Chapter 33
33
I sat in the studio, stylus in hand, tablet glowing, working on my next big project while Amir was deep in his session. The air was rich with the scent of burnt vanilla and leather—a mix of my perfume and his cologne that had permanently settled in our shared spaces.
It had been months since everything changed between us. Months since he showed up at my showcase and we stopped pretending there was any other choice but each other.
Life had shifted in the best way.
The Raj album cover had done exactly what my agent predicted—it put my name in rooms I never imagined. Offers rolled in. Magazine covers, merchandise commissions, even concept art for a major Black-owned animation studio.
I was here. Really here.
And Amir…his name was everywhere.
Night Things had skyrocketed, and now he was working with artists he used to dream about producing for. He had been pulled into a new project, this time with Sienna Ray, a powerhouse vocalist with Jazmine Sullivan-level pipes that could shake the damn walls.
Sienna and I had clicked instantly—she respected my work, and I loved hers.
She had this cool, lowkey confidence. Skin like sun-warmed bronze, thick curls pinned into a soft puff that framed her face just right. Her voice had weight—rich and raw, like it came from somewhere deep—and when she sang, the whole room shifted.
The session wasn’t just Amir and Sienna.
A third voice drifted through the glass—low, even, with that Pittsburgh cadence that always made me smile.
“Run that last one again, Sienna. You caught magic on the back end.”
Myles. Amir’s longtime sound engineer—big, chubby, quiet as hell unless it counted. Always wore a hoodie, always had a cherry toothpick tucked between his lips, and always heard things no one else did.
He wasn’t around much in the early stages of Taraj’s album or Sienna’s. Was out West running a lo-fi tape label, producing moody instrumental projects with anime samples and beats that felt like rainy day therapy. But for this project, Amir called him in.
They’d been tight since college and no matter how big Amir got, he worked better when Myles was in the room.
You could feel it in the way things just… clicked.
“Amaya, this concept is insane,” Sienna said, stepping back to admire the artwork I had pulled up for her. “You did this in one sitting? Girl. No wonder Amir is always bragging about you.”
I smirked, glancing at my man across the studio.
He was standing by the console, one hand on the fader, the other rubbing his beard, watching her run through a verse. The deep concentration on his face, the way he nodded when she hit the right note, the way he lived inside the music?—
God, I loved him.
And just like that, as if sensing my stare, he turned—his dark brown eyes locking onto mine.
I bit my lip. That look meant he was up to something.
And I was about to find out what.
The session wrapped up, and as we headed out, Amir threw his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
"You free tonight?" he murmured against my ear.
I glanced up at him, my brows lifting. "You asking me on a date, Barkley?"
His lips twitched into that lazy, cocky smirk. "Something like that."
I side-eyed him, but I knew better than to argue. Amir didn’t do casual plans. Whatever he had up his sleeve was deliberate.
We went back to my brownstone, our space, where he had damn near moved in. His condo had been ready for months, but neither of us wanted to leave the rhythm we had built.
And tonight he was looking at me like he wanted to ruin my whole damn night before we even left.
But instead, he went to get dressed, telling me to do the same.
I walked into my bedroom, already anticipating his reaction.
I chose a black silk Mugler mini dress—sharp cut at the waist, with a plunging back that dipped low enough to make my spine feel like a story. It barely skimmed the tops of my thighs, clung like it was made for me, and shimmered when I walked. I paired it with sheer Wolford tights and sky-high strappy Amina Muaddi heels that made my legs look like a sculpture.
No glasses tonight.
I reached for my contacts, did my eyes in a soft smoky bronze, and slicked my lips in a glossy nude that made them look wet and kissable. My braids were pinned up, a few left loose around my face—soft, elegant, effortless.
When I stepped out, he froze.
His eyes dragged from my heels to my face like he was drinking me in. His bottom lip parted just slightly before he swiped his tongue across it, jaw tightening like he was in pain. The good kind.
“Damn…” he breathed.
And fuck, he looked dangerous .
Gone was the black button-up.
In its place?
A deep charcoal-gray Willy Chavarria short-sleeved button-down—boxy and structured in a way only a designer could pull off. Open at the collar. Loose enough to flex when he moved. His slacks were The Row, tailored clean with a barely-there pleat, sitting just right over black leather loafers—custom Julius Erving Atelier—the kind you couldn't find on shelves. And that Le Labo Vetiver 46 haunted me where I stood.
He stepped toward me like he couldn’t help it.
“Come here, baby.”
I did.
His hands found my hips, gripped tight.
His mouth brushed my temple. “You ready?”
I wasn’t even sure what I was agreeing to.
But he’d asked me to say yes—to us . To everything.
And tonight, I meant it with my whole chest.
“Yes, baby,” I whispered. “I’m ready.”
The car ride was quiet, charged, both of us knowing that whatever was coming next wasn’t just another night out.
When we pulled up to the same rooftop restaurant we had visited before, my heart stuttered. But this wasn’t like last time.
No other patrons were on the rooftop.
Only twinkling lights overhead, a perfectly set table, a soft, warm breeze, and music?—
A familiar melody.
I gasped.
It was his beat.
The one I had heard him working on before, except now it was complete, and Taraj and Sienna were singing over it.
And then I heard the lyrics.
"We were always more than a moment,
More than time slipping through hands.
We were fate, we were written,
We were love before we knew where to land."
My hand flew to my mouth and tears blurred my vision. I turned to Amir, and that’s when I saw it.
The ring box in his hand.
My chest locked tight as I saw him to drop to one knee in front of me. "Amaya."
His deep voice saying my name so low, almost reverent, filled with so much love it made my chest ache.
He took my hand, his thumb smoothing over my knuckles.
"I’ve loved you my whole life. Even when I was too young and dumb to admit it. Even when I was too scared to claim it. Even when I thought I didn’t deserve you."
My breath hitched.
"But I’m done wasting time. I’m done running from what I’ve always known. You—us—it was always supposed to be this way."
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
"I want forever with you. I want mornings and nights, laughter and love, fights and making up. I want to be yours in every way that matters."
He flipped open the box.
The ring… a radiant-cut diamond, set in platinum— simple yet stunning. Timeless.
"Say yes, baby. Say yes to us. Say yes to forever."
My voice broke as I whispered?—
"Yes. Yes, Amir. Forever."
A choked exhale left him before he stood, sliding the ring onto my finger, his hands trembling.
Then kissed me. Deep. Hard. Unapologetic.
The moment we pulled apart, cheers erupted.
Our families stepped into view—our mothers wiping tears, our fathers nodding in approval, our friends smirking.
Taraj raised his glass, smirking like he had known all along.
And maybe he had.
Because this was always meant to be.