---
There are different types of anger.
The kind that burns quickly and fizzles.
The kind that simmers in silence until it explodes.
And the kind that walks into a bar wearing lipstick and heartbreak, ready to look her enemy in the eye and ask, "Why?"
That was the kind of anger I wore when I went to find Thabiso Mbele.
---
He worked at a music production studio downtown.
Everyone in the industry knew the name.
Everyone loved him—until they actually met him.
Thabiso was charming the way a snake is smooth.
He said your name like it had a price attached to it.
And when I walked into the studio lobby, I saw that same smirk I remembered from a year ago—when he told Luca that I wasn't built for this life.
Now, I knew what he really meant.
---
He didn't flinch when he saw me.
"Amaya Thorne," he said, leaning back in his leather chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
I tossed the envelope of messages Isla had given me onto the table between us.
He didn't touch it. Just glanced at the paper like it was a grocery list.
"You sent them," I said.
A pause.
Then: "I might've encouraged a few hard truths to float Luca's way."
Hard truths.
That's what he called threats?
"You destroyed him," I whispered. "You made him believe love was a weakness."
"No," Thabiso said calmly. "You made him weak. I reminded him of what he stood to lose."
"And what did you stand to gain?" I snapped.
He looked me dead in the eye. "Control. Peace. Silence. The band was falling apart because he started caring more about your pain than our business."
I stood there, staring at him, stunned by how casually he admitted it.
"You ruined two people," I said. "So your little empire wouldn't tremble."
He smirked again. "That's leadership, darling. Not love."
---
I walked out of that office trembling.
Not because I was afraid of him—
But because I finally understood just how cruel people could be when they convinced themselves they were right.
---
I didn't call Zayne.
I almost did.
But something in me needed silence that night. Not softness.
Just space to breathe.
---
Nia was packing when I got home.
Literally.
A suitcase lay open on her bed.
Clothes. Folders. Her favorite coffee mug.
"Where are you going?" I asked, stunned.
"Cape Town," she said, zipping the bag. "There's a nonprofit there that works with abused teens. They offered me a position."
My throat tightened. "You're leaving?"
She nodded.
"I love you, Amaya. But I need my own air. I've been stuck in this loop since Anesu left me. I need to do something that isn't about him. Or you. Or this city."
Tears welled in my eyes. "Why does everyone keep leaving?"
Nia walked over, grabbed my hands.
"I'm not leaving you," she whispered. "I'm returning to myself."
---
Later that night, I did text Zayne.
> He sent the threats. Thabiso. It was him.
He didn't reply right away.
But when he did, his response shattered me:
> Amaya… I think I need space.
> I care about you. But I don't know where I fit in your story. And I'm scared I'm becoming a rebound when I want to be a beginning.
---
I stared at the screen.
Another man walking away.
But this time… it was different.
Zayne hadn't vanished.
He told me the truth.
And somehow, that hurt even more.
---
That night, I painted.
Not for healing.
Not for love.
Not for memory.
I painted a woman standing in the rain, holding a letter in one hand and a knife in the other—
Deciding which to let go of.