Chapter 12 #2
Today, Dior King, mother of Chanel King was brought to the stand as a character witness in the case.
King testifies that once, Andrews threw her out of the house for trying to stop the alleged abuse between her daughter and the client.
King also says that she witnessed financial abuse, citing a time that Andrews was forcing the plaintiff to pay all the bills in their shared condo.
In the cross examination, attorney for the defense, Amaya Lewis, clarified on previous claims, alleging that the witness was removed from their home after demanding money, assaulting the plaintiff herself, and vandalizing their property—complete with text and video proof to corroborate said claims. As far as the financial abuse, Lewis presented dozens of bank statements, proving that King was the breadwinner early on, so she paid the mortgage in her condo that the two of them shared.
All other expenses were handled by Andrews, and once he was promoted to first string and got a big pay increase, he reimbursed King for every payment and purchased a home for them together.
When asked about the false claims by reporters, King declined to comment. Proceedings have closed for a three-day weekend.
The Devil
Hey… Can we talk?
Me
Meet me at our spot in an hour.
After I finished my workout and showered, I checked my phone to see a text from none other than Chanel herself. I quickly replied, giving her a public location so she couldn’t run back and say that I harmed her.
It was time to end this shit, once and for all.
Later on, I sat in the booth of The Waffle Spot, wondering if the request had been some cruel joke.
Chanel loved to do unnecessary shit to flex her power over me, and clearly I had fallen for it again.
I had just given up, starting to peel my body away from the red faux leather seat, when Chanel came blowing into the restaurant like a tornado.
Where I opted for a hoodie over a hat, and shorts, trying to look as incognito as possible, her ass looked photoshoot ready—skintight dress, sky high heels, new wig install, and a full face of makeup, all at 11:42 in the fuckin’ morning.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, looking at me with a warm smile as she slid into the booth across from me.
This was where we had our first “date” on the night we met at the club all those years ago, so it made sense to pick this spot—it was familiar, safe.
I could smell the liquor seeping out of her pores along with the perfume she tried to mask it with, but I could tell she wasn’t drunk.
She had a high tolerance, and Drunk Chanel probably would have tried to fight three people by now.
“Thank you,” I replied with a nod. I was already irritated that she showed up 42 minutes later than the time we scheduled, but I learned my lesson about complaining.
I needed to be as pleasant as possible because I had a goal at hand.
I sat there with a forced smile on my face as she took her time, dragging out her ordering process like she hadn’t been getting the same thing since we were too broke to afford it.
Once she put in a request for chicken and waffles, with an apple juice, I finally spoke up, having had enough of the forced act.
“So, can we talk?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she answered with a heavy sigh. “First of all, I really wanna apologize for everything. I just missed you—I miss us, baby.” She reached across the table and touched my hand, causing me to look at her in disgust as I snatched away quickly. “So I can’t even touch you now, Chase?”
“You been out here tellin’ people that I did more than touch you,” I replied, trying to disguise the anger in my voice. “I think it’s best that everyone keeps their hands to themselves.”
“Baby, I said I was sorry. Oh my God,” she huffed like all of this was just a minor inconvenience.
She treated her trying to ruin my fucking life with the same callousness that she would if she ate my leftovers.
I went silent, realizing this whole thing was probably a stupid mistake.
The waitress came and placed her food and drink on the table, and she apparently decided that she had enough of the peace and quiet.
“What happened with us?” she asked with sad eyes that almost looked sincere, but I knew her. There was never a moment when she wasn’t performing.
“Chan, you know what happened. I begged you to get help. You refused and I can’t just sit back and watch you kill yourself.”
“So you’re just done? You don’t love me anymore?” Her big brown eyes burned a hole into me as tears slowly started to fill them.
“I can’t do it anymore,” I said somberly. “I tried, but I can’t sit around and watch you fucking kill yourself, Chanel. After all this, I don’t even feel the same anymore.”
“Y-You really don’t love me anymore, baby?” she asked as her bottom lip quivered. Looking at her after knowing the devious shit that she was capable of doing made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t believe that I put up with her shit for that long.
“No,” I said honestly, and for the first time, I could truly say that I meant that.
“Chase,” the small quiver in her lip evolved into a full blown tremor as the waterworks started up right on cue.
“I’ll always have love for you, and I wish you the best, but I don’t have feelings for you like that. We’re done. Been done. So you drawing out this fraud ass case won’t get us anywhere.”
“Done? You don’t mean that,” she sobbed loudly, making me jump and look around the restaurant as a few people looked on.
“I do, Chanel, get some help, please,” I said. Still, for some reason, I couldn’t bring up the blackmail, but I prayed she got the point.
“Baby, please!” she cried as she reached across the table and grabbed my arm.
I felt nothing. Sitting there, watching the woman who used to be my everything fall apart into a mess of tears, all I could think about was when I could get back to the one who turned my world on its axis without even trying.
“I don’t—” I sighed in frustration. “I don’t know what you thought this was, but I didn’t come here to reconcile with you. I came to ask you to stop. You know I never did any of the shit you’re accusing me of. Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” I asked.
“Why are you doing this to me, Chase?” By this point she was pulling out all the stops, huge crocodile tears, snot bubbles—I was past disgusted.
“Chanel, please,” I said, trying to hand her a tissue, which promptly got slapped away.
“I hate you!” Her cries got louder, and I knew there were more than a few eyes on us, so I stood up, leaving the money for her food on the table.
“Goodbye, Chanel,” I said before leaving her there to put on a show by herself.
My mood was shot, and the whole thing proved to be a waste of fucking time.
I never doubted Amaya for a second, but that whole performance just solidified it.
I had watched her manipulate and scheme her way through life with everyone else, and for some reason I never thought she would turn that on me.
I should have fucking known better. The worst part of the whole thing was that she hadn’t said anything on the tape recorder that I could use against her.