Chapter 8
Naomi
ONE WEEK LATER…
“We Knew What We Signed Up For”
Ihadn’t planned on setting foot in no damn club tonight. Royal Fade had me drained, hands cramping from cutting fades back-to-back, but one of my girls swore I needed to let off steam. So here I was, in a dark VIP corner with a glass of Henny, watching diamonds and egos bounce under neon lights.
That’s when I noticed Amara Kevins.
The quiet one the blogs had been whispering about.
The “Ms. Forbes Party Planner” everybody swore was new in Ares’ rotation.
She didn’t look like a girlfriend to me, though.
She looked like she belonged to the job.
She had a clipboard in hand, headset tucked behind her ear, moving tables, adjusting candles, keeping the chaos in line without even breaking a sweat.
Amara was cute, a face and dress code for a billionaire
She didn’t see me, but I was watching.
And so was Leona. I got up and moved to the bar where they were. I wanted to hear what Lenora would say to Amara.
Leona was drunk already, dripping in fake confidence, stumbling from one person to the next with her laugh too loud and her smile too sharp. Leona was very insecure, and it took Ares to pull out her confidence as a model and singer.
She spotted Amara and headed straight for her like a shark catching blood in the water, and so did I. Something told me to watch Amara like a big sister.
“Ohhh, so you’re the famous girl from Ares’ Forbes party? The sweet event planner,” Leona cooed, her words slick with liquor. “Didn’t realize party favors came in Chanel sweaters.”
Amara straightened, polite as ever. “I’m just doing my job and like to dress nice doing it.”
Leona leaned closer, a smirk curving. “Sure. Keep the flowers fluffed, keep the candles lit. That’s all he really needs you for, right?”
That was it. I put my drink down and stepped forward before I thought twice.
“Funny you calling somebody a party favor,” I said, my voice cutting through the bass, “when you were the one who had to take care of a pregnancy problem not too long ago, because you were the real party favor.”
The whole section froze.
Leona’s smile vanished. Her eyes burned, glassy and dangerous. “What the fuck you just say to me, fat bitch?”
“You heard me.” I folded my arms, steady. “Thw world don’t forget rumors that loud. Ares made you abort that baby, and we all know why.”
Her hand snapped fast, grabbing a Don Julio bottle off the table. She swung before I could react, glass cracking against my shoulder and grazing my temple. Pain shot white-hot, but I didn’t stumble.
I swung back, fist connecting with her cheek. She shrieked, clawing, and we crashed into the velvet couch. Drinks spilled, people screamed. The whole crowd lit up with phones out, flashes popping like fireworks.
“Somebody send this to Shaderoom!” somebody hollered.
Amara tried to move in, reaching for Leona’s arm, but the crowd shoved her sideways. She went tumbling into a table—glasses shattered, liquor soaking her sweater, her headset falling to the floor. She looked stunned, like she hadn’t signed up for this kind of battlefield.
Security finally swarmed us, dragging Leona and me apart. My shoulder throbbed, blood warm at my hairline, but I was still ready for another round. Leona was screaming, face twisted, rhinestones falling off her dress like tears.
And Amara… she just stood there, clutching her sweater closed, wide-eyed, silent in the chaos.
I caught her gaze. “I don’t got no issue with you,” I told her low, so only she could hear. “Don’t let her trick you into thinking I do.”
She blinked at me, shocked. Then she nodded once, quick, grateful.
And right then, I knew—out of all the women in this messy love feud, she was the one who wasn’t playing games.