YAHMARIA
Iwoke to warmth.
Not the cold, empty expanse of Amai’s side of the bed—the side that had been vacant for weeks now—but actual human warmth pressed against my back.
Syx.
His arm was draped over my waist, his breathing slow and even against my neck. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room.
For a moment, I just lay there.
Still.
Quiet.
Pretending that this—this—was my real life and not some stolen moment in the wreckage of everything else.
But reality had a way of creeping in.
Amai hadn’t come home last night.
Again.
I’d stopped counting the nights weeks ago. Stopped pretending I cared where he was or who he was with. Our marriage had always been a transaction—my father’s arrangement, Amai’s obligation, my prison sentence.
But lately, it felt like even the pretense had dissolved.
He didn’t bother hiding it anymore. Didn’t bother coming home. Didn’t bother pretending I mattered.
And honestly? I didn’t give a fuck.
Let him chase after his little surrogate.
Let him obsess over her and whatever fantasy he’d built in his head.
It felt so good walking into that exam room and introducing myself as his wife.
The look on that bitch face was priceless.
Shit, she should’ve thanked me. She had a right to know and if Amai had his way he wouldn’t have ever told her shit.
He liked keeping his shit hidden that way he can act like it didn’t stink.
How else could he sit on his high horse and judge the rest of us?
I had my own escape now and I’d just fucked him in Amai’s bed.
I shifted slightly, and Syx stirred behind me.
His hand tightened on my waist, pulling me closer, and I felt him harden against my lower back.
“You awake?” His voice was rough with sleep, low and intimate in a way that made heat pool low in my belly.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, then another to the curve of my neck. His hand slid up from my waist, tracing the line of my ribs, then higher until he cupped my breast.
I arched into his touch, my breath catching.
“Syx—”
“Shh.” His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning. “Let me take care of you.”
And God, I wanted that.
I wanted to be taken care of. Wanted to feel like I mattered to someone. Wanted to forget—even for a little while—that I was trapped in a marriage to a man who couldn’t stand the sight of me.
Syx rolled me onto my back, his body covering mine, and I looked up at him.
Twenty years old. Eight years younger than me. My husband’s cousin.
This was so fucked up.
But I didn’t care.
Not when he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. Not when he touched me like I was precious. Not when he made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
He kissed me—slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine—and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
His hand slid down my body, between my thighs, and I gasped against his mouth when his fingers found me already wet.
“Fuck, Yaya,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so ready for me.”
“Then stop teasing.”
He grinned—that cocky, boyish grin that made my heart stutter—and positioned himself between my legs.
When he pushed inside me, I cried out.
Not from pain. From relief.
From the feeling of being filled, being wanted, being seen.
He moved slowly at first, his hips rolling in a rhythm that made my toes curl. His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, and I hooked my legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead pressed against mine. “So fucking good.”
I couldn’t speak. Could only hold on as he picked up the pace, his thrusts harder now, more desperate.
The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard tapping against the wall, and I didn’t care if anyone heard.
Let them hear.
Let Amai come home and find us like this.
Let him see what he’d driven me to.
Syx’s hand slid between us, his thumb finding my clit, and I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me, white-hot and all-consuming, and I clung to him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.
He followed seconds later, his body going rigid as he came inside me, my name a broken prayer on his lips.
We stayed like that for a long moment—tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
Then reality crept back in.
I had errands to run. Bills to pay. A life to maintain even as everything around me fell apart.
“I need to shower,” I said quietly.
Syx pulled back, his eyes searching mine. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.
He never pushed.
That was one of the things I loved about him.
I slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The shower was hot—almost scalding—and I stood under the spray for longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the evidence of what we’d done.
When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, Syx was gone.
Back to his own room, probably. Keeping up appearances.
I dressed quickly. Jeans, a silk blouse, heels because some habits died hard. Slicked my hair back, did my face, and grabbed my purse. I had a day to get through: dry cleaning, groceries, that dress on Magazine Street I’d been putting off.
I opened my banking app before I left—habit, nothing more—and my personal balance loaded fine. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was everything else.
The Landry household account: Access Suspended.
The joint card Amai had me on: Card Deactivated.
The supplemental account tied to the household management: Frozen. Contact account holder.
I scrolled to my email.
Access Revocation Notice — Crescent Property Management
Three properties. Prytania. St. Charles. Esplanade.
Your access has been revoked effective immediately. Please return all keys and access cards within 48 hours.
I read it twice.
He hadn’t touched what he couldn’t reach—he didn’t have access to my personal account, and he knew it.
But he’d pulled everything else in one clean move.
The joint accounts, the cards tied to the household, the properties he’d always technically controlled and let me use because it suited him.
Every resource that came with being a Landry wife gone overnight, no warning, no conversation.
He’d gutted the arrangement without ending it on paper yet. That was deliberate. He wanted me to feel what it was like to be inside this marriage with nothing to show for it.
My hands were steady when I pulled up my father’s number. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I called before I’d figured it out.
He answered on the second ring.
“Yahmaria. What’s wrong?”
“Amai locked me out of everything. The joint accounts, the household cards, the Landry properties. All of it. Effective immediately.”
Silence.
“Daddy.”
“I heard you.” Measured. Too calm. “When did you find this out?”
“This morning. Just now. He didn’t come home last night.”
Another pause. Longer than it should have been.
“Listen to me carefully. You need to remain calm. Don’t confront him. Continue gathering information like we discussed.”
Gathering information. That was what I was to him. An asset with an assignment.
“He’s cutting me off,” I said. “If he’s pulling the household resources, that means he’s done with the arrangement. And if he’s done with the arrangement, what’s stopping him from—”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Amai understands consequences. He knows you’re my daughter. He won’t make that kind of move.”
“But what if you’re wrong.” I heard my voice go tight. “What if he decides I’m not worth the trouble? Daddy, what happens if Amai tries to kill me?”
The silence that followed was different from the others.
Not the silence of a man thinking through his answer.
The silence of a man deciding whether to lie or just wait you out.
“That’s not going to happen,” he said finally.
“You’re not answering me.”
“Because the question is irrelevant.”
“It is very fucking relevant—”
“Yahmaria.” His voice dropped into that register he used when he was done. “You’re spiraling. Focus. Gather information. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Promise me,” I said. “Just say you’ll protect me. That’s all I need.”
Nothing.
“Daddy.”
“I have to go. We’ll talk later.”
The line went dead.
I stood in the bedroom holding my phone and felt the thing I’d not been letting myself feel for years finally land.
He hadn’t promised. He’d had every opportunity, and he hadn’t done it. I was not worth an obligation to him. I was worth a strategy, a placement, whatever leverage I represented—until I wasn’t.
“Yaya.”
I spun around.
Syx was in the doorway, his expression dark, his arms crossed. He’d heard enough.
“How long—”
“Long enough.” He stepped inside. “He’s using you. You know that.”
“He’s my father.”
“He’s the man who put you in a marriage to someone who hates you and just now couldn’t be bothered to say he’d keep you alive.” Syx’s jaw was set, his voice hard in a way it didn’t usually get. “He started a war and left you behind the enemy’s gate.”
I wanted to argue. I opened my mouth to argue. But there was nothing there.
Because he was right.
Victor had orchestrated this entire situation. He’d pushed Amai into this marriage. He’d used me as leverage to secure his position in the family’s operations.
And now that things were falling apart, he was telling me to stay calm and gather information.
Like I was some kind of spy.
Like my life wasn’t on the line.
“Amai pulling the household resources means something is already moving,” Syx continued, quieter now. “He’s not just angry. He’s preparing. And when this comes down on you, your father is not coming to pull you out.”
“You don’t know that.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.