Chapter 9
Two Weeks After the Wedding
Two weeks and still no husband. Just Malice, hovering like always. I was sick of his ass too. Sick of anything connected to Lesley Orion Grimson.
“You heard from him?” I asked one morning, catching him in the kitchen.
His shoulders lifted. “Boss is good. Handling business.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He didn’t flinch, just sipped his coffee like I hadn’t put extra bite on my words. “I don’t think the boss sent you that, if that’s what you’re asking.” His eyes flicked toward the envelope on the counter.
My stomach twisted. The prenup.
It had been sitting there for a week, haunting the counter like an unwanted roommate. Every morning, I brushed it aside to reach my coffee, but those papers stared me down, daring me to make a decision I wasn’t ready for.
I wasn’t a gold digger, but my life had been completely uprooted.
When the envelope first arrived, my hands shook with pure offense.
A prenup? From a marriage I never wanted, but that had somehow become one I desperately did want.
As Denzel said, I was leaving here with something. Fuck what he thought.
I left the papers out on purpose, not because I intended to sign them, but because I wanted him to see them, to acknowledge them, to acknowledge me.
I wanted a conversation, not him silently moving behind my back.
Maybe it was one of his tests. Maybe this was how he figured out who was really loyal and who was here for the perks.
But if that was the case, he was playing with the wrong one.
I wasn’t in the mood for games. I could go back home today and act like I never met Lesley.
Or could I?
The only thing scarier than marrying a man like Lesley… was realizing I didn’t want to un-marry him either.
It had only been two weeks since the wedding, but time bent weird in this penthouse. Some days felt like months, others like minutes. And still, the man I married was more myth than memory after going missing.
I was trying to stay settled, but every time I looked at those documents, I didn’t see protection, I saw distance. I saw a man trying to secure his assets while I was still trying to figure out if he even wanted me, or if I was just another problem.
Being tied to Lesley Grimson had its perks; no point in lying about that. Folks who used to size me up didn’t even blink my way now. Doors opened. Whispers stopped. His last name carried weight, and for better or worse, I was carrying it too.
But don’t get it twisted, I wasn’t some silent partner in this. Linking myself to him meant I kept the wolves off his back just as much as he kept them off me. We both gained something from it.
At least, that’s how it was supposed to go.
My fake husband had taken the crown with no interference. Clean. Final. Until the wedding. That day stuck with me—the way his arm stayed locked around me, the way his eyes dared anyone to test him. Protective, warm, fine as hell in every suit they pulled out of the closet. He didn’t miss.
But all that meant nothing now. It had been two weeks since then, and I was still waking up to cold sheets, still eating alone. He had two strikes in my book—one for playing in my face about the prenup, and another for not keeping his promise to come home or at least call.
Men. Always making shit more complicated than it needed to be.
What embarrassed me most was how much I cared. Somewhere between the shopping trip, the wedding, and those rare smiles he let slip, I’d started to feel something for Lesley Grimson. Deep, dangerous, too much for a man I barely knew. The kind of feeling that made you side-eye your own heart.
And then there was his room, our room now. That big-ass bed dressed in black silk, walls dark as midnight, curtains heavy enough to block out the world. It wasn’t cozy, but it was comfortable. On my low days, it consumed me whole, as if the vibe perfectly matched my mood.
My phone buzzed with a text from Yaslynn:
Yaslynn: Girl, you’ve been quiet. You good?
Instead of texting back, I called her because I needed to sort out these thoughts, and he wasn’t around to help me.
“Hey,” I said when she picked up.
“Uh oh. You sound like you need a glass of wine and a pep talk. What’s wrong?”
“I thought I meant something to him.” I paused. “Then he disappeared for two weeks. No call, nothing. I don’t know, it’s so weird because it was him who said this would be more.”
“Two weeks? Ahh, pooh, he needs some hot grits upside the head.” Her laugh took over, and mine followed. I was feeling a little lighter and was so glad I called her.
“I was thinking the same thing, and then the man sent prenup papers, and that just really turned me the fuck off.”
“Girl, he’s testing you. I’m sure he missed you.”
“And the crazy part is, I missed him, too. I really missed him. I want the right to ask where he is, to know if he’s safe. I wanted...” I trailed off.
“You wanted what?”
“I wanted him to choose me. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. I want dibs on him, Yas. If his heart ever belongs to someone, I want it to be me.”
Yaslynn was quiet for a moment. “That’s not crazy, Colecion. That’s just human.”
“But he’s not some regular guy I can catch feelings for. He’s dangerous. And this was supposed to be business.”
“Was supposed to be. But feelings don’t follow contracts, babe.”
“When does the boss come back?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t know if I care. What’s it going to change?”
“Co, what aren’t you saying?”
“I opened up to him, and he just left. After I told him I didn't have family. That’s fucked up.”
“It is, but this is fixable. Girl, you need to talk to him when he gets back. Tell him how his disappearing act made you feel.”
“Yas, don’t be on his side.”
“I’m just saying the man sent gifts galore, he probably hadn’t been in the air an hour before he was trying to make it right. This is new for you both. Extend grace.”
But what I wanted didn’t matter, not with Lesley. He moved how he wanted, when he wanted, without apology or explanation. He was a boss. The boss.
But he apologized to you.
My intrusive thoughts had appeared.
“I don’t need gifts though.”
“Well, give me the shit with your ungrateful ass.”
“Whatever, I gotta go. I need to get myself together. Lunch?”
“Yeah, Santori?”
“Okay, see you, babe.”
We disconnected, and I moved to the kitchen.
He’d be coming in soon. I could feel it the way some women felt storms coming, a shift in the air, that familiar pull that meant he was close.
The loud part of me screamed Girl, claim your man, wanted to stop pretending and say something.
Because even though he could be as cold as December mornings, he wasn’t always like that with me.
I’d seen his smile, rare and sharp, aimed my way like sunlight breaking through clouds. I’d caught those moments when his guard slipped, when he wasn’t just the boss but a man who laughed at my jokes and remembered how I liked my coffee and asked if I was good before he asked about anything else.
I wondered if he replayed our moments the way I did—our kiss, the way he’d zipped up my dress for me. After that night, I’d stopped lying to myself about what I wanted. The question was whether I had the courage to go after it.
The numbers on the private elevator blinked, letting me know he’d made it home and was on the way up. I straightened, adjusting the waistband of my hot pink Matte Collection leggings set. I’d just finished a workout, hair braided back, skin still glowing with that post-exercise flush.
I wasn’t going to change or put on a show. If we were going to have this conversation, he was getting the real me—sweaty, irritated, and done with his disappearing act.
I poured his coffee the way he liked it: cream, but no sugar.
The muscle memory was so deep that my hands moved before my mind caught up.
I told myself it was a habit, not care. That it didn’t matter if he never came home.
That this marriage was always a game of chicken, waiting to see who would blink first, who would break.
The elevator dinged. My shoulders tensed.
I didn’t turn around. I felt him before I saw him, his energy filling the space.
Then he walked in, and Lesley Grimson wasn’t just a man entering a penthouse—he was the man.
A gray Nike sweatsuit, Jordan 1s, and a gold chain catching the morning light.
His skin was smooth like honey. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and those unreadable eyes.
His time away hadn’t been easy, and it showed.
“Morning, Coco,” he said, voice rough. His cologne hit me as he reached for the coffee cup I’d set out.
“Morning.” I stayed even, though my pulse was doing double-time.
“You eat?” I asked. I was upset with him, but I still wanted to take care of him.
Dumb ass.
“Nah.” He took a slow sip, eyes closing briefly like that first taste was salvation. “I heard you. When I come in, you want to feed me. Do your thing.”
I opened the fridge, pulling out eggs, bell peppers, and thick-cut bacon. Skillet on the stove, oil heating. Doing this small thing filled a space in me I hadn’t realized was empty. When he came in from running the streets, I wanted to be the first good thing he saw.
He didn’t mention the envelope on the counter. I didn’t either. Silence was our first language, the one we spoke best. Before he’d arrived, I had a speech prepared, but now that he was here, I didn’t know what to do. So I managed by asking awkward questions.
“You sleep where you were, or you saving that for here?”
“Co, ask me what you really want to ask.” His voice was low, that gravel-dragged with that southern drawl that was unmistakable. “But don’t bullshit me and fuck up our first morning together.”
“Not you wanting to talk about communication all of a sudden.”
“Colecion.”