Episode| III
1 Month Later
Block hadn't been to the mansion since September 18, 2022.
The same day Basket was left to clean up the mess Ayana had made.
Since then, Basket had kept her close, always watching.
If he told her to cook, she did. If he needed her by his side in a meeting, she sat there.
Comfortable but uncomfortable. She was on a leash, and she knew it.
Basket suspected she wanted revenge. Her silence was too sharp, too bitter.
He wasn't stupid, so he kept a closer eye on her than usual.
On Block's advice, Basket had taken two women to the mansion—ones who weren't typically allowed inside.
They'd keep Ayana busy and contained. She was always starting fights, or at least that's what Basket told Block.
"Y'all should get ready. Block's coming home tonight." Basket's voice cut through the room like a warning. His eyes landed on Ayana. She flinched but didn't move. "What, you didn't hear me? I know you've got selective hearing, but I'm not my brother. I'll yank you up myself if I have to."
Before Ayana could respond, one of the women grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her to the bedroom. "Change into something decent," the woman said, her voice edged with irritation.
Ayana did as she was told. When she came back out, eyes turned to her. But still, no sign of Block. The same woman approached again, this time with a gentler tone.
"Come with me." She led Ayana into the kitchen. "Help me finish up these desserts."
Ayana nodded, wordlessly taking up the task. The woman glanced over at her and smiled. "I'm Christie, by the way. But call me Chris."
There was something striking about her—a face that looked almost childlike, but an attitude that was far from it. Stern. Unyielding.
Ayana muttered, "I'm Ayana."
"Well, Ayana, huh? Cute name. How old are you, chick?"
Before Ayana could answer, Honey burst into the kitchen, dancing to Machine Gun Kelly, hips swaying like she had no care in the world. "You should smile more. That face isn't gonna get you anywhere," she teased, poking at Ayana's cheek.
Honey's carefree dance was cut short when Basket grabbed her waist roughly, pulling her back against his chest. Standing at 4'11, Honey looked up, startled. "Why so angry?" she whispered, rubbing his hand on her waist.
"Why so loud?" Basket's voice was low and rough. He was dressed sharp—midnight blue suit with black trim, Stacy Adams shoes. Imposing, even while teasing.
"Well, aren't you looking sexy as always," Christie said between bites of cheese. Basket smirked at her, lifting Honey into the air as she giggled.
"Keep yourself in line tonight, especially when my brother shows up," Basket warned, cutting his eyes at Ayana. "He doesn't like disobedience."
Christie picked up on the shift in mood. She nudged Ayana forward. "Come help me with the turkey legs." Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, cautious.
Basket kissed Honey passionately before setting her down and walking out. "I'll talk to you later," he tossed over his shoulder at Christie.
Christie shook her head but grinned. "You better pay me back for getting your ass out of trouble," she whispered with a nudge, soft but teasing.
Ayana managed a small laugh, pulling the turkey legs from the oven. The smell was intoxicating. For a moment, she almost forgot her discomfort, wrapped up in the warm, familiar aroma of food.
In the main room, laughter and chatter filled the air, the clink of glasses signaling the start of what seemed like another ordinary night.
But then, without a sound, Block walked in.
Silent as a mouse, sharp as a tiger, sneaky as a fox—he stood there, watching. Waiting.
Basket was the first to notice. He turned and bowed, the rest of the room following his lead. One by one, the soldiers dropped to one knee. Christie stilled, her eyes wide as she dragged Ayana from the kitchen.
Ayana felt the shift in the air but didn't bow. She stood frozen, not in fear but in awe. Starstruck.
And that's when she saw him, standing there like a shadow made flesh.
"Fuck," she whispered under her breath
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