Chapter 3
Lauren
I smiled to myself as I looked over my baby’s message.
Malcolm: Good morning Ma.. Hope that shift ain't beating you up too bad today. Already missing you like crazy over here. Let me take you out tomorrow night, found a new spot for us to try.
I sat in my office, just cheesing away. The love wasn’t lost after our heavy conversation at The Bygone. If anything, Malcolm was doubling down on being the perfect man for me.
Reading his words, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I’d spent the whole night in my own head, plucking chin hairs and worrying about my own emotional walls, but Malcolm wasn't going anywhere.
I fired back a quick text, locking in those dinner plans for tomorrow night. But by the time my shift finally started winding down, an impulse hit me right in the chest.
I didn't want to wait until tomorrow to see my man.
Thursdays were always his late nights at the shop; he usually stayed locked in well past closing to squeeze in his high-end clients or work on editing some viral hair transformation content that had half the city checking his timeline.
I went and grabbed some takeout from his favorite spot, planning to slide through and show him exactly how much he was on my mind.
I got him a double order of those garlic-herb lamb chops he loves, sitting right next to a mountain of five-cheese baked mac that still had the crispy golden edges, and some garlic mash swimming in butter. The entire cabin of the Benz smelled like pure heaven.
Twenty minutes later, I rolled my Benz into the gravel alleyway running right behind his private studio.
The building was this beautifully restored, industrial brick space tucked away in a trendy pocket of the city.
Looking up from the steering wheel, the tinted front windows were completely pitch black.
The main neon ‘OPEN’ sign was dead, but parked right in his designated spot near the back entrance was his custom truck.
I cut the engine when I was parked. I reached into my bag, grabbing the spare key ring he’d proudly pressed into my palm months ago.
“A key to my kingdom, Ma,” he’d said with that dimpled smile.
As I stepped out of the car, a strange chill swept across my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I brushed it off, and walked to the private employee entrance at the back.
The main door was locked. I slipped my key into the brass deadbolt. It turned with a heavy, metallic click that felt unusually loud in the quiet alley.
I pushed the door open, stepping into the dark hallway that led to the main floor. The air inside didn't smell like his usual blend of pomade, hot towels, and aerosol sanitizers. It was laced with a musk of sweat and cheap floral perfume.
Then, the sound hit me.
It was a wet, echoing slap... slap... slap... tearing through the quiet of the studio.
I froze in the shadowy hallway as my brow furrowed in confusion.
What the hell does he have going on back here?
I stepped forward, but my heels made no sound against the thick rubber mats of the walkway. I rounded the corner by the back supply cages, but the darkness was giving way to a blinding glow.
In the center of his styling bay, Malcolm’s professional ring light was turned on high. It cast a bright, white halo over his main chair. On a tripod right beside it, his phone was mounted, and the camera lens was pointed directly at the seat.
Malcolm’s body was thrown back in the black seat with his head tilted toward the ceiling. I had to readjust my glasses to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating shit.
“Yeah, Ma. Get that shit.” His hands were locked onto the hips of a naked woman.
She was petite, half his size. Those long bundles were flying wildly all over the place while she violently threw her hips back, riding his dick like a motherfucking animal.
She was putting her whole soul into it, making the loud, wet slapping sound of her ass hitting his thighs echo through the room with so much goddamn audacity it made my blood boil.
Her spine bent under the glare of that lens, taking every single inch of the man who had just spent hours pulling me against his chest and whispering about putting babies in my stomach the night before. The way they was fucking told me everything I needed to know.
It was crystal clear this wasn't his first time with her, and that bitch had definitely been in that chair before.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
My stomach fell out of my ass.
I could see the sweat gluing their bodies together. The fingers of the man who had filled my gas tank days ago dug deep into another woman's flesh.
Malcolm let out a trembling grunt from the back of his throat. It was a sound I knew too well.
"God, you feel so good," he mumbled as he pulled her down closer against him. "I miss my fiancé so much... shit..."
HIS WHAT?! FIANCE?!
The woman let out a moan, burying her face into his beard. Her hips rolled with a desperate, frantic speed. "I miss you too, Malcolm... I’m so sorry... please forgive me..."
I stood there, and for a solid three seconds, my brain short-circuited.
I literally had to spin around in a circle, to make sure I was at the right shop.
I pointed a finger directly at my own chest and looked around the room, because surely I was missing something, surely there had been some kind of miscommunication.
I know good and damn well he didn’t just fuck me over like this.
I was a whole damn doctor.
I came from a family that knew what generational wealth looked like and had the receipts to prove it. I walked into rooms and people felt it before I opened my mouth.
I’m HER.
I’d always heard about this kind of triflin' shit happening to other women in my audiobooks, and to some of my patients. But me?!
Oh, bitch. This was some entirely different shit. Because what the fuck was this?
A bitch was high-key shook. I looked back at that bright ring light halo, then down at my own hand. I still had on my new watch. This wasn't a nightmare. I wasn't high.
Did this nigga really just play in my face?
After all the premium grace I had been giving him? He had just been whining in my ear about babies, and now he was out here using his styling chair like a damn playground with a girl who looked like she weighed ninety pounds soaking wet?
I had no beef with women who were smaller, but this shit was personal. He was fucking a bitch with mini titties, losing his damn mind.
And he said fiance! Did the other night NOT happen? I had to be making that shit up. Had to be!
Bitch... huh? What?!
“Breathe, Laurie. Just breathe,” I said to myself. They didn’t even hear me when I said that.
For a quick second, I thought about spinning on my heels, and grabbing my piece out of the glove compartment of the Benz and lighting his shit up. However, I had a medical license to protect, and I was trying not to be the main segment on the eleven o'clock news.
Let's be for real, I was entirely too pretty for a state-issued jumpsuit, my skincare routine would never survive a prison cell.
This lying-ass nigga was not worth a single second of state time.
I had been trained to keep my cool under intense medical trauma and high-stress environments, but with the way the heat was boiling up from my stomach straight into my throat, shit was about to go left.
I was about to cut the fuck up in this establishment.
I could really shoot this shit up.
Every single organ felt like it had been plunged into ice water, freezing me from the inside out.
My skin felt like a literal blowtorch was being held against me.
Driven by adrenaline, I marched right up to that tripod and kicked that shit over.
Then I hit the lights. The glare of the overhead lights flooded the studio.
The fucking stopped instantly, both of them froze like deer in headlights.
Malcolm’s eyes snapped open, blinking against the brightness. The exact second his gaze landed on me, the color completely drained from his face.
“Damn, you missed her like that? Don’t let me stop you.”
To save his own raggedy ass, he ripped the woman off his lap. He tossed her bare ass right onto the hard floor.
“Oh, you bold as fuck.” When he pulled out of her, I didn’t see a damn condom in sight. The girl let out a cry, scrambling to clutch a black salon cape.
Malcolm didn't even look down at her. He was snatching a towel off the counter, trying to cover his business as his chest heaved like a trapped animal. "L-Laur..." he stuttered. "Laurie, hold on—"
I didn't say another word. The rage in my chest was so heavy it felt like it was choking me. I turned on my heels and bolted for the back exit.
"Laurie! Wait! Hold the fuck on!" Malcolm’s voice exploded through the hallway. I could hear the heavy thud of his feet pounding against the rubber mats as he chased after me.
I threw open the back door, and walked faster to my car. I barely made it to the driver's side door before his hand clamped down around my wrist.
I snapped.
I yanked my arm back with everything I had, and punched the shit out of him.
Crack!
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, you raggedy ass bitch!”
Malcolm howled in pain. His head snapped back, but it didn’t ease his grip. He squeezed me even tighter, wrapping his arms around my body to lock me down.
"Get yo’ nasty ass hands off me!" I brought my knee up and kicked his dick, putting every ounce of my strength into shoving his ass away from me.
He went flying backward, crashing over a stack of plastic supply crates. The back door flew open and that ninety-pound bitch came running out into the alleyway, instantly getting loud.
"Don’t touch him!" she barked, trying to protect him. "Don’t make me beat yo—"
I unclipped my watch and threw it at her forehead.
The timepiece caught her dead in the temple.
She grabbed her head and let out a sound that the whole alley heard, stumbling into the wall.
"Don’t come for me," I warned her.
Any normal man would've checked on the girl who got clocked in the head. Malcolm ignored her crying as he scrambled back up to his feet. I threw my car door back open, hurrying up so I could get the fuck out of here.
"Laurie, please! Just listen to me, Ma! It ain't what it looks like!" he begged. He reached for the door handle.
I slammed the door shut, locked it, and rolled the window down just a tiny crack. The cabin of the car still smelled like those garlic-herb lamb chops I’d bought him. I looked right in his eyes, but my face was a mask of stone.
"Don’t trip, love. You got it.”
I slammed my foot onto the gas, peeling out of that gravel alleyway.
He was nothing but a fraud.
The world outside my windows became a violent, dizzying blur.
The tears finally broke, spilling over my cheeks in a hot, torrential flood that completely blinded me.
I couldn't see the lines on the asphalt.
I couldn't see the traffic lights. My chest was tight, my lungs were burning, shaking my entire frame.
I didn't even know where the hell I was going. My hands were shaking so violently against the leather steering wheel that the car drifted across the lane.
Before I realized what I was doing, my subconscious took over. The navigation system wasn't set, but my hands steered the car down the familiar highway, guiding me away from the wreckage of my love life.