Chapter Thirty-One Harmony Winters
You ever hit a kind of low that made rock bottom look like a fucking penthouse? That’s where I was.
Broke. Evicted. No job. No family. No man. Just me and this goddamn rage that wouldn’t quit humming in my chest.
They thought they could erase me. Eason thought he could love another woman loud enough to rewrite history. Replace me with some sad-eyed bitch and call her Mama to the daughter I gave him? Nah, I wasn’t going out like that.
The gym was locked, but that didn’t mean shit to me. I still had the code, so I still had access. And most importantly, I still had enough venom to leave a fucking mark.
I stepped through the doors like I owned the place, every light off, every corner quiet, like it was holding its breath for the storm I was about to bring.
I made my way to the daycare room first—where Ginger’s toys were, where her blanket still lived, folded in the corner like it didn’t belong to my child.
I tore that shit up. One stuffed animal at a time. One memory at a time. If they wanted war, bitch, I’d show them just how ugly survival could look.
With Prime ignoring my calls and cooking up his little revenge mission like I was some expendable pawn, I had no choice but to start moving on my own. Which meant drinking more and selling pieces of my body for powder and pennies like a goddamn back-alley ghost.
But this was me taking something back.
I stormed into Eason’s office like I still belonged there. Like my name was still stitched into the goddamn walls. And when I saw it—that photo—I lost whatever grip I had left.
A smiling-ass maternity picture.
Eason standing behind Xalori like she was his damn queen. Ginger in her lap. That little bastard boy in front. One big happy fraudulent ass family.
It was like a punch to the fucking throat. I stared at it, my hands twitching. My breath hitching. That should’ve been me. That was me.
I gave up modeling, networking, and high-paying opportunities just to stand beside that man. I gave him a child. Let him fuck up my body, my career, and my name. I played the loyal wife in public and the sexy siren in private. And now, I was nothing but a stain on his resume.
I snatched the frame from the desk and hurled it against the glass case. It shattered, loud and final, shards skittering across the polished floor like a warning shot.
“Fuck you!” I screamed, grabbing the pen holder next. “Fuck all of you!”
I wrecked the room piece by piece, my vision blurred from liquor and tears. Tossing shit, breaking trophies, flipping chairs until my chest was heaving and my throat was raw. Until I felt like I made a dent in the world that forgot me.
“You need to put that shit down.”
I spun toward the voice—one of Eason’s hired security guards, Kev or Kay-something, standing with his hand on his holster and judgment all over his face.
I laughed, dry and empty. “What? Y’all gon’ shoot me for breakin’ my own man’s shit?”
“You not his anything, Harmony,” he said calmly. “This ain’t your place no more. It hasn’t been for a long time.”
I took a step forward. “You don’t get to say that.”
Another voice crackled over his walkie. “PD en route. Five out.”
He looked at me, softer this time. “You need to leave before they get here. Don’t make this worse than it already is.”
But it was already worse. It was already over. I backed into the edge of the desk, the weight of everything—the betrayal, the humiliation, the hunger, the loss—crashing over me like a wave I couldn’t ride out.
“Tell him…” My voice cracked. “Tell Eason he made a mistake.”
The security guard didn’t answer or move. He just stared at me like he was looking at someone already gone.
Then came the sirens. And this time, nobody ran to save me.
Part of me was hoping he’d show up. Bust through the doors like he used to when someone looked at me wrong. Growling, possessive, unhinged, and dangerous, but mine. But the door stayed closed. The only thing breaking the silence was the soft, mechanical hum of the camera mounted in the far corner.
I looked straight into it, chin lifted, and face streaked with tears and sweat and everything I’d been holding in for months.
“You watching this, Eason?” I whispered.
The security guard shifted beside me, hand tightening on his radio. But I didn’t care. I needed him to see me one last time.
“I bet she don’t even moan the way I used to. I bet her pretty little ass can’t even take it the way I did.” My voice cracked. “You replaced me with a bitch who don’t even know how to survive you.”
Then the speakers in the ceiling clicked. And I heard him, low, cold, and lethal.
“I didn’t replace you, Harmony. I upgraded.”
My stomach twisted.
“I watched you rip up my gym, destroy my daughter’s things, and disrespect every piece of peace I’ve built,” he said, voice flat. “And you wanna know what I felt?”
The pause was long and measured.
“Nothing.”
I stumbled back a step.
“I used to care for you,” he continued, calm as hell. “Used to have a tiny soft spot for you for giving me my daughter. Would’ve killed for you. But all that shit is dead, so I don’t give a fuck about your pathetic ass meltdown.”
His voice dropped lower.
“You not my problem no more.”
The click of the mic shutting off was louder than the sirens outside. I blinked as the security guard moved in, gently almost like he pitied me. Like I was some stray getting put down.
The front door flew open, and the cops poured in—guns holstered, voices raised, already calling my name.
“Harmony Winters? Hands where we can see ‘em.”
I didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. Just raised my hands and kept my eyes locked on the camera. The little red light blinking like it was watching me take my final bow.
“You gonna regret this, Eason,” I whispered, as the cuffs clicked around my wrists. “You gonna miss me.”
But the truth was, I didn’t believe that. And as they walked me out the door, past the shattered frame and broken crayons and the pieces of the life I used to have I knew. The game was over and this time, I lost.