Chapter 16 #2
She flipped her hair over one shoulder; her Bvlgari earrings catching the light.
“But to answer your curiosity , I wasn’t coming. But I was able to rearrange my schedule. Of course I had to… this interview is important.”
Imagine that.
Giselle leaned in and placed a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder, the scent of her perfume blooming like it had something to prove.
“Relax, I’m only here to help you breathe easier.”
“Try suffocating ,” I replied, without a shred of warmth.
Giselle pursed her lips, then nodded like she was taking it on the chin.
“Okay. I deserve that.”
Then, with a quick scan of the room to make sure no one else was listening, her voice softened. “But it’s only because I believe in you, and I want the world to see what I see… a handsome, intelligent, wealthy young man I’m proud to call my son.”
Giselle smiled like she was laying out a compliment, not a carefully scripted commercial.
Here she goes again—packaging pressure as praise and calling it love. Same script, new wardrobe.
“If you won’t do it for yourself , then do it for the company…
for the brand ,” she continued. “Every smile, every handshake, every tailored suit—it all says Kors Luxe Development is power, precision and perfection. As I always tell you and as you should know, you’re the face of this family, Imanio…
a walking billboard. People invest in what they admire, and no one admires someone who looks like he hates being admired! ”
Giselle paused, tilting her head just enough to show off her earrings—like the moment itself was a photoshoot.
“You think it’s about being honest?” she spoke in a hushed tone.
“It’s not! It’s about being palatable ! Digestible!
You have ten, maybe fifteen minutes to convince millions that you’re the man they should trust with their dreams!
So no frowns! No flat energy! No truth if it doesn’t come gift-wrapped! ”
She then tapped my chest lightly with her index finger, her red nail sharp like a warning.
“If you won’t do it for the company’s image , then at least do it for the money ,” she added, glancing around like someone might overhear her greed leaking out, even though we both knew money was her favorite love language.
But honestly? When it came to money, that was the one area we saw eye to eye.
“Seriously,” she continued, her voice syrupy sweet, trying to straighten my suit jacket like I was a damn mannequin in a boutique window. “I’m simply here for silent support. No speeches, no interruptions. I promise .”
“Then what’s with the kindergarten poster boards?”
“Oh… those!” she waved off, dismissively sporting an innocent, wide grin. “They’re just… visual encouragement. Smile triggers. Talking points. Things you forget when your attitude starts flaring.”
“Giselle—”
Right then, the production manager walked back up, clapping his hands with a fake pep in his voice.
“Okay! We’re all set!”
I nodded, then glanced at Giselle. “Don’t embarrass me too bad.”
“ Silent support. You won’t even know I’m here!” she whispered, smiling, then glided off to take her seat like that was her damn runway.
Yeah… just like glitter in carpet—loud, extra, and impossible to get rid of.
Five minutes later, they were rolling.
The backdrop was a blend of muted gold and soft lighting. My name and title flashed across the bottom of the screen in elegant font:
IMANIO KORS | COO, KORS LUXE DEVELOPMENTS
Mariah St. James sat across from me in a tailored cream suit, smiling with expensive teeth and an aura of practiced friendliness.
“Good evening, and welcome to The Mariah St. James Report —where business meets bold, and icons are asked the questions that matter. Today’s guest is a man whose name is etched across headlines, Forbes lists, and more than a few private group chats.
From luxury real estate to innovative tech investments, his empire stretches from the boardroom to the block.
He’s notoriously private, dangerously smart, and—if recent reports are to be believed—redefining what power looks like behind the scenes. ”
The camera cut to me.
“Mr. Imanio Kors, thank you for being here. I know your schedule is as exclusive as your properties.”
I’d rather be dragging a body through the Everglades than wasting time on this fake-ass formality.
“It’s a pleasure,” I replied, flashing a fake smile.
She dove right in. “You’ve been described as one of the most influential real estate minds of your generation. What does legacy mean to you?”
I nodded slowly, pretending like I hadn’t heard that question in almost every damn interview I’d done.
Right on cue, Giselle held up a card from behind the camera.
“GENERATIONAL IMPACT it’s about significance.”
Also known as overpriced apartments with rooftop pools and ‘community gardens’ that nobody waters .
Giselle held up another card:
“MENTORSHIP. VISION. OWNERSHIP.”
“And ownership,” I continued, swallowing irritation. “Teaching the next wave how to own, not rent. How to lead, not follow.”
Mariah smiled. “Beautifully said.”
Woman, I rehearsed that line while brushing my teeth.
Mariah St. James asked, “There’s been increasing speculation about your father stepping down soon. Is there any truth to that?”
I let the smile linger just long enough to keep it cordial.
“People love to speculate, especially when legacy and power are involved. When and if he decides to step back, it won’t be a headline; it will be a private, intentional decision made within our family.
Until then, I suggest people focus less on succession gossip and more on the work we’re doing.
Because Kors Luxe is still expanding, and we’re just getting started. ”
Mariah let out a small, nervous chuckle, smoothing the edge of her notecard.
“Well… there you have it. Straight from the COO himself.”
She glanced at the camera, her smile poised. “Speculation stops where clarity begins. Kors Luxe Development continues forward—with vision, family, and a firm grip on the future.”
The interview rolled on—expansion plans, green building initiatives, my so-called philanthropic partnerships —most of which were just strategic tax write-offs dressed in feel-good language.
Mariah asked how I balanced my private life with public responsibility, and I gave her the pre-packaged answers the world loved to hear.
Every now and then, Giselle would hold up a fresh card like a mom at a spelling bee:
“GRATITUDE.”
“INNOVATION.”
“BILLIONAIRE MINDSET.”
I hit every note, smiled at every cue, even hugged Mariah when she complimented my foundation’s youth mentorship program—even though I had yet to set up an event.
Why did I keep everything cool and collected?
Because when it came to the bag? I didn’t mess that up.
I didn’t really consider photoshoots to be money-making ventures; that’s why I didn’t mind cussing a muthafucka or two out on those sets.
But interviews like that? Prime-time press, broadcast to millions? Those moments mattered.
Everything was going smooth… until the final question.
Mariah tilted her head, smiling. “You’ve accomplished so much in business, and you’ve done it young. The people want to know—do you see yourself settling down anytime soon?”
Now, I like silence. I operate well in it. But that? That wasn’t silence; that was stuck.
Don’t do it, I thought. Don’t cuss this lady out on camera… not over one question.
I cut a glance toward the production manager—the same nigga who swore to make sure she’d keep it professional and nothing about my personal love life . I guess he didn’t get around to telling her that part.
I looked him over slowly, as if my glare alone could end his whole career. He avoided my eyes like I carried a blade.
Mariah was still smiling. Then there was my mama. She was probably two seconds away from flashing a glittery cue card that said “ ROMANCE = RELATABILITY ” or some other stupid ass shit.
I paused… just for a second. But it was long enough for the question to settle in the room—and in my mind.
Already married… to Naji—the quiet storm with wide eyes, restless hands, and a tongue that flicks out sharp truths in between the involuntary tics she tries so hard to control.
She hadn’t asked for the life I’d given her, and I hadn’t asked for her.
Yet there we were—tied together by a secret she couldn’t unsee and a decision I made too fast, too cold, too calculated.
Naji wasn’t the kind of woman a man paraded in a headline.
Not because she wasn’t worthy, but because the world wouldn’t understand her…
wouldn’t understand us. Our marriage wasn’t public…
wasn’t perfect… and sure as hell wasn’t built on love, but it existed.
“Mr. Kors?” Mariah’s voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present.
I adjusted my posture and forced another PR-friendly grin.
“My apologies. Do you mean… like marriage?”
“Yes,” she beamed. “A family. Love. A partner.”
My tongue pressed against the back of his teeth.
I glanced over at Giselle. She had no card for that one; just wide eyes and a frozen smile.
I cleared my throat, turned back to Mariah, adjusted my posture, and gave the kind of smile that meant none of your business, but I’ll entertain you anyway.
“Right now, my focus is on the future of Kors Luxe Development. The rest?” I gave a smooth smile. “We’ll see what time allows.”
Mariah smiled. “We’ll be waiting.”
Yeah, I bet , I thought.
The interview wrapped with a soft wave of applause from the crew.