Obligated

Chiana

I sat in my office, staring out the window, watching the cars pass by, my phone pressed to my ear as I listened to Nia's breathless, half-whispered confession. "Girl, why the hell Nash pulled up outside my house?"

she started, her voice low but full of amusement. I could hear her shuffling around in the background, probably cleaning up or washing. "Call me out to the car, we talking and whatnot... next thing I know, we end up in this nigga's backseat."

I leaned forward, my eyes widening. "Nia, stop playin'."

"I ain't playin',"

she said, a satisfied sigh slipping out. "Girl, I fucked that man. Fucked him good, too. Kids in the house sleep and all."

My mouth fell open. "Nia, you did NOT."

"Oh, I did. Fucked his ass to death in the backseat of that Audi. Don't even know if it was 'cause I was horny or 'cause I just needed to get some shit off, but nawl... it was get-back forreal."

I threw my head back, laughing, gripping my stomach. This girl was so damn unserious. "Oh, you are bold, bitch. I know you not out here cheating with the hometown crush."

"Girl, don't even say it like that!"

Nia laughed, but there was something dangerous in her tone. "Jules BEEN cheating. I just evened the score. Call it reparations."

I shook my head, still trying to process this messy-ass situation. "You better keep that shit to yourself. Your husband gon' go manic if he finds out. “Nia smacked her lips loudly. "That's the crazy part. After I get out the shower, post-Nash dickin' me down and all, I walk out, and who the fuck is sitting in my damn living room?"

My stomach dropped. "Your husband?"

"Mhm."

I could hear the smirk in her voice. "Begging. Pleading. Tryna talk. Looking pitiful as hell."

I could picture it clear as day—Jules standing in her house, looking desperate as fuck, probably smelling like a glass of Hennessy. "What you do?"

I asked, even though I already knew Nia wasn't tryna hear none of that shit. "Girl, I went straight in my room, locked the door, and went to sleep."

That did it. I laughed loudly. "Oh, you are ruthless!"

"And he gon' stay begging, too."

Nia said, completely unbothered. "Told his ass a long time ago—don't play with me. 'Cause when I play back, I play harder."

I shook my head, grinning hard as hell at Nia's mess. “Enough about my fucked-up life,"

Nia said, her voice light but tired. "My brother-in-law tell you where he taking you yet for your birthday? “I smirked, leaning back in my chair. My birthday was a little over a month away, and Juste still hadn't told me shit about where we were going. At this point, I didn't even care. I was just ready to be wrapped up in him, away from reality.

"No, he won't tell me,"

I admitted, gathering the stack of papers on my desk to get ready to leave. I had only stopped by to grab something for the upcoming week, but with it being Sunday and the office technically closed, I found myself sitting at my desk, caught up in this conversation with Nia longer than I should've been. "Hmm,"

Nia dragged the word out, like she was thinking of ways to get it out of him. "Y'all coming to Evie and Saint's for dinner tonight?"

I exhaled dramatically. "Unfortunately, yes. I'll be drunk or high before I get there. I can't deal with that lady."

Nia let out a knowing chuckle. "Girl, you and me both."

She was in the middle of saying something else when my attention snapped to movement outside. Through the window, I saw a blacked-out Escalade pull up to the curb. The windows were so dark I couldn't see a thing inside. But then the driver's door swung open, and I frowned instantly. Maseon. Dressed in dark grey, his usual swagger in his step, looking good as he always did—but that wasn't the issue. I didn't know what the fuck he was doing here. Juste had made it clear that Maseon was not to be around me.

I sat up straighter, my stomach tightening. "Nia, let me call you back,"

I muttered, my voice already shifting. I didn't even wait for her response before hanging up, setting my phone face down on my desk.

Maseon pushed through the entrance of my building, the automatic glass doors sliding open like they were welcoming him in. He moved with too much ease, too much comfort, like he belonged here. But he didn't. I squared my shoulders as he approached my office, my eyes cold, calculating. "What up, Mase ?"

I asked before he could even open his mouth. He smirked, that signature cocky, amused look playing on his face like I was his favorite game to play.

"Damn, Ana,"

he drawled, slipping his hands into his pockets. "That how you greet an old friend?"

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "We ain't friends. You know that. And you damn sure know you got no business being here."

His smirk widened, but there was something sharp in his gaze. Something unspoken. "Just wanted to talk. Ain't nothing wrong with that, right?"

I didn't trust that for a second. My pulse ticked up, but I kept my face cool, unreadable. I wasn't stupid. Nothing about Maseon showing up here unannounced was a coincidence. And if Juste found out, Shit was gonna get ugly.

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, glancing at the time on my phone. "You got about two minutes, 'cause I'm headed out the door."

Maseon smirked, completely unbothered. "I got a business opportunity for you."

I rolled my eyes so hard I damn near saw the back of my skull. "I'm good."

I stuffed the last of my files into my bag, not even looking at him. But he kept going. "My boss out in Texas? He lookin' to migrate this way. Needs an accountant to handle a few things before his move. Good money, Ana. "I paused mid-motion, finally looking up at him, frowning hard. Hell no.

I wasn't about to get tangled up in whatever shady shit Maseon had going on. Trouble followed him like flies on shit. "Thank you for thinking of me, but I'm not taking new clients at the moment, Mase."

My tone was final, clipped, letting him know the conversation was over. I turned toward the door, making it real clear I was done here. But before I could reach it, his hand clamped around my arm. The fuck? I snatched back, but his grip was tight, fingers digging into my skin. "Mase, get your fuck—"

"Shhh,"

he cut me off, his voice low, calm, and entirely too bold. "My boss, Ana? 'No' ain't an option. You already in with the St. Jeans. This shit is literally no different."

I damn near saw red. My face twisted into the ugliest frown, and I knew he saw it because the smug-ass smirk on his face only grew.

I took a slow, deep breath, forcing myself not to pop off too quick. "Maseon, get your filthy, dick-beating ass hands off me. Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

His grip tightened for half a second, his jaw clenching like he was considering pressing his luck. But then, finally, he let me go, the smirk still on his face like he was enjoying this shit.

And then, he went left. "Mmm,"

he dragged out, tilting his head like he was reminiscing. "That boy Juste know how filthy that pretty lil' mouth get? How filthy you get?"

He chuckled, running his tongue over his teeth. "Tell me, Ana, that nigga make you climb walls? I remember how you used to cu—"

That was it. I turned fully to him, arms crossed, my own smirk creeping onto my lips.

"Maseon,"

I said slowly, making sure every single word cut him. "Juste makes me climb the goddamn ceiling in that big ass house. And he loves how filthy my pretty little mouth gets when he fills up the back of my throat."

I watched his jaw flex, nostrils flaring, as that smirk of his disappeared instantly. Yeah. Now he was mad. Good. "Now,"

I continued, my voice even, smug, throwing his own shit back at him. "You can get the fuck out, Maseon."

His hands clenched, his face hard, but he didn't say shit else. He just turned and left. The second that door closed behind him, I exhaled slowly, rolling the tension out of my shoulders.

I drove home, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, the tension from earlier still buzzing in my veins. Maseon was a bold-ass nigga, I'd give him that. But he was also stupid as hell. I wasn't about to let him pull me into whatever messy-ass, dangerous-ass business he was trying to dangle in my face. Juste would kill him. Literally and I wasn't even exaggerating.

I exhaled deeply, shaking my head, trying to push that whole encounter out of my mind. I needed to focus on getting ready for this Sunday dinner bullshit. The moment I pulled into the driveway, I noticed Juste's car already parked out front. He was home. I cut the engine, grabbed my purse, and made my way inside. The second I stepped in, I heard his voice. He was in his office, talking loud on the phone, his tone edged with frustration and finality. "Man, I don't give a fuck about none of that. don't call me until it's done. Let the mayor in Thiloux know he can have me an answer by Thursday, if not I’ll pull up on Friday."

I paused for a second, standing near the stairs, watching him through the cracked office door. He was leaning against his desk, one hand gripping his phone, the other running over his low-cut waves. His suit jacket was thrown over the chair, and his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

He looked stressed, but good as hell at the same time. His eyes flicked up and landed on me. I Just lifted a brow and kept walking toward the bedroom. If he was busy, he'd come find me when he wasn't. I kicked off my shoes and went straight for the closet, grabbing the Jeans and a body suit I'd picked out for the night. Something simple. I had just pulled down my pants when I heard heavy footsteps approaching. Before I could even turn around, warm, strong hands were gripping my waist, pulling me back against a solid chest. I smirked. "You gon' say something?"

I teased, still facing the closet. Juste's lips brushed the side of my neck, his voice low, gravelly. "I got a lot on my mind, baeeby."

I turned in his arms, looking up at him, searching his face. I could see it all in his eyes—he was still heated. Whatever the fuck that phone call was about had him on edge. I ran my hands up his chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt. "You good?"

He exhaled through his nose, jaw flexing. "I will be."

Translation: He wasn't trying to talk about it. I nodded, pressing up on my toes to kiss him lightly. "You hungry?"

He smirked, eyes darkening. "You offering somethin' else before dinner?"

I laughed, shoving his chest. "Boy, get out. I gotta get dressed."

He smacked my ass lightly as he backed away. "I'll be waiting downstairs."

I turned back to the closet, shaking my head with a smirk.

_

By the time we pulled up to Ms. Evie and Saint's house, everyone was already there. We were the last to arrive. I wasn't surprised. Juste had taken his sweet time getting out of the house, claiming he wasn't in a rush to be around "all that extra shit"

tonight. I hadn't even argued. Not because I liked being late, but because something in the air already felt off. And the second we stepped inside, I knew I wasn't tripping. The usual noise—loud talking, laughter, Evie's sharp ass mouth popping off about something—was damn near nonexistent. Instead, there was a thick, quiet tension sitting heavy in the air. I glanced around, taking quick inventory of the room.

Ms. Evie was quiet. Too quiet. She sat at the head of the table, her usual glass of red wine in front of her, swirling it around in slow circles like she was deep in thought. That wasn't like her at all. Pierre and Noles were seated next to each other, locked in some low conversation. Pierre looked bothered, rubbing the back of his neck like something was frustrating the hell out of him. Nia was posted up with the kids wedged between her and Jules, putting as much space between them as possible. I knew what that was about.

Even though Nia had been real lighthearted about it when she called me earlier, I knew she was still pissed about what happened at the formal. And with Nash creeping into the picture, She was on pure fuck-you energy when it came to Jules. I took my seat next to Juste. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, looking just as aware of the weird ass energy in the room as I was. I turned my attention to Ms. Evie, who still hadn't said much of anything since we walked in. Something wasn't right.

"Ms. Evie,"

I called out, keeping my tone light, but curious. "You good tonight? You real quiet."

Her sharp eyes snapped up to mine, and for a moment, she just stared at me, like she was debating something in her head. Then, she smirked, taking a slow sip of her wine before speaking. “Oh, I'm good, cherè,"

she said, voice smooth. "Just sittin' here thinkin'. Lot on my mind tonight."

I glanced over at Juste, but he was already looking at his mama with the same skeptical expression I had. Pierre let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. Then her eyes flicked to Saint, who hadn't said shit either. He was sitting across from her, watching her like he was already waiting on the bullshit.

"You know what's really funny to me?"

Evie continued, still smirking, but her tone had an edge now. "How family can sit at the same damn table and keep secrets. Like shit not gon' come to light eventually."

I stiffened, my stomach tightening. Oh, lord. And judging by how Saint's jaw flexed he knew what the hell she was talking about. I leaned over toward Juste, lowering my voice. "The fuck is going on?"

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "We about to find out."

"Your brother called me today Saint, and he was oh so kind to let me know that the only reason Pierre came to live with us all them years ago is because he belong to you . I always knew , shit everybody knew you and Vera was fuckin Saint , but life , you gave that bitch life ?"

She spoke pointing her fork across the table at him . Pierre had a look of confusion on his face as he sat back in his seat his arms crossed . Juste looked between his mama and daddy. The whole room went silent. Not just a regular, uncomfortable silence—this was thick, suffocating, the kind that made the air heavy as hell. My stomach twisted as I looked from Ms. Evie to Saint, then to Pierre—who sat back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes dark with confusion. He wasn't saying shit, but the tension rolling off him was loud as hell.

"Evie,"

Saint finally spoke, his voice low, carrying that calm-before-the-storm energy. "Put the damn fork down and quit playin'."

But Ms. Evie wasn't playin'. She let out a sharp laugh, tapping the silverware against her plate before setting it down. Then she picked up her wine glass, took a slow sip like she was savoring the moment before she spoke again.

"Oh, I'm not playin' at all, baby,"

she said, her voice smooth but laced with venom. "I've sat at this table with your lyin' ass for decades. Raised that boy under my roof, called him my nephew, loved him like he was one of my own. All while you walked around here, chest all puffed up, actin' like you some stand-up ass nigga."

She shook her head. "Whole time, you ain't never had the balls to claim your own damn child. “Pierre shifted, but his face was still unreadable. He wasn't the type to react quick. He sat back, watching, waiting. I glanced over at Juste, who was watching this shit unfold with a deep-ass frown. Jules and Noles weren't saying shit either. Nia, on the other hand, was looking at me wide-eyed like, Bitch, you hearing this? I sure as hell was. Saint exhaled slow, shaking his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Evie, not at this goddamn table. Not like this."

"Like what?"

she shot back, fire in her eyes. "You wasn't worried about how shit was gon' come out when you was sneakin' around with your brother's wife."

Pierre let out a short, humorless laugh before sitting forward, resting his arms on the table. His jaw flexed as he looked from Ms. Evie to Saint. "How long y'all known?"

he finally asked, voice calm, but deadly. Nobody said a word. Then, finally, Saint exhaled, looking his son—his biological son—dead in the face. "I always knew."

Pierre's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched like he was holding back from throwing a chair across the damn room. "Dat right?"

His tone was cold. Saint nodded once. "Yeah."

Pierre let out another short laugh, shaking his head. "And you just—what? Decided it was easier to let your wife raise me while you played dumb?"

"I ain't play dumb,"

Saint said gruffly. "I protected you."

Pierre's eyes narrowed. "From what? “Saint leaned forward, locking eyes with him. "From Abel."

And just like that, the room went silent again. Ms. Evie smirked, shaking her head. "Oh, now you wanna act like you did the boy a favor."

Saint didn't look away from Pierre. "Your daddy? He wasn't never gon' protect you. He wasn't gon' raise you right. He wasn't gon' do shit but ruin you, same way he ruins everything he touches."

The weight of the words settled heavy in the air. Pierre sat back again, his jaw locked. "That's funny,"

he muttered. "Cause last time I checked, ruinin' shit is a St. Jean family trait."

Juste let out a breath, rubbing his chin, before finally speaking up. "Aight,"

he said, his voice calm, too calm. "We not 'bout to do this at dinner."

Ms. Evie chuckled. "Oh, we already doin' it."

Juste's eyes cut to his mama, sharp and warning. "Ma."

She held his gaze for a second, then finally exhaled, grabbing her wine glass again. "Whatever. I already said what needed to be said."

The whole table sat in heavy silence. Pierre was still as hell, his face blank, but I could feel the storm brewing inside him. The door of the house opened and we heard footsteps coming toward the dining room . "The fuck?"

Juste stood from his seat pulling his gun from his hip .

A buff Mexican man stepped in the dining room with 2 other men at his side . He smiled flashing his gold tooth . "St. Jean, Me Amigos"

He said . I watched Evie shift in her seat like shed seen a ghost. "Vega , you better have a good fuckin reason to be walkin in my house unannounced."

Saint muttered. Juste ran his hand over his face putting his gun back on his hip . "You aint fuckin tell him Ma ? You still been on that bullshit ? "

Juste turned to Evie . She didn't open her mouth . I knew she was shook because Evie St. Jean always had something to say . "What the fuck is goin on ?"

Saint said now standing from his seat .

"Me Amigo your wife . She loves my casino . Your boys , Juste and Jules just dug her out recently , but she's back in , and im here to collect ."

Vega said no fear in his voice . The air thickened. A deadly quiet settled over the room. Saint's whole demeanor shifted, his presence taking up the space in a way that made my skin prickle. Jules leaned back, gripping the edge of the table, his jaw locked tight. Juste? Still as a goddamn statue, but I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the same storm Vega was too damn bold to notice.

Evie? She wouldn't even look up. I watched her sip her wine like Vega ain't just step into her home with a death wish. Like he wasn't standing there, casually dropping bombs on the family dinner table. Noles let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "This nigga serious?"

Vega grinned wider, flashing that gaudy ass gold tooth, like he was enjoying the moment. "Oh, I am very serious. Your mother has been my favorite client—high roller, big spender. The kind of woman who bets without limits."

He clapped his hands together. "But unfortunately, mi amigo, there are limits."

Juste ran a slow hand down his face, like he was trying to hold onto his last thread of patience. "How much?"

Vega smiled wider. "Two hundred sixty thousand."

The table rattled under Saint's fists. "You out your fuckin' mind if you think I'm paying that shit."

Vega ain't blink. He just sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "St. Jean, I'm a businessman. I don't take losses. Either you handle the debt, or I take a different payment."

I frowned. The whole room felt like it was holding its breath. Nobody moved. Nobody blinked. I couldn't even sip my champagne, my glass frozen halfway to my lips. This was way beyond some gambling debt bullshit. Saint's hands were fisted at his sides, his entire body coiled tight like he was seconds from exploding. But it was Evie I watched the closest. She was too still. Too quiet. That ain't sit right. She was always the loudest, always the most in control. But now? Now she looked like she was ready to be swallowed whole. Saint's voice came out low. Too low. "Evie... tell me what the fuck dis is."

She gripped her wine glass like it was her lifeline, but she wouldn't look up. Wouldn't meet his eyes. Juste took a slow breath, running a hand down his face. "Pops, we gotta pay this man. We got too much other shit goin' on right now—we don't need a war with the cartel behind Mama's gambling habit. We can't handle that shit."

His voice was steady, but I could see it. The way his shoulders were tense. The way his jaw flexed. Vega rocked back on his heels, unbothered, watching us like we were pieces on a chessboard he already knew he was winning. "Your son is a smart man, St. Jean. Knows how to weigh risk vs. reward."

He exhaled dramatically. "I tell you what Juste reasonable , I am reasonable . I'll take a hundred thousand today, I be back for the rest in two week."

Saints eyes were still on Evie . he quickly looked up at Juste.

"I'll take care of it ."

He said turning to walk Vega out . He returned quickly not bothering to sit back down watching his parents. Evie finally picked up her wine glass again, swirling the liquid, eyes trained on it like the answer to this whole fucked-up situation was floating somewhere inside. "You mean to tell me,"

Saint's voice was low, dangerous, "you in here startin' bullshit and you got a gambling debt with the motherfuckin' cartel?"

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows on the table, eyes dark and burning holes into her. Evie sighed, real slow, before she finally looked up at him. "Saint, I was gonna handle it."

The whole table reacted at once. Jules laughed, but there wasn't shit funny. "You was gonna handle it, Ma? How? With what money?"

Juste ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. "You can't handle no cartel, Mama."

His voice was calm, but I could tell he was fighting to stay that way. "That ain't how this shit works. You know that."

"Do I look like a fuckin' fool to you?"

Saint's voice snapped through the room like a whip, and Evie finally flinched. "Saint—"

"No, Evie. Shut the fuck up."

My eyes widened. Nobody, and I mean nobody, ever told Evie St. Jean to shut the fuck up. Saint stood up slow, pushing back from the table. He braced both hands on the wood, breathing deep like he was reeling himself in before he said something worse. "You got the cartel walkin through my fuckin' door. You got my sons out here cleanin' up your fuckin' mess. You gon' sit here and act like this some regular degular shit?"

Evie set her glass down with a clink. "I said I was gon' handle it."

Her voice was cool, but I could hear the tremor beneath it.

Saint tilted his head, watching her. Measuring her. "You know what's crazy?"

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "I always knew you had some shit goin on with you, Evie. But this?"

He shook his head. "This some next-level, I-got-the-whole-cartel-on-my-neck type shit. And you was just gon' keep sittin' here like nothin' happened?"

"Saint, lower your voice,"

Evie muttered, her eyes flicking to the doorway. Saint let out a bitter ha, running a hand over his mouth. "Oh, so now you worried about who listenin'? You wasn't worried about that shit when you was out here placing hundred-thousand-dollar bets , huh?"

Evie sat up straighter. "I was trying to fix it, Saint."

Saint slammed his hand on the table, making everybody jump. "Fix what, Evie? Fix what?"

His voice was raw now, laced with something I ain't never heard in it before. The whole room was dead silent. I looked at Juste. He was watching Saint real close, like he was waiting to see what was coming next. Pierre leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, face unreadable. Then, Evie did something wild. She scoffed. Like all of this was some petty argument. Like we weren't sitting in a mess she created.

"Jules, all this shit started with your bullshit,"

Noles muttered, shaking his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, blame the fuckin' cheater, huh? Well clearly I’m not the only one."

Jules shot back, rubbing a hand down his face. Nia let out a loud, petty ass laugh as she sipped her wine. "I mean, if the shoe fits..."Before shit could spiral even further, Juste slammed his cup down on the table. His whole body was tense, shoulders tight like he was holding back the urge to snap. His voice came out low, clipped, damn near seething. "You know what? Enough. Enough of this bullshit."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before cutting his gaze to me. "Come on, . We leaving."

I blinked, caught off guard by how pissed he was. "Juste—"

"Nah, come on,"

he interrupted, already pulling me up by the wrist. The ride back home was dead silent. Juste's jaw flexed, and his grip on the steering wheel was tight as hell, his knuckles damn near white. He was furious And I needed him to talk to me. "Juste."

I reached for his arm. "Talk to me ?"

He didn't say shit, just kept his eyes locked on the road, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep his shit together. We hit a red light, and I turned fully toward him. "Juste, talk to me—"

His grip on the wheel tightened. "Not now, ."

That made me suck my teeth. "Not now? you been quiet since we left. What the fuck—"

"CHIANA!"

He finally snapped, his head jerking in my direction, eyes damn near black with frustration. "I said not now!"

And in that moment—everything slowed down. I saw the green light out the corner of my eye. Felt the car move forward. Then— BOOM!

The impact was so hard, so sudden, I didn't even have time to scream. A black truck came flying through the intersection, slamming into Juste's side at full speed. The world flipped. Once. Twice. Glass shattered. Metal crunched. My body felt weightless, then heavy as fuck. And then—darkness. A sharp, burning pain in my temple. A wet, warm trickle of blood down my face. I groaned, my whole body aching, my ears ringing like I was underwater. "Aw, fuck!"

Juste's voice—distorted, desperate. ", baeeby, you okay? Say something!"

I tried to move, but a sharp, searing pain tore through my shoulder, making me scream out.

Then—car doors slamming. Heavy footsteps. My heart started hammering, my body instinctively going into fight mode. Then—gunfire.

Pop-pop-pop!

Bullets ripped through the car, shattering what little glass was left. Juste cursed, reaching for his gun, trying to shield me with his body. I felt the heat before I even processed the pain. A sharp, hot burn tore through my side, and I screamed, my body jerking from the impact. And that's when I saw it. The shoes. The same black, designer sneakers I'd seen earlier today. The same ones Maseon was wearing when he showed up at my office. The realization hit me hard.

Maseon.

Maseon hit us.

Maseon was shooting up the goddamn car. Everything started fading again, my body growing weak. The last thing I felt was strong arms wrapping around me, lifting me from the wreckage. The last thing I heard was Juste's frantic, desperate voice. "Stay wit me, baeeby. They comin'."

Then—nothing.