26. Lola Reign #2
I slipped on something simple and made my way to the elevator.
My palms were sweating, and I wiped them on my thighs while I waited for the doors to open.
The ride down felt longer than usual, like the elevator knew I was in no hurry to face what was waiting at the bottom.
When the doors slid open, the first thing I saw was him.
Pressure was standing near the center of the foyer, looking like the trip had done him good.
His chains caught the light, his stance was relaxed, and even from across the room I could see that calm confidence he carried without trying.
My chest tightened just seeing him, but before I could move toward him, I saw Chanel and Imani.
They were already at his side, leaning in close, smiling up at him like they had been waiting all day to see him.
Chanel had her arm looped lightly through his while Imani stood just close enough that her shoulder brushed his when she shifted.
They were laughing and talking, asking him about his trip.
He told them it was straight and asked how their weekend was.
They didn’t miss a beat. They both said it was good, their voices overlapping, and then they turned to look at me.
Their eyes didn’t leave mine as Chanel spoke again.
“We learned a lot about some of the other girls,” she said, her tone light but her stare sharp enough to cut.
Imani’s smile widened just a little as she nodded in agreement, still looking at me like she was reading my thoughts.
That knot in my stomach pulled tighter. I felt it all the way up into my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I didn’t trust myself to walk right up to him while they were standing there.
I didn’t want them or him to see me nervous or flustered.
I forced a smile and stepped just close enough to speak without my voice shaking.
“Hey, Pressure,” I said, my tone as even as I could make it. He looked at me with a quick nod, but before he could say anything else, I acted like I had just remembered something.
“I forgot something upstairs,” I said, already stepping back toward the elevator. I could feel Chanel and Imani watching me as I moved away, their silence following me like a shadow.
The second the elevator doors closed, I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.
My hands were shaking, and I pressed them against the wall just to steady myself.
When I got back to my room, I shut the door and locked it, leaning against it for a moment while I tried to get my thoughts in order.
I didn’t know what the hell to do anymore.
The idea of walking away was starting to sound safer, but it also felt like giving up, and I wasn’t ready to let go of the life I had pictured for myself here.
I wanted him to know me, the real me, but I wanted it to happen on my terms. Not with Chanel and Imani standing there, holding my secret like a weapon.
I sat on the bed and stared at the wall, my mind going over every possible way this could end.
None of them felt good. I kept thinking about the way they had looked at me downstairs, about the way Chanel’s voice had sounded when she said they had learned a lot.
They were warning me without saying the words.
I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, trying to block out the sounds of the mansion.
Pressure was back, and I should have been excited to see him, but all I felt was panic.
My chest felt tighter, my thoughts were running wild, and no matter how I tried to calm myself down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the clock had just started ticking.
If I didn’t tell him soon, I knew they would.
And once they did, there would be no chance to explain, and no chance to make him see me the way I wanted him to.
I laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and tried to figure out if I was strong enough to walk into his room tonight and just say it, or if I was going to keep running from it until it blew up in my face.
Either way, the weekend was over, and I could feel the walls starting to close in again.
The following morning…
I never went up to Pressure’s room to speak with him last night, but I stayed up all night thinking about the situation.
We had thirty minutes until elimination, and I had already packed my bags just in case Pressure didn’t pick me.
My suitcase was sitting by the door, a quiet reminder that this could be the last time I stood in this room.
A part of me was hoping he would send me home so I wouldn’t have to live with this pressure hanging over me anymore, but the other part still clung to the fantasy I had been building since the first day I met him.
That stubborn part wanted him to see me as more than my secret, to see the way I cared for him and the connection I swore we had.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my bag, running my hand over my thigh just to give my nerves something to do.
My chest felt heavy, like I was carrying two different hearts inside me—one that wanted to run and one that wanted to stay.
I kept picturing what it would feel like if he called my name, if I walked toward him and he smiled at me the way he did when he was in a good mood.
That image alone was enough to keep me from zipping up my suitcase and wheeling it out of here.
When it was time, I smoothed my clothes, checked my reflection one last time, and walked to the elevator.
My stomach churned the whole way down. The doors opened and I saw him immediately.
Pressure was standing in the foyer, leaning slightly to one side with a blunt between his fingers, the smoke curling up toward the chandelier.
He had on silk that caught the light, and his chains rested heavy on his chest, swaying a little every time he moved.
Even when he was still, he radiated authority.
Chanel and Imani were off to the side, their eyes already on me the second I stepped into view. I refused to look their way. I had given them enough satisfaction over the past few days and I wasn’t about to hand them anymore.
Pressure’s voice was deep and calm as he began.
The first name he called was Kashmere. She stepped forward smiling, and he hugged her, kissing her forehead in a way that made her grin widen.
Then he called Pluto, who walked up with her calm grace.
He hugged her too, and there was warmth in his tone when he told her to take her spot.
Then it was Toni Roc, who gave him a quick smirk before taking her place.
Zaniyah was next, her confidence unshaken.
Then Chanel’s name came, and she walked up like she was walking a runway. After her, he called Imani.
That left me and Renae Dior standing side by side. My pulse thumped in my ears as I stared at the floor, telling myself not to overthink.
“Renae Dior,” Pressure said.
She stepped forward, and he held her hand, kissing her forehead just like he had with the others.
His voice was still calm when he told her he had to let her go.
My shoulders dropped so fast it was like the weight I had been holding there had spilled to the floor.
A rush of relief hit me first, but underneath it was shock.
I had been bracing myself to be the one walking out, and now here I was still standing.
I wasn’t sure if I should feel grateful or scared.
When he called my name, my feet carried me forward before my brain caught up.
Tears blurred my vision, and when I reached him, I couldn’t stop myself.
I wrapped my arms around him tight, holding him like I had been holding my breath all week.
He smelled like smoke and something warm, and his hand slid across my back in slow circles.
That touch, and moment made me feel like maybe I could trust him with the truth.
When I finally pulled away, the tears were still coming. He reached up and wiped them from my cheeks, his eyes fixed on mine as he asked if I was good. My throat tightened, but I nodded, then asked if we could go somewhere and talk. I told him it was important.
He didn’t ask questions. He just led me down the hall to a smaller room, closing the door behind us.
We sat across from each other, and he leaned back, taking a slow drag from his blunt while I tried to steady my breathing.
The smoke drifted between us, and I kept my eyes on him, searching for a sign that I could do this.
“I haven’t been honest with you,” I finally said, my voice lower than I intended. He raised his eyebrows slightly, but didn’t interrupt.
The words felt heavy in my mouth, but I forced them out. “I’m a man.”
His expression didn’t change right away.
He just stared at me, his gaze unreadable.
His body language stayed relaxed, and for a second, I thought maybe he was going to surprise me.
Testing the waters, I reached out and placed my hand on his thigh.
He didn’t move, but his eyes flicked down to where my hand rested before coming back to mine.
Something in his look shifted, the edges of his eyes softening, almost drooping.
That made me think maybe it wasn’t as bad as I had feared.
I started talking, telling him about my plans to have surgery, about how I wanted to live fully as a woman, about how I had always felt inside.
I told him I hadn’t meant to deceive him, that I just wanted a chance for him to know me before judging me.
I thought I was getting through. I thought the calm in his face meant we were okay.
Then something changed.
His fist connected with my mouth so hard I didn’t even feel the floor until I hit it. My head spun, the metallic taste of blood rushing over my tongue, and my vision tilted sideways. I had never been hit like that in my life.
Before I could even get my hands up, his foot came down across my face, snapping my head back.
The next kick landed lower, his aim deliberate as he tried to stomp between my legs.
His voice was raised now, a raw fury spilling out as he shouted about how I had been a man this whole time, playing in his face, wasting his time.
I begged him to stop, holding my swollen mouth, telling him I would leave.
My voice shook, but he didn’t hear me or didn’t care.
He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me toward the door, his grip unrelenting as I tried to get my footing.
My knees scraped the floor, my shoulder hitting the doorframe as he pulled me into the hallway.
“Renza! Kay’Lo!” he shouted, his voice booming through the house.
They came running, their eyes wide at the sight of me on the floor.
“Go get my shit! I’m ’bout to kill this nigga!
” He shouted to them, still holding me there as I cried and tried to cover my face.
He punched me again, the room spinning as the girls gathered in the hallway, their hands covering their mouths.
I heard someone whisper “oh my God” but no one stepped forward.
Renza came back with the gun, and my stomach dropped. I told him please, no, begging with whatever voice I had left. Pressure yanked me upright and shoved the gun into my mouth so hard I gagged once the barrel hit the back of my throat. He told me he would blow my head off right here.
“Bitch nigga! I will murder you!”
Zaniyah rushed in then, her hands out as she tried to calm him down. “Pressure, stop, please,” she said, but his eyes were locked on me like I was the only one in the room.
Renza and Kay’Lo finally pulled him back, his grip loosening enough for me to stumble free. I could barely see through my swollen eyes, the blood and tears, my body aching with every movement.
He told them to get me out, to throw me out and not let me back in. I wasn’t allowed to touch my bags or get my phone. They dragged me to the door, and the last thing I heard was the slam behind me.
I was outside, barefoot, bleeding, and alone, with no phone, no money, and no way to get out of the estate. What I had thought might be the start of honesty and acceptance had nearly gotten me killed.