3. 4 Am
The sound of keys in the front door woke Soreya from the half-sleep she'd finally fallen into.
She heard Reign moving through the house—his footsteps heavy, deliberate, like he was trying to be quiet but couldn't quite manage it.
The bedroom door opened slowly, and she kept her eyes closed, her breathing even, pretending she was still asleep.
She wasn't ready yet. Wasn't ready to look at him, to smell whatever he'd been doing, to hear whatever excuse he'd come up with this time.
But she could smell him from across the room. Liquor. Smoke. That expensive cologne he always wore—Tom Ford, the one she'd bought him for his birthday last year. And underneath it all, something sweet and floral that definitely wasn't his. Perfume. Another woman's perfume.
But there was something else too. Something metallic and sharp that made her stomach turn. Something that didn't belong.
Her chest tightened, anger flaring hot and immediate.
"I know you awake," Reign said quietly, his voice rough from the night. "You breathe different when you sleep."
Soreya opened her eyes and sat up, the sheets falling away from her body. The room was still dark except for the light from the hallway spilling in through the cracked door. She could see his silhouette—tall, broad-shouldered, leaning against the doorframe like he was exhausted.
"You got a lot of nerve coming in here at damn near four in the morning," she said, her voice cold.
Reign sighed, running a hand over his face. "I know. I'm sorry, baby. I lost track of time?—"
"Don't." Soreya cut him off, her voice sharp. "Don't give me that bullshit excuse again. You didn't lose track of time. You ignored me. I called you four times, Reign. Four. And you read every single one of my texts and didn't respond."
He pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, and now she could see him better. His black Amiri shirt was wrinkled, the top buttons undone. His golds caught the light when he moved. He looked good—he always looked good—and that made her even angrier.
"I was handling business," he said, his tone defensive now. "You know how it is when the club get packed. I can't just be on my phone?—"
"Handling business?" Soreya laughed, bitter and sharp. "That what we calling it now? Because from where I'm sitting, it look like you was handling somebody else."
Reign's jaw tightened. "Soreya?—"
"You smell like perfume, Reign." She stood up from the bed, her voice rising. "You smell like another woman. So don't stand there and lie to my face about business."
"I work in a club," he shot back, his voice getting louder too. "Women everywhere. They hug me, they take pictures, they?—"
"They fuck you?" Soreya stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing.
"That what you was about to say? Because that's what you doing, right?
That's why you can't come home at night.
That's why you always disappearing. You out here fucking other bitches while I'm sitting at home waiting on you like a damn fool. "
"I ain't fucking nobody!" Reign's voice boomed through the room, and for a second, Soreya saw something flash in his eyes—something dark and dangerous that made her take a step back.
But then it was gone, and he was just Reign again, angry and defensive and looking at her like she was the one being unreasonable.
"You a liar," she said, her voice shaking now, tears threatening to spill over.
"You a liar and I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of waiting up for you.
I'm tired of smelling other women on you.
I'm tired of feeling crazy because you make me feel like I'm imagining shit when I know—I know—you out here doing me dirty. "
Reign closed the distance between them in two strides, his hands gripping her arms, his face inches from hers.
"You think I don't love you?" His voice was low, intense, his eyes locked on hers.
"You think I'm out here because I don't want you?
Soreya, you the only thing that matter to me. The only thing."
"Then why you keep hurting me?" Her voice broke, and the tears finally came, hot and angry down her cheeks. "Why you keep doing this if you love me so much?"
"Because I'm fucked up," he said, his voice raw. "Because I got shit I'm dealing with that I can't explain. But it ain't about you. It ain't because you not enough. You everything, baby. You everything."
She wanted to push him away. Wanted to tell him to get out, to leave her alone, to stop making her feel like this. But his hands were warm on her skin, his body so close she could feel the heat radiating off him, and God, she hated how much she still wanted him even when she was this angry.
"I hate you," she whispered, but it came out weak, unconvincing.
"No you don't," Reign said, and then his mouth was on hers, hard and desperate and tasting like liquor and something darker she couldn't name.
She kissed him back even though she didn't want to, even though she was still angry, even though every rational part of her brain was screaming at her to stop. But her body didn't listen. Her body never listened when it came to him.
His hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him, and she could feel how much he wanted her, could feel the tension in his body like he was barely holding himself back. She bit his bottom lip hard enough to hurt, and he groaned, his grip tightening on her hips.
"You so damn difficult," he muttered against her mouth, walking her backward toward the bed.
"You the one who came in here smelling like a whole other woman," she shot back, her hands already pulling at his shirt, needing it off, needing to feel his skin against hers.
They fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and anger and need. Reign's mouth moved to her neck, kissing and biting, and Soreya arched into him, her nails digging into his back.
But something felt different. Wrong.
The way he moved—too fast, too fluid, like gravity didn't quite apply to him the same way. The way his breathing hitched when his mouth was against her throat, like he was fighting something. The way his whole body trembled with a kind of restraint that felt dangerous.
She wanted to hurt him the way he hurt her, wanted to make him feel something, anything.
"I'm sorry," he whispered against her skin, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm sorry."
And she believed him. In that moment, with his hands on her body and his voice in her ear, she believed every word.
After, they lay tangled in the sheets, both of them breathing hard, the anger burned out and replaced with something quieter, heavier. Soreya's head was on Reign's chest, his arm wrapped around her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her shoulder.
She should feel better. Should feel like they'd resolved something. But instead, she felt uneasy, like something was wrong but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
Reign was staring at her. She could feel his eyes on her even though she wasn't looking at him. When she finally glanced up, his gaze was fixed on her neck—intense, almost hungry, like he was seeing something she couldn't. Like he was starving and she was food.
"What?" she asked, her voice quiet.
He blinked, and whatever she'd seen in his expression was gone. "Nothing. You just beautiful, that's all."
But it wasn't nothing. She'd seen the way he looked at her, and it wasn't the way a man looked at a woman he loved. It was something else. Something predatory. Something that made every instinct in her body scream danger.
"Reign," she said slowly, sitting up a little. "You good?"
"Yeah." He pulled her back down against him, his grip almost too tight. "I'm good. Just tired."
But his heart was racing under her ear. Fast. Too fast. Like he'd just run a marathon instead of lying still in bed. Like something inside him was fighting to get out.
Soreya didn't say anything, but she noticed. She noticed the way his hands trembled slightly when he touched her. Noticed the way his breathing was uneven. Noticed the way he kept staring at her neck like he was fighting some internal battle she couldn't see.
She thought about the news article. About Imani Brooks and Kendra Williams. About the way they'd both disappeared after nights at After Dark.
About the way Reign always came home smelling like something she couldn't identify.
About the way he looked at her right now—like he wanted to devour her.
What if this isn't about cheating?
The thought hit her like ice water.
What if it's something worse?
Something was wrong with him.
She didn't know what it was yet, but she felt it in her bones—that instinct that told her when something wasn't right, when someone was lying, when danger was close.
And for the first time in six years, she was genuinely afraid of Reign Saint.
Not because of what he'd done.
But because of what he might be.