Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHAUNCEY
This shit can’t be fucking happening… not right now. I look over at Whitley, and she’s got the biggest smile on her face like this whole fucking situation is amusing to her.
On the nation, she’d better be glad I don’t hit women. We’ve been going back and forth for the past hour about her having an abortion, and she ain’t fucking budging.
Not even a little bit.
I already got Dr. Smith set up in a downstairs room—close, just in case she changes her mind—but something about her?
Off.
This bitch is up to something. I can feel it. I didn’t think she’d turn into a liability, but here we are. We were just fucking around; that’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. I run a hand over my face, my jaw tight as fuck, my mind moving faster than I can keep up.
Because now? This shit ain’t just about me and her no more. She brought Rhy into this, and whatever just went down—I can feel it coming.
I glance back at Whitley, eyes narrowing.
“Aye, Whit… you like causing fucking problems?”
She tilts her big-ass head, playing innocent. “What I do?”
“Oh, so you’re playing fucking stupid now?”
“Not hardly.”
I nod slowly, already knowing.
“Bet…”
She lets out a soft laugh, crossing her legs as if she’s getting comfortable.
“Let me guess… it’s hard being the faithful husband now?” she says, eyes drifting over me.
I don’t answer. Her big ass smile widens.
“You mad, ain’t it?”
“Funny,” she continues, her voice smooth as fuck, “you weren’t thinking about being faithful when you were all up in me.”
A beat.
“Aye, you knew what it was when you decided to fuck me… My bad. I ain’t meant for you to catch feelings. Let’s be clear. I ain’t never promised you shit, not even this dick.”
“And now you are acting surprised?”
My jaw tightens.
She leans back, completely unbothered.
“If it makes you feel any better…” Her eyes lock onto mine. “I told your wife.”
The silence was heavy.
I knew Whitley was being intentional with her bullshit.
“About us,” she adds calmly. “About the baby. She deserves to know, right?”
Something in my chest shifts. The pain in my heart is sharp. Whitley is dangerous. I’m finna kill this bitch. Whitley watches it happen, satisfied. Then she tilts her head slightly.
“I hope you’re ready,” she says, almost sweet. “Because I’m about to make your life hell for the next eighteen years.”
“Aye, Whit… you got a husband, right?”
She shrugs like it doesn’t mean shit. “And?”
My jaw tightens. “So why are you so fucking pressed to have a kid with me? That nigga must not want you, huh?” I ask, my voice low but barely controlled. She’s pissing me the fuck off. “I promise you… This shit ain’t gon’ play out the way you think it is.”
She doesn’t respond. She just watches me.
“The shit we did behind closed doors?” I continue. “That’s one thing. But outside of that… we ain’t shit. And whatever you’re on right now?”
I shake my head slowly.
“I promise you gon’ regret it.”
A beat passes.
“We’ll see.”
“I get you in your feelings,” I add, quieter now. “But you need to turn that shit off… if you know what’s best.”
Silence.
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The sound cuts through the room like a fucking warning shot. I don’t move at first… but I already know she’s on one. My chest tightens, tension snapping into place.
“Yeah…” I mutter under my breath.
We got company. And I already know who the fuck it is.
I tried to tell this crazy ass bitch. I really did. But nah—she wanted to be fucking messy; she wanted to fuck with Rhy like this wasn’t gonna come back on her. Now she is about to find out the hard fucking way.
I run a hand over my face, jaw tight as fuck. I already know how this is about to play out. I’ve got a lot of work to do… and not enough time to do it. I swear I regret fucking this bitch.
“Are you gonna open the door?” Whitley says that same little laugh under her breath. “Or do you want me to do it?”
I don’t even look at her goofy ass.
“Yeah… go ahead and open it,” I mutter.
It doesn’t matter who opens it. The outcome will still be the same. And I remember that hospital room—how the energy shifted, how the tension snapped, how fast it went left. How Rhy turned that bitch upside down.
Yeah…
This is about to get a whole lot fucking worse.
Rhy starts banging on the door—loud, relentless. Yeah… she finna make a scene in this motherfucka. I glance over at Whitley, waiting for her to move, to do something… but she just stands there like she has all the time in the world.
“Let me guess… You changed your fucking mind?” I mutter.
Silence.
The knocking gets harder.
I exhale, already irritated, already knowing this shit is about to go left. I move past Whitley and snatch the door open.
Rhy stands there.
Fire in her eyes… but her face?
She’s too calm. That’s what throws me the fuck off. She doesn’t say a word. Not to me. Not about the room. Nothing. She just walks past me like I’m not even there.
I turn, right on her heels, watching every step she takes as she moves deeper into the suite.
Straight to Whitley. Rhy sizes Whitley up the moment she stops in front of her. It’s quiet—but not peaceful.
Heavy.
Charged.
I catch it… the shift. Whitley’s smile is still there, but her shoulders? Slightly tighter.
Nervous.
The crazy part is—this is exactly what she wanted. I’m just not sure she’s ready for how it’s about to go.
Rhy tilts her head slightly, eyes locked on Whitley as if she’s studying her, not reacting.
“I’m trying to figure out why you keep sending for me,” she says calmly, her voice even. “Throwing slick shots like you don’t know what comes after that.”
Whitley lets out a laugh—light, dismissive.
Wrong move.
“I didn’t think we was finna have this conversation again, but you still want it with me,” Rhy continues, tone still controlled.
“As soon as I laid eyes on you, I knew you fucked my husband. It was obvious, bitch. You were too thirsty, and you wanted me to see you, not knowing I would treat yo ass.”
A beat.
“That’s why I told you not to be in his fucking room. I was trying to avoid tapping your ass again.”
Her eyes narrow just a little.
“But since you wanna take it there,” she shrugs. “…we can.”
“Excuse me?” Whitley fires back, chin raised.
Rhy doesn’t flinch.
“You heard what the fuck I said. You had a whole lot to say in my DM,” she says, stepping a fraction closer. “So I’mma need more than two words out of you now.”
Silence stretches.
Then— “I’m pregnant by your husband.”
No hesitation.
No emotion.
Just facts.
Rhy’s expression doesn’t break. Not even a twitch.
“Let me guess,” she replies, her voice still level. “He brought you here to get rid of it because that’s the only reason you want to put me in the mix.”
Hell, yeah, I brought her here to get rid of that baby.
“Yes,” Whitley answers. “I’m not.”
Rhy nods once.
Processing.
Calculating.
“So, why have a baby with a nigga who doesn’t want a child with you?”
“I don’t have to answer you.”
“Don’t. How far along are you?”
Whitley laughs again, but it doesn’t hit the same this time.
“You don’t wanna know the timeline.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
Rhy’s eyes sharpen. “It’s probably not even his,” she says flatly.
“Oh… It’s his.”
“I doubt it.”
Whitley leans in just slightly, like she wants this part to land. “I’m five weeks… and four days.”
“Damn… five weeks and four days,” Rhy repeats, almost to herself.
“Yep…” Whitley answers, chin high.
A small smile touches Rhy’s lips—but it ain’t warm.
“I knew you were a special ass bitch,” she says lightly.
“Yep. I told you—I know what I mean to him.”
Rhy’s gaze drifts over her, slow and measured.
“I just ain’t know you was willing to risk it all for my husband.”
A beat.
“The day I beat your ass?” she adds quietly. “It was about five weeks ago.”
Whitley’s smile flickers. Just a little.
“You’re a smart ghetto dummy,” she tries, forcing it back. “Thought you had one up on me. Whole time I already had one up on you—that’s why I ain’t apologize.”
Rhy nods like she’s hearing her.
“Yeah…” she murmurs. “Something told me to pull the cameras on your trifling ass.”
Silence.
“Before Mrs. Joseph had that shit scrubbed clean. I knew what you did.”
That lands hard. Rhy tilts her head, eyes locking in.
“I watched you,” she says, voice low. “I watched your trifling ass fuck my husband while he was in a coma…”
What… I don’t remember fucking Whitley; this hoe tried to trap a nigga.
The room stills.
“I knew you were thirsty,” she continues, calm as ever. “I just ain’t think you was that thirsty.”
Then—“Checkmate.”
No smile. No emotion. Just truth landing hard.
“I’m finna be a rich-ass bitch,” she adds, almost conversational.
“See, I know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em…
And I’m finna let the world know exactly what you did to an ICU patient.
I bet Lifetime wanna pick this shit up. I watch it happen in real time,” the color draining from Whitley’s face.
That confidence?
Gone.
Rhy doesn’t raise her voice.
She doesn’t need to.
“You raped my husband while he was in a coma,” she says, steady and clear. “And now you’re trying to use a baby to extort him… while harassing me. Bitch, you got the game wrong. Now you really finna get fucked.”
A beat hangs there before Whitley speaks.
“This shit is crazy.”
Whitley’s confidence cracks.
“See, I ain’t even finna beat yo ass; I’m calling the police,” Rhy continues, already reaching for her phone. “And the news. They finna eat this story up. We’ll file a police report and let them sort the rest of this shit out.”
“Wait—” Whitley blurts, stepping forward. “Let’s talk about this?—”
“There’s nothing left to talk about,” Rhy cuts in, calm but final.
Her eyes lock on Whitley’s—cold now.
“You can keep the baby; it’s proof of what you did five weeks ago… The whole time you’re thinking you’ve got one up on me, you’re playing yourself. Now watch me get paid. I told you my husband was the wrong nigga to fuck. I’m finna show the world why you shouldn’t have fucked him.”
That lands even heavier.
“I want the world to know exactly what kind of rapist you are,” Rhy adds. “What you did.”
A pause.