Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Zena walked into her condo in a detached daze.
The last few months have been a swirl of ups and downs.
She had been traveling, building hype for an album she wasn’t sure would ever come out.
Her career was still sinking, and she was sure the label would drop her soon. People just didn’t like her music.
Her eyes fell on the liquor bottles scattered across the hardwood floor, the counters, and the glass living room table.
In the kitchen sink, a mountain of dishes, half-eaten food still clinging to them, was piled a mile high.
To make matters worse, the overwhelming stench of weed hung thick in the air.
Tate had lost his fucking mind.
She followed the sound of snoring and found him dead to the world on the sofa. He didn’t move an inch as she slammed her bag down on the kitchen island, making a loud noise on purpose. His phone was still propped in his hand, loudly playing some social media video on an echoing loop.
She stood still, staring at him from across the counter.
Zena had never been the type to dig through a man’s phone, but the nagging feeling of intuition scratching at her ribs forced her feet toward the couch.
Her heart pounded wildly against her chest as she bent over his sleeping frame. She gently slid the phone out of his grip. With the unlocked device secure in her hand, she immediately bypassed the video and navigated straight to his text messages.
She scrolled past people’s names until her thumb hovered over a recent thread from a contact saved simply as V.
As Zena began reading the messages from the very top, her fingers trembled. The initial texts were vague, but the media attachments that followed left little to nothing to the imagination. It was a series of photos. She couldn't see the woman's face at first, only her ass and breasts.
V
Pull up to the studio, I’m tryna see you
Tate
Zena is gone for the weekend. Pull up to the crib.
V
On the way.
The final nail in the coffin was a video attachment. They were fucking. In her house. On her bed. In her sheets.
All the oxygen was sucked out of Zena’s lungs the exact moment the camera angle shifted, flashing directly to Velvet’s face.
She wore that same dumbass smirk she always wore whenever she was hanging around the label offices.
That smirk taunted Zena through the screen as Zena watched her so-called man deliver back shots to another woman. With no condom.
Zena saw blinding red. Of all the women in the city of Atlanta, he could have been sleeping with, it had to be Velvet. The disrespect of his moving so recklessly, sliding up inside of her raw, and bringing that parasite into her home, her sanctuary.
Just when she thought her chest couldn't get any tighter, her eyes caught a separate conversation thread right below it. It was a text exchange with J-Rock. Curiosity got the best of her, and she clicked into it.
Reading through the thread, Zena’s hands lost all their strength. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floorboards. She gripped her chest, gasping for air as her heart split in two, shattered into jagged pieces, as if someone had taken a jackhammer to her sternum.
It had been a calculated setup from the very beginning. Tate didn't love her. He had never loved her. She was nothing more than a cash cow, an investment to be bled dry.
A clarity washed over the heartbreak. She was going to get to the bottom of this shit today.
Zena marched out of the living room, heading down the hallway to her bedroom. The king-sized bed was a tangled mess of sheets. The exact sheets he had fucked Velvet on. A murderous rage settled deep into her bones. Somebody was going to die today.
Like a tornado, she aggressively stripped the bed, tearing the sheets and comforter off the mattress and hauling them into the living room, throwing the tangled pile directly onto Tate’s sleeping body.
“Tate! Get the fuck up!” Zena screamed, her voice shaking with a mix of tears and fury.
Tate didn’t even flinch, merely groaning into the cushion.
“I said, get the fuck up!” Tears rimmed her eyes as she scooped his shattered phone off the floor and launched it directly at his head. The device smacked him hard across his left cheek.
Tate popped up, wild-eyed and confused.
“Yo! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tate drawled, his voice thick with sleep as he rubbed his face.
Zena’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re a fucking dog. You know that, right? A pathetic dog.”
“The fuck are you even talking about right now?” Tate huffed, sitting up.
“You fucked that nasty-ass bitch in my bed, Tate?”
Tate locked into a poker face. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You trippin’.”
“Oh, you don’t know? Okay. Let’s play a game, then.” Zena stepped toward the kitchen. She stopped by the stove, flung open a drawer, and frantically rummaged through the clutter.
Tate stormed up behind her, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. “Wassup with you, Zena? Chill out.” He reached out, his hand clamping down on her forearm to stop her, but she snatched her arm away with enough force to make him stumble.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” she seethed, her jaw locked as her fingers wrapped around the specific item she was hunting for. A lighter.
Tate’s eyes grew as wide as saucers the moment he saw it in her hand. “What the fuck are you doing, man?” He lunged forward, trying to snatch it from her grip, but she maneuvered past him with the speed of an athlete, dodging him.
As if a demon possessed her, she ripped open the pantry, grabbed a large bottle of vegetable oil, and stormed straight back into the master bedroom's walk-in closet.
Tate followed hot on her heels, screaming and cussing that she tuned out.
Ripping the cap off the bottle, she began splattering the thick oil all over his expensive clothes and his designer sneakers.
In a matter of seconds, thousands of dollars of his belongings were permanently ruined.
He cared so damn much about material shit. More than he ever cared about her.
“My clothes!” Tate bellowed, his voice cracking as he charged across the closet at the speed of light. He caught her by the collar of her tracksuit, slamming her back against the drywall. Zena’s head hit the surface with a thud, spots dancing in her vision.
“What is your fucking problem, huh?” Hot spit flew from his mouth directly into her face.
Angry tears streamed down her flushing cheeks, but she held his gaze with pure malice. “You fucked Velvet… you brought that bitch into my house.”
Tate froze, his chest heaving as the confession caught in his throat. He took a slow step back, his grip loosening as he lowered her back to her feet. “I—I…”
Zena delivered a disrespectful mush straight to the center of his forehead, shoving his head back with all her might as she broke away from him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me now. I saw the phone, you dumb motherfucka. I saw the video.”
Tate just stood paralyzed in the closet doorframe, staring at her blankly, his mind scrambling to come up with a plausible lie.
Zena ignored him, grabbing a suitcase from the top shelf and throwing it onto the floor, pulling her clothes from the hangers.
“I’m done with this shit. I’m done with you.
I’m done with this industry. I’m taking my fucking life back, and I’m getting the hell out of Atlanta.
” The words spilled out of her throat like bitter vomit.
Tate rushed forward, ripping the suitcase out of her hands and trapping her in a suffocating bear hug from behind. Zena thrashed like an animal, fighting with everything she had to break out of his grasp.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Zena screamed, her chest heaving. Her blood was boiling hotter by the second. She couldn't stay in this city for another minute. Between her failing album rollout, her deteriorating mental health, and Tate’s ultimate betrayal, she was right at the edge of a cliff.
“Just stop! Stop fucking moving!” Tate yelled, tightening his grip and pinning her weight against his chest. “I fucked up..okay? Is that what you want me to say?”
Tate spun her around to face him. To her shock, there were tears in his eyes.
Zena had never seen this man cry in all their years together.
Instantly, she recognized the manipulation of his performance and decided to no longer be phased by it.
Because the last time she checked, there was only one paid performer in this condo, and it sure as hell wasn’t him.
“I’m sorry, Z… I’m so sorry,” Tate groaned, dropping directly to his knees and wrapping his arms tightly around her legs, putting on a masterclass of a show.
Zena looked down at him, her voice dropping into a cold tone. “And J-Rock?”
Tate’s crying ceased. He looked up at her, slowly rising to his feet, and Zena could have sworn she watched the light leave his eyes.
“Oh yeah… I saw the messages with J-Rock, Tate. Every. Single. Word,” Zena spat, her voice dripping with pure venom.
“You are a slimy, soulless bitch. You forced me to sign that bullshit contract because you owed that man thousands of dollars. You used my voice to pay off your shit. You had me out here doing grimy-ass shit for money, but worst of all? You threw me directly to the wolves like I was a piece of meat!”
Zena went feral on him, raining down a barrage of wild punches directly into his chest and face.
“Why would you bring her here?! I hate you!
I hate you so much! If it wasn't for you, I would never have signed that deal!
I wouldn't have gotten raped at that house! I would have been in college! Oh my God… I gave up my entire life for you!”
Tate’s face morphed into confusion. He reached out, aggressively catching both of her wrists, searching her frantic eyes for the truth. “What the fuck are you talking about, rape? Who raped you, Zena?”