KAISEN
I’d been sitting in my car for six hours.
Six hours parked three houses down from Truth’s brick two-story on Mimosa Ct, watching Amai’s truck in her driveway like it belonged there.
Like he belonged there.
The lights in her house had been on and off all night.
The bedroom one stayed on for hours.
I watched the silhouettes through the sheer curtains—bodies moving, shifting, the unmistakable rhythm of intimacy playing out in shadow and light.
I saw her arms wrap around his shoulders.
I saw him lift her, carry her, lay her down.
I saw the way their shapes became one, inseparable, and I felt something inside me crack.
The light finally went off.
I’d checked my phone.
Marked the time like it mattered.
Like documenting my own destruction would somehow make it hurt less.
It didn’t.
By dawn, my eyes burned. My throat was dry. My hands ached from gripping the steering wheel so hard I felt my knuckles were ready to bleed.
I replayed every moment I’d had with Truth.
The park. The way she’d smiled when I brought her food. The way she’d leaned into me when I held her, like I was safety, like I was home.
I’d offered her consistency. Stability. A life where she didn’t have to be afraid.
And she’d chosen him.
She’d chosen the man who lied to her, manipulated her, buried his own brother alive in a concrete hole and then came back to her bed like nothing happened.
She’d chosen chaos over peace.
Obsession over devotion.
Amai over me.
The sun started to rise, casting pale orange light across the street, and I felt the weight of the night settle into my bones.
I’d lost.
Not in some distant, theoretical way.
I’d lost.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder.
I picked it up, my vision blurry from exhaustion, and saw Brandon’s name on the screen.
Heard the divorce papers got signed yesterday. Amai and Yaya. Clean break.
I stared at the message, reading it three times before the words actually registered.
The divorce was finalized.
Amai was free.
The last legal obstacle between him and Truth was gone.
My chest tightened, and I felt something hot and vicious rise in my throat.
He’d won.
Completely.
Amai had everything now—no wife, no contract tying him to Yahmaria, nothing standing between him and the woman he wanted.
The woman I wanted.
I threw the phone onto the passenger seat and pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to breathe through the rage and heartbreak twisting in my gut.
I couldn’t stay here.
I couldn’t sit outside her house like some pathetic stalker, watching the man I hated most in the world take everything I’d fought for.
I started the engine and pulled away from the curb, my hands shaking, my vision tunneling.
I didn’t plan where I was going.
I just drove.
And, somehow, I ended up at Amai’s house in the Garden District.
His truck wasn’t in the driveway yet.
Still at Truth’s.
Still in her bed.
I parked on the street and waited, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
Hours later, Amai’s truck pulled into the circular driveway.
He stepped out, moving slow, his shirt untucked, his hair disheveled in a way that made it obvious where he’d been.
What he’d been doing.
I got out of my car and crossed the street, my footsteps heavy on the pavement.
Amai saw me and stopped, his hand resting on the truck door, his expression unreadable.
“Kaisen.”
“You signed the papers,” I said, my voice flat.
“I did.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
Amai closed the truck door and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Why would I? It’s not your business.”
“It is when it affects Truth.”
“Truth made her choice.” His voice was calm. “You need to accept that.”
“She didn’t choose,” I said, stepping closer. “You manipulated her. You lied to her. You made her think she didn’t have options.”
“I gave her every option.” Amai’s eyes narrowed. “I told her the truth. I told her about Yahmaria, about the marriage, about everything. And she still chose to be here. With me.”
“Because you made her dependent on you.”
“No.” Amai pushed off the truck, closing the distance between us. “Because I showed her who I really am. And she decided that was enough.”
“Enough?” I laughed, bitter and sharp. “You think this is over? You think once we handle Victor and Rahsaan, everything just goes back to normal? That you get to play house with Truth while I—what? Disappear?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
The certainty in his voice made my blood boil.
“We need to settle this. Once Victor and Rahsaan are dead, we settle the matter of Truth.”
Amai’s expression shifted—something cold and lethal sliding into place.
“Truth is not a matter to be settled.”
“Then what is she?”
“She’s a person.” His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. “With her own agency. Her own choices. And she chose me, Kaisen. Not you. Me.”
“She chose you because you didn’t give her a real choice!” I stepped closer, my fists clenched. “You isolated her. You made her afraid. You convinced her that being with you was the only way to stay safe.”
“I kept her alive.”
“You kept her trapped.”
Amai frowned, but he didn’t respond.
“You talk about choice like it means something,” I continued, my voice rising. “But you only believe in choice when you’re the one being chosen. When it’s convenient. When it serves you.”
The words landed.
I saw it in the way Amai’s eyes flickered—just for a second—before the mask slid back into place.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I laughed, sharp and humorless. “You spent weeks telling me to stay away from her. You stabbed me. You buried me in a fucking hole. And now you’re standing here acting like you’re some kind of hero because you’re sleeping in her bed.”
“She’s safe there.”
“She’s yours there.” I stepped even closer, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the barely controlled rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. “That’s what this is really about. Not her safety. Not her choice. You just can’t stand the idea of losing.”
“Get out of my driveway.”
“We’re not done.”
“We are.” Amai’s voice dropped. “Because if you keep pushing this, Kaisen, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret.”
“You already did.” I held his gaze, refusing to back down. “You just don’t want to admit it.”
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
The air between us was thick with tension—years of rivalry, jealousy, and resentment coiled tight and ready to snap.
And beneath it all, the unspoken truth neither of us wanted to acknowledge: We were brothers. And we were destroying each other over her.
I was in love with Truth. I didn’t know what kind of delusional shit Amai had going on, but he would find out how far I would take it to prove that Amai was the wrong choice.
“Once this war is over,” I said quietly, “we’re settling this. One way or another.”
Amai didn’t respond.
He just stared at me, his expression unreadable, and I knew—deep in my bones—that whatever fragile alliance we’d built was already crumbling.
I turned and walked back to my car, my hands shaking, my chest tight with rage and something so evil it scared me. I was sick of Amai thinking he could have his way around this bitch.
Something that felt a lot like hunger wrapped itself around my soul.
Because I’d lost.
Not the war with Victor. Not the fight for the family.
I’d lost her.
And I didn’t know how to get her back.
I sat in my car for five minutes before I could make my hands stop shaking enough to start the engine.
My first instinct was to drive to Winston’s estate. Get backup. Get support. Get something that would help me understand what the fuck just happened and how to fix it.
But the thought died as quickly as it came.
Winston would tell me to fall back. To let Amai have her. To focus on the family business and stop being distracted by a woman who was never supposed to matter.
Winston would remind me that Landry men don’t beg.
Fuck that.
I wasn’t going to my father like some weak-ass child who couldn’t handle his own problems.
This time, I’d handle it myself.
Like a man.
I started the engine and drove home, my vision tunneling, my thoughts racing faster than I could process them.
The house was dark when I walked in.
Empty.
Silent.
I didn’t bother opening the curtains.
I went straight to the bar in the living room and poured myself a glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice.
I downed it in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. My shit was caving in.
I poured another.
And another.
By the fourth glass, my hands had stopped shaking.
By the sixth, I was talking to myself.
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” I muttered, pacing the length of the living room. “She’s confused. She’s scared. She’s been manipulated by him for so long she doesn’t even realize it.”
I stopped in front of the window, staring out at the street.
“She needs someone to show her. Someone to prove to her that she deserves better.”
My reflection stared back at me in the glass—disheveled, exhausted, desperate.
I looked away.
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t fight for my family?” I said aloud, my voice echoing in the empty room. “What kind of father just walks away?”
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
I poured another drink.
“Maybe she’s testing me,” I said, the words coming faster now. “Maybe she wants to see if I’ll fight for her. If I’ll prove that I’m not like Amai. That I’m not going to give up just because things get hard.”
I nodded to myself, the logic making perfect sense in my alcohol-soaked brain.
“Yeah. That’s it. She’s waiting to see what I’ll do.”
I drained the glass and set it down hard on the bar.
My feet carried me upstairs before I’d consciously decided to move.
The nursery door was open.
I stepped inside and flipped on the light.
The room was perfect.
Everything in its place. Everything ready.
I stood in the center of the room, my chest heaving, my vision blurring at the edges.
This was mine.
This was my kids’ room. My family’s future.