Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
NAJI
I woke up from my nap with my cheek stuck to the pillow and my body feeling like I’d been in a brawl with gravity. I stretched, yawned, and then froze.
That familiar warm ugh between my thighs let me know Mother Nature had arrived—right on schedule, as always, loud, messy, and doing the absolute most.
I sat up fast and yanked the blanket back like I was checking for a crime scene.
“Shit, shit—fucking red wedding!” I muttered, my tics flaring with frustration.
My stomach cramped up just in time to slap me with the full experience.
“You disrespectful uterus!” I hissed, gripping my lower belly.
Thankfully, the sheets weren’t damaged—but I still stripped them anyway.
Afterward, I shuffled to the bathroom, grumbling the whole way, and hopped into the shower. I stood under the hot water longer than necessary, hoping it would rinse away the cramps, the irritation, and the fact that I was now dealing with a period on top of everything else.
Once I felt a little more human, I stepped out and checked under the sink—expecting to see a hostage care package or at least some basic essentials. Instead, I got hit with a lineup of cleaning supplies.
“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me!” I snapped, slamming the cabinet shut so hard the mirror rattled.
This man has money, muscle, and a million cameras, but doesn’t have one damn pad in the house?
Marriage of convenience, my ass—this is survival.
It should’ve been in the fine print: may come with more emotional damage and no feminine hygiene products.
Then again, he did say kidnapping me wasn’t on his agenda that night he killed Blu.
So maybe pads, tampons, and basic consideration never made it on his agenda either.
Then I turned and spotted the tissue on the counter. It was just sitting there: Bold, unbothered, and like it knew it was my only option.
Tissue it was… layers of it.
“This is g-ghetto as hell, ” I whispered, stuffing the makeshift pad into my panties with the grace of a woman barely holding on to her sanity.
I waddled back to the bedroom like a padded mummy.
After slipping on a robe, I popped the cap off the bottle of Midol like I was opening a beer after a long shift.
If there was one thing I made sure to pack in my bag, it was my emergency stash of painkillers.
But since I packed in such a rush, I didn’t have time to grab the real essentials—chocolate, a heating pad, maybe even a hot water bottle.
The kind of things that made me feel human when my uterus was trying to stage a coup.
After dressing, I headed to the kitchen to get me something to drink to down the pills—water, juice.
Hell, at that point, I would’ve taken holy oil if it promised relief.
When I entered, Ms. Shirley was at the counter, slicing tomatoes and laying out turkey and cheese like a lunchtime magician.
The smell of warm bread and fresh veggies made my stomach growl as if I didn’t eat a hearty breakfast that morning.
"Hey, sweetie! Is everything okay?" she asked with a warm smile.
“Yes, ma’am. J-Just a little thirsty. Gonna grab some juice,” I semi-lied as I wandered toward the fridge.
Ms. Shirley finally looked over at me, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Okay. Well, this is your house now. You just tell me to step out your way or get out if you need to.”
My house?
According to Imanio, no one knew we were married aside from Chi and Dessign. So what had he told her? People didn’t just assume things without a nudge. And if he was already saying more than he admitted, that meant he was controlling the narrative and leaving me in the dark.
Be that as it may, I still hadn’t fully grasped the reality that I was married to one of the wealthiest and most powerful men on the planet—and let’s be real, easily one of the finest men on earth.
My new life resembled something out of a fairy tale, enveloped in luxury and filled with experiences that most people only dreamed of or saw showcased in glossy magazines.
I had access to every conceivable comfort and extravagance I could desire Yet, amidst the lavishness, there were still aspects of fulfillment I found myself yearning for—still learning how to feel safe in a place that looked like paradise but didn’t always feel like home.
I chuckled softly, reached for the orange juice, and replied, “Never.”
“You’re starting to look a little more comfortable here.”
I gave her a small smile. “A little ,” I admitted, pouring the juice slowly, watching it rise to the rim.
Ms. Shirley leaned casually against the counter. “I don’t know how long the two of you have known each other, but he’s really not that bad, you know.”
Ms. Shirley was giving me mixed feelings.
Either she knew I was married to Imanio, or she assumed I was some charity case he picked up off the street—someone he fed and sheltered out of pity instead of choice.
Maybe both . Either way, her eyes lingered too long, like she was trying to put my whole story together without asking a single question.
“He’s got a stormy way about him, sure, but I’ve seen worse. Mr. Kors helped me out of a situation years ago, right before I started working for him. Let’s just say I feel like I owe him for life.”
I didn’t press. Something about the way Ms. Shirley’s tone dipped made me think it wasn’t a story she told often.
“He’s something … that’s for sure,” I muttered, chasing the pain pill with a sip of orange juice.
Ms. Shirley’s glanced over, concern softening her expression.
“Are you on medication for your condition?” Her tone wasn’t nosy—more maternal, like she actually cared.
“You can tell me it’s none of my business and I won’t take offense,” she included. “Trust me, I done been cussed out before breakfast plenty times.”
I chuckled.
Her tone wasn’t nosy—more maternal, like she actually cared.
“Y-Yes, ma’am… just anxiety meds for now.
N-not daily though.” I exhaled, rubbing my forehead.
“I-I was actually thinking about stopping them. But ever since I arrived here, my… my tics have been louder and… more frequent, so I’ve been having to take them daily.
Stress causes that,” I hinted, voice low. “I might need something stronger now.”
Ms. Shirley gave a light chuckle, like she was trying to soften the weight of my words. But I didn’t laugh.
I was dead serious.
I had an upcoming appointment with my neurologist that I couldn’t miss.
I had about four days’ worth of pills left, and my appointment was still days away.
Normally, I only took my meds when stress built up too high—but lately, I’d been taking them every single day, ever since my somewhat peaceful life got snatched away.
The only problem was I had no idea how I’d even get to that appointment.
She tilted her head gently, concern softening her expression. “Are you stressed already? This early in the morning? I saw you take a pill.”
“Oh no! That was pain meds… cramps,” I quickly clarified.
Her eyes widened in instant understanding. “Ohhhhh.”
I cleared my throat awkwardly. “D-do you happen to have any… pads?”
That was probably the silliest question to ask a woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties, but desperate times didn’t care about dignity. Besides, asking her felt safer than asking him.
Ms. Shirley’s chuckled. “Oh no, sweetie, my days of flowing are over. They packed up, left town, and didn’t even send a postcard. And let me tell you—I do not miss that monthly demon one bit.”
I let out a dry laugh. “Lucky you.”
“I wouldn’t expect Mr. Kors to have a single pad or tampon in this mansion. But I am sure if you ask him, he won’t hesitate to go get you some. Men like him don’t blink when it comes to blood,” she leaned over and whispered, “as long as it isn’t theirs.”
We both laughed together.
“But he’s still here,” she nudged. “Go up and talk to him.”
Suddenly, Ms. Shirley’s phone rang, and her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Oh! I gotta take this call! Do you need anything else, sweetie?” she asked in a rushed tone.
I shook my head. “No, ma’am. I’m okay.”
“Okay! If Mr. Kors is looking for me, let him know I stepped out back. I’ll be right back!”
Ms. Shirley gave me a quick smile and slipped out the patio door; phone already pressed to her ear.
Humming to myself, I popped the fridge open again, grabbed a green apple, and started up the stairs towards Imanio’s room to talk to him about some pads and my doctor appointment.
I had never been inside his room. However, I snooped and passed by it—of course, it was locked.
My footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, but my mind was already back in its safe zone—planning how I’d spend the rest of the day avoiding deep thoughts and any more emotional flare-ups.
But then the front door creaked open. I paused mid-step, apple in hand, and turned just in time to see a tall man step inside.
He was older, with bright eyes that looked suspiciously familiar—like Imanio’s just…
calmer. His hair and goatee were salt and pepper, both neatly groomed, giving off the vibe of either a classy villain or a retired CEO who still lowkey checks the stock market before breakfast. The kicker?
He was white—a stark contrast to everyone else I’d seen in the house.
Another reason my internal antenna shot straight up.
Because why did a random white man just casually walk through the front door like he paid the bills here?
I couldn’t deny it; he was handsome too—like, handsome-for-a-white-guy handsome.
We stared at each other for half a second, equally confused.
“Uh… hello?” he said, eyebrows lifted.
My tic had been pacing in the background, itching for its grand entrance, and it chose that exact moment to announce its presence.
“Holy fettuccine fornication!” I shouted, flinching as my head jerked sideways and my hand flew to my ear. “Jesus with a juice box! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”