Chapter Twenty-Seven Xalori Carson
My hands trembled as I slid the flash drive across the polished mahogany desk. The lawyer glanced from me to the small piece of plastic containing Prime’s threats caught clear as day by Eason’s Ring cameras and back again.
“You understand,” he began slowly, his voice gentle but firm, “once I submit this, there’s no turning back. Prime’s threats are on record. The courts, the police—everyone will know.”
I swallowed hard, fingers pressing into my thighs, trying to steady myself.
I hadn’t told Eason yet. I knew the moment I did, blood would spill, bodies would drop, and my family’s world would be set on fire.
This was me choosing a different path. Fighting smarter, not harder.
Protecting Nasir, Ginger, and the new life growing inside me without becoming collateral damage in Prime’s sick games.
“I’m done playing defense,” I finally whispered, meeting the lawyer’s gaze. “File the paperwork.”
There’s a difference between being scared and being done. I used to flinch, used to freeze, and used to second-guess every decision out of fear I’d make the wrong one. But fear didn’t live here anymore.
Not after I saw Prime’s face on my front porch, spitting threats from the same mouth I once kissed. Not after I heard him promise to send me, Nasir, and my unborn baby to join Aaliyah.
“I’m not calling my man to handle this,” I said steadily, sliding the flash drive across the lawyer’s polished desk.
“Not yet. Because this isn’t about revenge.
It’s about protection. I want every legal weapon in your arsenal pointed at Prime.
Restraining orders. Emergency custody motions.
Hell, dig up whatever skeletons he’s hidden—because I want him buried in paperwork long before Eason lifts a finger. ”
My voice didn’t shake. But my hand instinctively curled around my stomach when the baby kicked, as if even my child knew we’d just stepped into war.
The lawyer leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on mine, assessing. “You sure about this? Once we start, it’ll get messy. Prime’s the type of man who doesn’t respond well to pressure.”
My spine straightened; jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. “Messy ain’t shit compared to what I’ve been through. I’m done playing nice with a nigga who’d rather see me dead than happy.”
He nodded slowly, respect flickering across his gaze. “Say less. I’ll get the motions filed today. Emergency protective order, immediate custody injunction. Prime won’t be able to come within a hundred yards of you, Nasir, or the baby.”
I exhaled sharply, the tension in my chest loosening slightly. “Good. Make it airtight.”
Sliding my chair back, I stood and pressed my palm flat against my belly. My baby kicked again—stronger this time, like they were telling me I was doing the right thing. I whispered softly, just low enough for only us to hear, “I got you, little one.”
Outside the lawyer’s office, the afternoon sun hit me like a spotlight, and for a second, I just stood there. Chest rising and falling, heart hammering but not from fear, from resolve.
I wasn’t a victim no more. I wasn’t the woman Prime had left crumbling, barely able to hold it together for Nasir after we buried Aaliyah. I was someone else now, stronger and tougher. Someone ready to fight tooth and nail for the family I was building, the one Prime swore I didn’t deserve.
As I climbed back into my car, my phone buzzed.
Eason’s name flashed across the screen, making my stomach twist with both comfort and apprehension.
I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the answer button.
I’d kept him out of the loop because I knew how he’d react, but I also knew I couldn’t keep hiding this from him.
“Muffin, where you at?” Eason’s voice growled through the speaker, deep and demanding as ever.
“I had to handle something,” I said softly, careful with my words. “I’ll tell you when I get home.”
Thick and dangerous silence stretched between us
“You tryna handle shit without me?” He finally asked, the edge in his tone sharp enough to cut.
“No,” I admitted, taking a breath. “I’m just trying to protect you, protect us, in a way that won’t have you putting bullets in somebody’s skull. Yet.”
He chuckled darkly. “Yet?”
I closed my eyes, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I went to the lawyer, Eason. Prime showed up at the duplex yesterday when I was there alone. He threatened me, Nas, and the baby.”
Silence again, but this time, it was different. It was lethal.
“You telling me this now?” His voice was quiet, controlled—every word wrapped in razor wire.
“I wanted to have a plan first. I got footage. Restraining orders are being filed as we speak.”
“Fuck a restraining order, Muffin.” He exhaled sharply; his anger palpable even through the phone. “You should’ve called me the second that nigga stepped outta line. You mine. Nasir mine. That baby in your belly mine. Protecting y’all is my fucking job.”
“I know,” I whispered, emotion thick in my throat. “But it’s mine too. I can’t always wait for you to step in, Eason. I needed to show him, and myself, that I ain’t weak.”
Another pause, shorter this time, followed by a heavy sigh. “I respect that, Muffin. But promise me, right now, you’ll never keep shit like this from me again. I can’t lose you, Xalori.”
“I promise,” I murmured. “We’re in this together.”
“You damn right we are,” he said fiercely. “Now bring your ass home. We need to talk face-to-face.”
I ended the call, leaning back in my seat as relief and anxiety tangled inside me. Prime thought he could break me. Thought he could threaten my family, and I’d crumble like I used to. But that woman was gone.
Before I could move, I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to catch my breath.
My stomach twisted sharply, forcing me to bite back a groan of pain.
This wasn’t just stress—this was something deeper.
My body was screaming at me, begging me to slow down, but how the fuck could I rest when every moment felt like another threat was waiting around the corner?
The cramps hit harder this time, intense enough to make my vision blur. My fingers trembled as I fumbled for my phone, dialing Eason’s number before I could second-guess myself.
He picked up on the first ring. “Muffin? What’s wrong?”
“Eason,” my voice cracked, panic and pain bleeding through. “I need you. Something’s wrong with the baby.”
“Fuck! Where are you?” I could hear the frantic rustling as he moved, probably already grabbing his keys.
“Outside the lawyer’s office,” I whimpered, clutching my stomach tighter. “I think—I think I’m going into labor.”
“I’m on my way,” he growled, his voice low, raw, and urgent. “Don’t you fuckin’ move.”
Tears burned my eyes as another contraction tore through me. This was too soon, too sudden. Panic rose in my throat, choking me. My vision blurred as I squeezed my eyes shut, silently praying.
“Hold on, baby,” I whispered to my belly, voice shaking. “You gotta hold on.”
Within minutes, Eason’s blacked-out truck screeched into the parking lot, tires nearly skidding as he stopped inches from my bumper. He was out of the vehicle in seconds, rushing toward me, his face twisted with fear and fury.
“Fuck! Come here, Muffin,” he growled softly, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. “I got you.”
His heartbeat thudded heavily against my ear as he carried me to his truck, settling me gently into the passenger seat. The drive to the hospital was a blur, punctuated by my sharp gasps of pain and his fierce, murmured reassurances.
The moment we arrived, everything moved fast. Doctors, nurses, IV lines, and monitors became my new reality. Eason stood by my side like an unyielding sentinel, glaring at anyone who moved too slowly or asked too many questions.
When the doctor finally spoke, her voice was gentle yet firm. “You’re not in active labor yet, but your body is under severe stress. Your blood pressure is dangerously high, and you’re showing signs of preterm labor. We need to place you on immediate bed rest.”
“What about the baby?” Eason demanded, voice hard, protective.
“The baby’s stable for now,” she explained calmly, though concern tightened her features. “But we need to manage the stress immediately, or the risks will escalate.”
As the doctor left, silence blanketed the room, suffocating and tense. I stared at the ceiling, tears spilling silently down my cheeks. The weight I’d been carrying—the fear, the guilt, the constant vigilance—finally snapped something deep inside me.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered, voice cracking under the pressure. “I’m supposed to protect my children, but I can’t even keep them safe from myself.”
“Don’t say that shit,” Eason growled, gripping my hand tightly, his eyes dark and fierce. “You’ve been carrying everything, Muffin. Too damn much.”
“I’m so tired, Eason,” I confessed softly, turning to meet his gaze, exhaustion seeping through every word. “I’m scared that if I stop fighting—even for a second—I’ll lose everything.”
Eason leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against mine, his voice a raw whisper. “You won’t lose shit. I swear to you, I got this. I’ll handle Prime, I’ll handle Harmony. I’ll handle the fucking world if I have to. All you gotta do is rest, Muffin. Trust me to carry us.”
His promise settled around me like armor, a reassurance that finally allowed me to let go. Tears flowed freely as I closed my eyes, gripping his hand like a lifeline.
“Promise me,” I choked out softly. “Promise me our babies will be safe.”
“I promise,” he growled fiercely, thumb stroking my knuckles. “Ain’t nobody gonna touch what’s mine ever again.”
As I drifted into exhausted sleep, cradled by his vow, I felt a small flicker of peace.