Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
CHAUNCEY
Damn, I ain’t really wanna leave Rhy… but I fucking had to. It’s been a minute since we’ve been able to be around each other without being at each other’s throats, and for once… that shit felt right.
Too right.
That’s what made me uneasy. The last thing I need is for her to sit still long enough to think about life without a nigga… or worse, let that other nigga slide in and get comfortable.
Nah.
That shit ain’t happening on my watch. Not while I’m fucking breathing. That nigga gotta see me. I tighten my grip on the wheel, my jaw set. I’ve got a little situation to handle. It needs my attention—ASAP. I should’ve handled this a few days ago, but the time wasn’t right.
My phone buzzes in the cup holder.
Simmy.
I glance at it, then back at the road. I’ll catch up with him later. Right now, I’ve got something else to handle.
Whitley.
She’s been blowing up my phone since word got out. I was up and moving around. She pulled up to the hospital that same night, after me and Rhy got active—like she forgot her place. I sent her ass home then because the last thing I wanted was for Rhy to see that bitch.
But tonight?
I’m pulling up on her. Not for conversation. Not for closure. Just to get some shit straight. Because too many lines have been crossed… and I’m done letting shit slide.
Iwasn’t in a rush to get to Whitley… but we needed to have a fucking conversation. The kind I don’t put off. The kind that clears shit up or makes it worse. It doesn’t make a difference to me.
It takes me about thirty minutes to reach the spot, Crown Juelz Hotel Suites. The whole ride was quiet except for my thoughts running fucking wild. I don’t know why, but I feel like Rhy might really give up on us.
I slide in through the back, low and out of the way. Last thing I need is somebody spotting me and running it back to Rhy like I’m out here moving recklessly.
Not tonight.
Not after what we just had.
And Amirya… I catch myself thinking about the way she was looking at me sideways earlier, like she already knew something was in the mix.
I don’t like that shit. Not one bit. I exhale slowly, jaw tightening. I gotta tell True to handle that ASAP. She got my nigga out here in his feelings… and I don’t like how that shit looks either. True finna crash out. She’s out here trying, my nigga.
Ishouldn’t have agreed to meet Whitley here—the last thing I need is for her to think we’re about to have some shit going on, because we’re not.
And even worse? This meetup is getting back to Rhy. That’s a problem I’m not trying to create tonight.
I know I haven’t been the best husband to Rhy… but one thing for sure, and two things for certain: these bitches know not to step to my wife on any fucking day.
Keep your head down, big-ass lips shut, and keep it fucking moving. That’s how it’s supposed to go. I slide into the hotel through the back entrance, low-key and out of the way. The lobby is packed—it’s some kind of event that’s got the place jumping. Cameras, people, too many fucking eyes.
Nah…
I’m not taking that chance. I should take the elevator, but I don’t. Instead, I take the stairs. One step at a time. Quiet. Calculated.
Because tonight it ain’t about being seen…it’s about handling fucking business.
Ifinally made it to my suite 501. I’m out of breath, pausing for a second to catch my breath before I slide the key card in. But before I even get the chance, the door swings open.
Whitley.
Standing there in lingerie, ready to get fucked, as if she already knew what kind of night this was supposed to be. I take her in for a second… then walk right past her.
Any other day? I would’ve been all over that.
But tonight? I’m cool; a nigga got restraints. I drop onto the sofa, leaning back like I own the room—which I do. Whitley wastes no time, climbing right on top of me…
Her pussy wet as fuck, her hands sliding up my face like she’s trying to pull me back into some shit I already left behind. She leans in to kiss me—I stop her.
“God, I missed you,” she breathes. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Oh yeah?” I lift her off me, setting her down beside me as if she weighs nothing.
She doesn’t like that. Not one bit.
“What’s wrong with you, Chauncey?” she snaps. “You ain’t said a word since you got here.”
“Aye… I didn’t come here for this.”
Her brows rise. “So, what the hell did you come here for?”
“To get some shit straight.”
Her expression shifts. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You probably won’t.”
She folds her arms, irritation settling in. “So why invite me here if you were gonna act like this? We could’ve met at a restaurant.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, my voice calm but firm.
“Look… I didn’t come here to fuck on you. I ain’t on that.”
Silence falls for a second.
“You still ain’t told me why we’re here,” she presses.
“Yeah… I’m getting to that.” I glance at her. “When I started fucking with you, I told you I had a wife. If you had a problem with that, it was cool with me. A nigga was gon’ move on.”
Her lips press together. “Oh… so this is what this is about?”
“Yeah.”
My tone drops.
Colder now.
“Whit… don’t ever step to my fucking wife. On any fucking day. Whatever shit we got going on is between us. I ain’t gon’ ever press yo bitch-ass husband unless I have to.”
Her eyes flash. “She started with me.”
“It doesn’t matter. That’s the lie you’re running with,” I cut in. “That’s the number one rule. My wife is off-limits. I don’t give a fuck about your feelings when it comes to her.”
The room goes quiet, yet the tension is heavy.
“I heard about the altercation,” I continue. “You were out of fucking pocket. And I’m cool on you.”
Her face hardens. “So, you’re dismissing me?”
“Yeah.”
No hesitation. No second thought.
“I am.”
A beat passes.
“Get your shit, Whit,” I add, standing. “And leave the key card on your way out.”
She stares at me like she doesn’t recognize me.
“Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“Wait, Chauncey… Let me guess: you’re doing this because you’re back with your wife?” Whitley asks, her tone shifting.
“It doesn’t matter why I’m doing it. I ain’t never left my fucking wife,” I reply flatly. “Just know we’re done.”
Her eyes narrow. “Oh… we are not done.”
“We are. It’s a wrap.”
A beat passes.
“I’m pregnant.”
The room goes still.
My jaw tightens as I stare at her. “Pregnant by who?”
She scoffs. “Are you serious? I’m pregnant by you.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive. You’re the only man I’ve been with.”
I lean back, dragging a hand over my face, trying to process it. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when I’m finally getting somewhere with Rhy.
“Aye, we ain’t doing this shit,” I say, finally, voice low. “I always strap the fuck up… I know you didn’t catch a kid from my nut sack. We finna figure this out today.”
Her expression hardens. “I’m not having an abortion.”
My eyes snap back to her. “Yes, the fuck you are.”
“It is my body,” she retorts.
“I don’t give a fuck what it is. You ain’t carrying my kid,” I counter. “You think bringing a kid into this mess is the move?”
She folds her arms, chin lifting. “Sounds like you’re worried about your ghetto-ass wife. Fuck her. I can’t wait to have my baby just to say fuck her.”
I step closer, calm but firm. “Aye… don’t mention my fucking wife. You ain’t finna have shit.”
Her lips curl slightly. “If she was mad before?—”
“Whit.”
That single word cuts her off.
“I’m not fucking playing with you,” I continue, my voice steady. “You don’t get to weaponize this shit. Not with me. We gon’ handle this the right way—doctor, paperwork, all that. But don’t turn this into something it’s not.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
Because now
This ain’t just about ending things.
It’s about what comes fucking next.
“Are you threatening me?” Whitley asks, eyes searching my face.
“I’m telling you, you are not having my fucking baby,” I reply, my voice low but still dangerous. “I’m going to call my doctor right now. We finna get some answers first.”
She lets out a sharp laugh. “You don’t get to screw me whenever you want. We’re pregnant—and I’m keeping the baby. I don’t care that you wanna be with her.”
“You should care about what this actually is,” I counter, steady. “Right now, it’s a fucking claim. I’m not moving off claims. I know I strapped up every time I fucked you.”
“I’m not disposable, Chauncey.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I say, holding her gaze. “But I’m not promising you a life, either. I told you what it was from day one. If you think you finna have this baby, I’mma show you how fucking disposable you are.”
Her jaw tightens. “Now you wanna be the perfect husband?”
“I’m trying to fix what I fucked up,” I answer. “And you and a baby ain’t finna stop shit. If you wanna live to see tomorrow, you finna have this abortion and go on about your fucking business. I promise you don’t wanna be an enemy of mine.”
“So that’s it?” she snaps. “You just gonna walk away?” Whitley starts crying and tries to put her clothes on. She’s not leaving this fucking room without getting rid of this baby. I stop her in her tracks.
“I’m not walking away from the truth,” I say. “If you’re pregnant, we’ll confirm it, and we’re going to have an abortion. But I’m not doing this in the dark, and I’m not letting you weaponize this shit.”
Tears pool in her eyes, anger right behind them. “You really don’t believe me.”
“I believe in facts,” I reply. “My doctor says to stay put. We do this the right way.”
She stares at me like she wants to fight and cry at once. “And if I don’t go through with this?”
“Then you make your choice,” I say calmly. “And I’ll make mine based on what I can prove.”
Silence stretches between us—thick, uneasy.
Now it’s not about control… It’s about truth, leverage, and what each of us does next.
I don’t trust Whitley. Not for a second. Something in my gut says she won’t show up tomorrow, and I’m not the type to sit around hoping for answers. I pull out my phone and call Dr. Smith. If this is real, I need to know now. No guessing. No waiting.
Whitley watches me, eyes narrowing as I move around the room, as I’ve already made my decision. I keep my tone even, controlled. “You said you were pregnant. Cool. We’re about to verify that.”
“What the hell is this, Chauncey?” she snaps, folding her arms across her chest.
“My doctor’s coming,” I reply simply. “We finna get the truth.”
Her laugh is sharp and defensive. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Minutes stretch. Tension thick enough to choke on. Then a knock hits the door. Dr. Smith steps in with his team, calm and professional, as if this is just another night for him. Whitley takes them in, her attitude shifting just a little—less certain now.
“What is this?” she asks again, quieter this time.
“I told you,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “It’s time to get down to business.”
The test doesn’t take long. Too fast, if you ask me. Dr. Smith turns toward me, expression neutral, but his words hit anyway.
“She’s pregnant.”
A pause.
“And based on the timeline… it could be yours.”
Silence crashes over the room.
Because now? This ain’t a rumor. This ain’t a bluff.
This is real. Man… it’s finna be a long night.
I made a promise to Rhy that I was gon’ slide back through, and I meant that shit.
But this business? It’s dragging on longer than I planned, and I can’t move sloppy right now.
I pull out my phone, stare at her name for a second, then type.
Me:
Aye… I know I made you a promise earlier, and I meant it. This street shit is just running longer than I expected. I ain’t blowing you off, Rhy—I swear I wanna be with you. If it’s not too late, I might still slide through.
I hit send and lean back, jaw tight. Because tonight? Everything feels like it’s hanging on one decision at a time.