Chapter 24 Quest
QUEST
Another day, another dollar, another step closer to watching Vivica’s empire crumble.
I pulled my Maserati into the driveway of my McLean estate, loosening my tie as the garage door rolled up.
It had been two days since Justice and I handed everything over to the DA—all of Vivica’s dirty little secrets wrapped up in a nice neat bow.
Bribery. Kickbacks. Corruption spanning two decades.
The feds were probably already building their case, sharpening their knives, getting ready to carve up the Mayor of DC like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Couldn’t have happened to a better bitch.
I never liked how Vivica treated Prime. From the day he came back into our lives, she looked at him like he was a stain on her pristine image.
Like he was something to be managed instead of loved.
And now, finding out she was the one who got Zainab arrested?
That she served up my future sister-in-law to the police just because she couldn’t control who Prime chose to love?
Nah. That was unforgivable.
Prime might be the quiet one, the deadly one, the one who moved in shadows. But me? I was the loud one. The reckless one. The one who’d burn the whole house down just to watch the flames dance. And watching Vivica’s house burn was gonna be the highlight of my fucking year.
I grabbed my briefcase and headed inside, already thinking about pouring myself a glass of the new bourbon we were testing for Banks Reserve. Maybe two glasses. Maybe the whole damn bottle.
“Baby, you’re home!”
Lyric appeared in the foyer, all smiles and perfectly beat makeup.
Her face was done up like she was about to walk a runway—contoured cheekbones, dramatic lashes, lips glossed to perfection.
She was wearing a silk robe that I had custom made from Japan, her long mermaid locs cascading down her back.
She looked good. She always looked good.
But lately, looking good was all she seemed to do.
“Hey,” I said, accepting the kiss she planted on my cheek. “You just get back from a shoot?”
“Mmhmm. It was for that new athleisure brand I told you about. They loved me, of course.” She did a little spin, the robe fanning out around her. “Said I might be the face of their spring campaign.”
“That’s what’s up.”
I moved past her into the living room and stopped dead in my tracks.
The place was a fucking disaster.
Dishes piled in the sink. Takeout containers on the coffee table. Clothes draped over the couch like she’d been using it as a closet. A half-empty wine bottle sitting next to a stack of unopened mail. The whole house smelled like stale perfume and neglect.
I turned to look at Lyric, who was already heading toward the stairs like she didn’t see the mess she was living in.
“You going somewhere?” I asked.
“Oh! Yes, there’s this rooftop party in the city. Bunch of influencers and some industry people. Great networking opportunity.” She was already halfway up the stairs. “I’ll probably be back late, don’t wait up!”
I stood there, briefcase in hand, looking around at the chaos.
This was what I came home to. Every fucking day.
I used to be so into Lyric. She was beautiful, ambitious, and killing it in her modeling and influencer shit. I supported those dreams, paid for her updated portfolio, introduced her to industry people, funded her lifestyle while she built her brand.
But somewhere along the way, she stopped building and started spending. The shoots got fewer, the parties got more frequent, and the only thing she seemed ambitious about was maxing out my black card.
I didn’t mind tricking on a woman. I was a Banks—generosity was in my blood. But there was supposed to be an exchange. A partnership. She was supposed to hold shit down at home while I held shit down at work. Instead, I came home to a dirty house and a woman who was always on her way out the door.
Meanwhile, Camille was the opposite. Driven. Focused. A damn good lawyer who was working her ass off to get Zainab acquitted. She didn’t need my money—she had her own. What she wanted from me was time, attention, partnership. The stuff that actually mattered.
At least, that’s what I thought.
I was pouring myself that bourbon when I heard the front door open again.
“Quest?”
Camille’s voice echoed through the foyer. I heard her heels clicking against the marble, then she appeared in the doorway of the living room, still dressed in her work clothes—a fitted navy suit that hugged her curves just right.
But something was off. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her hands were shaking. She looked like she’d been crying in the car before she came in.
“We need to talk,” she said.
I took a sip of my bourbon, leaning against the bar. “So talk.”
She crossed the room slowly, like she was walking toward her own execution. Stopped a few feet away from me, her hands clasped in front of her, fingers twisting together nervously.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hung in the air.
I let them sit there for a moment, swirling my bourbon, watching the liquid catch the light. Then I laughed—a short, sharp sound that made her flinch.
“That’s crazy,” I said. “Congratulations to you.”
Camille blinked. “What?”
“I said congratulations. Having a baby is a beautiful thing. Mazel tov. You want a cigar?”
“Quest, I know you don’t want kids, but we’re gonna have a baby.” She stepped closer, reaching for my arm. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but—”
I pulled away before she could touch me. “Nah, see, that’s where you got it twisted. YOU’RE gonna have a baby. Not we. You.”
Her face crumpled in confusion. “What are you talking about? You helped me create this baby. I know it was an accident, but—”
“Impossible.”
The word cut through her bullshit like a knife.
She froze. “What?”
I set my glass down on the bar, slow and deliberate, then turned to face her fully. Let her see the cold in my eyes, the complete absence of the warmth she was used to.
“I got a vasectomy a couple years before we even met,” I said, enunciating each word clearly so there’d be no misunderstanding. “Shooting blanks, baby. Have been for a minute now. So unless you’re carrying the second coming of Christ, that baby ain’t mine.”
The color drained from her face.
“Also,” I continued, “you were supposed to have an IUD. Remember? That was the agreement. You, me, and Lyric—nobody trying to have kids. We discussed this extensively. So either your IUD failed spectacularly AND my vasectomy reversed itself by magic…” I tilted my head, watching her squirm.
“Or you been letting some other nigga hit raw.”
“Quest—”
“So tell me the truth, Camille.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to something dangerous. “Who you been fucking?”
She broke.
The tears came fast and ugly, her whole body shaking with sobs as she covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out between gasps. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just—I wanted a baby so bad, and you didn’t want kids, and I thought maybe if I just—”
“You thought maybe if you just went and fucked somebody else behind my back, you could trap me into raising another man’s child?” I laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “That’s diabolical. I’m almost impressed.”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“Then what was it like? Enlighten me.”
“I just… I wanted to be a mother. So badly. And you made it clear that wasn’t something you wanted, and I thought… I thought maybe if I got pregnant, you’d change your mind. You’d see the baby and fall in love and—”
“And what? Play daddy to some random nigga’s kid while he laughs at me behind my back?” I shook my head slowly. “You really thought that was gonna work? You really thought I was that stupid?”
“I love you, Quest. I made a mistake, but I love you—”
“Save it.” I held up my hand, cutting her off. “I don’t care who he is. I don’t care how it happened. I don’t care about your excuses or your apologies or your tears. We’re done. Whatever this was—it’s over. Get your shit and get out.”
“Quest, please—”
“Did I stutter?” My voice bounced off the walls, sharp enough to make her stumble backward. “Pack your shit. Tonight. I’ll have someone send you whatever you leave behind.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. Go stay with your baby daddy. Go stay with your mama. Go stay at the fucking Ritz Carlton—I’ll even pay for the first night since I’m feeling generous. But you ain’t staying here.”
She was full-on sobbing now, mascara running down her cheeks, snot dripping from her nose. A whole mess of a woman standing in the middle of my living room.
And I felt nothing.
“I’ll send you a gift card to Babies R Us or something,” I added. “For the baby shower.”
“Quest…”
“Movement.” I pointed toward the stairs. “Now.”
She stumbled past me, heading for the staircase, her sobs echoing through the house. I turned back to the bar and picked up my bourbon, taking a long sip, letting the burn settle in my chest.
That’s when I noticed Lyric.
She was standing in the doorway, frozen, her purse dangling from her fingers. The rooftop party forgotten. Her perfectly made-up face was a mask of shock as she watched Camille disappear up the stairs.
“What the hell just happened?” she asked quietly.
“Camille’s pregnant,” I said flatly. “By somebody else. She cheated. She’s leaving.”
Lyric’s mouth fell open. “She… she cheated? On both of us?”
“Apparently she wanted a baby more than she wanted this relationship.” I drained the rest of my bourbon. “So she went and got one the old-fashioned way.”
Lyric was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then her expression hardened. “That bitch. I can’t believe she would—”
“Believe it.” I poured myself another glass. “People will always disappoint you, Lyric. Always. The sooner you accept that, the easier life gets.”
She came over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her cheek against my back. “I would never do that to you,” she murmured. “You know that, right?”
I didn’t respond.
Because honestly? I didn’t trust any woman. I’d been burned a couple of times already, which is why I got the vasectomy.
An hour later, Camille came back downstairs with two suitcases and a tear-streaked face. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking at me with those red-rimmed eyes, searching for something—mercy, maybe, or a change of heart.
She wasn’t gonna find either.
“I’ll still work on Zainab’s case,” she said quietly. “I won’t let this affect—”
“Oh, I know you will.” I stood up from the couch, walking toward her slowly, deliberately.
Let her see the threat in my posture, the promise in my eyes.
“Because if you even THINK about fucking up Zainab’s freedom—if you do anything, ANYTHING, to jeopardize her case because you’re in your feelings about tonight—I will make your life a living hell.
You, your baby, your baby daddy, whoever.
Don’t test me, Camille. You know what my family is capable of. ”
She swallowed hard. Nodded once.
“Good.” I stepped back, gesturing toward the door. “Now get out of my house.”
She left without another word.
The door closed behind her with a soft click, and just like that, she was gone. Three years of my life, erased in a single evening. All because she couldn’t be honest about what she wanted.
Lyric appeared at my side, sliding her hand into mine. “You okay, baby?”
“I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. Not really.
This was the third time a woman I trusted had betrayed me. The third time I’d opened myself up, let someone in, believed that maybe this time would be different. And the third time I’d been proven wrong.
My mother always said I had trust issues. Maybe she was right. Or maybe I just kept choosing the wrong people.
Either way, the lesson was clear: don’t trust anybody. Don’t let anybody get too close. Don’t give anybody the power to hurt you.
Because they always would.
I poured myself another bourbon and stared out the window at the empty driveway where Camille’s car used to be.
Lyric was still talking—something about how she couldn’t believe Camille would do this, how she always knew something was off, how we were better off without her. I wasn’t really listening.
I was thinking about Prime. About how he’d found someone worth trusting in Zainab. Someone who loved him for real, who’d been through hell with him and never wavered. Someone he could build a life with.
Maybe that kind of love existed for some people.
Just not for me.
I drained my glass and poured another.
It was gonna be a long night.