in her mouth. And the way she was sucking it? Fuck. My whole body reacted… instantly. My dick stood at attention like it had just heard a command.
It hit me then : I hadn’t had any pussy—or even had my mind on fuckin’ another bitch—since she’d been at my crib. Except that one time when I was fuckin’ with Naji’s head, about me fucking another bitch.
I wasn’t used to going without… not by a long shot. My needs usually got met before I even had to name them. I was the kind of man who could text “you up?” and have five women lined up before midnight.
I reached for my phone and scrolled past a few familiar names in my “for-the-moment” list, ready to scratch an itch. But then I remembered: I was married.
I told Naji I was still going to sleep with other women—and somehow, ever since that moment, it was like my body had been trying to hold me accountable every damn day.
But deep down, something about the idea sat wrong in my chest. Shit was wild, really.
No woman had ever told me what I could or couldn’t do, especially not when it came to who I could fuck, text, or entertain.
I never gave that kind of power to anybody.
I didn’t have to since I’d never been in a relationship as an adult.
Just situationships, arrangements, and plenty of nights that ended without names.
But with Naji, shit was different. She didn’t even ask me to be loyal—not directly.
Hell, she didn’t even want to be touched.
And yet, the idea of stepping out on her felt like disrespecting her and crossing a line I didn’t want to admit existed.
Even if our marriage was built on strategy, survival, or whatever the hell it was supposed to be, she mattered…
and that was the problem. Because either I was gon’ have to back down on my words, Naji was gon’ have to give up some pussy, or my right hand was about to become the MVP for God knows how long.
One of those three was gonna have to give—and soon.
Because self-control? That shit was running on fumes.
Trying to take my mind off sex, I closed out of the footage of Naji and tossed my phone from hand to hand before finally calling my father.
It had been well over a week since our last conversation. Usually, we spoke every few days; sometimes about business, other times just to shoot the shit. But between snatching Naji up and putting a ring on her finger, I lost track of everything else.
The line clicked, and his voice came through, warm and clear.
“Son, how are you? I was halfway through writing your name on a milk carton.” He chuckled, and I could hear wind and waves in the background.
“I’m good, Pops. But aye, where you at?” I asked, my brows knitting.
“St. Croix. Rented a villa for the weekend. Ocean’s loud, but it’s peaceful.”
My father started Kors Luxe Development when he was thirty-four. I remember it vividly because I was thirteen then—old enough to understand we were building something, but too young to grasp just how much it would change everything.
Yeah, him and Mama had me young… early twenties. They were two young adults still figuring each other out but determined to give me and Dessign more than they ever had. The kind of ‘more’ that couldn’t be wrapped in a ribbon or boxed into birthdays. The kind of ‘more’ a person had to bleed for.
My father used the money from his parents life insurance—the only thing left after a fatal house fire that took both their lives. He never talked about that part much; just said they went too soon and left him something that couldn’t be wasted. So he didn’t. He poured every cent into his dream.
The company didn’t pop overnight. Nah. At first, it was slow…
real slow. My father did a few flips, partnered with a couple of shady folks just to keep the lights on.
But by the time I turned sixteen, everything changed.
One big-name celebrity client—some singer with a messy public divorce and too much money—hired him to design a luxury rehab spot in the desert.
The paparazzi caught wind, and that spotlight landed directly on our name. From there? Shit skyrocketed.
By the age of forty, my father was a millionaire.
Not just doing well—comfortable and living lavish.
And by forty-seven, he was an established billionaire.
He always said, “Whatever age I become a billionaire, that’s when I’ll retire.
” He repeated that like scripture. Except…
seven years later, he was still clocking in.
Not the same way, though. He stepped down from some of his positions and handed me the more demanding ones.
But again, he never really left; he just swapped boardrooms for boarding passes and traded strategy meetings for yacht decks and private villas.
The man was always in Turks, Santorini, or somewhere with a view that didn’t include email notifications.
And yet—he still had his hands in the game…
quietly…. smoothly. Like a man who built the kingdom but wasn’t quite ready to pass over the throne.
So yeah, I was curious; curious when he was really going to retire… fully let go. Because from the outside looking in, it already looked like he had. I couldn’t tell if he was enjoying his peace or just biding his time.
“You there by yourself?” I asked.
There was a pause. “Yeah.”
Solo vacation?
That was unusual. He rarely went anywhere without letting me know first. And him going somewhere without my mama?
That wasn’t business-related? Even rarer.
Giselle usually trailed behind him on every trip, nagging about her luggage, the hotel sheets, or how the food never had enough seasoning.
But she hadn’t said a word that time. If my mama had anything to do with planning it or just joining him, trust…
she would've brought it up at least five times already in that dramatic, guilt-laced way only she could.
Something didn’t add up.
Still… I didn’t dwell on it long. I had enough going on. And if there was one thing I’d learned growing up with them, it was that when my parents were being tight-lipped about something, prying only made it worse. So I filed it in the back of my mind… for the time being.
I ran a hand down my face, trying not to let the flicker of jealousy show in my voice.
“Must be nice.”
“It is nice. You should try it. Get the hell out of that office, Imanio, and take a trip. Live a little. All that money you got, and you don’t even use it to breathe . That’s unhealthy. Life is short. You don’t want to wake up one day and realize all you did was work and war.”
He stalled, then continued with more weight in his voice.
“I started the business, but we both expanded it to an empire. But empires don’t mean shit if the emperor’s six feet under from stress.”
Pops chuckled lightly, but the seriousness was still there.