The minute I stepped into Luxor Rentals Enterprise, I felt it.
That shift in the air. That tension. Like the building already knew I wasn't here for small talk.
Everything looked how I built it — marble floors shining like mirrors, gold trimming on every glass door, chandeliers drippin' elegance from the ceilings. The scent of fresh polish, soft vanilla, and luxury lingered in the air. Everything said wealth, power, and class. Everything I worked hard for.
But today?
I didn't feel any of it.
I walked through the lobby with a blank stare. My hoodie zipped halfway, long trench dragging behind me, and not a drop of makeup on my face. My mind was somewhere else. My soul was heavy.
Security stood when I passed.
My assistant scrambled to keep up, whispering, "Ma'am, do you want me to—"
I didn't answer. I just kept walking.
I pushed the boardroom doors open with both hands.
Silence.
Every department head was already seated around that long oak table — accounting, legal, HR, operations. Eyes wide, mouths shut. The room smelled like nerves and coffee. Nobody said a word. They knew something was wrong. They just didn't know who it was yet.
I didn't sit. I didn't smile. I walked to the head of the table and stood there with my arms crossed.
"Does anybody in this room know Tyshawn?"
My voice was calm. Controlled. But heavy enough to quiet a hurricane.
Nobody moved.
I looked around, eyes landing on each and every face like I could read guilt through silence.
"I said... did anybody in here work with Tyshawn or know him personally?"
Silence. Just blinking and shifting. Somebody cleared their throat but didn't speak.
I stepped in closer. Pressed my hands to the table.
"Did anybody know what he was planning?"
Still nothing... until a soft voice cracked from the right.
"He wasn't working alone..."
It came from a young woman. Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
My eyes locked on her.
"Say that again."
She looked down, scared to death. "Tyshawn was working with Marco."
Every neck in the room snapped toward the man sitting closest to the end — Marco.
He didn't say a word. He just stared down at the table like it could protect him.
My blood turned cold.
I didn't blink.
Didn't yell.
Didn't raise my voice.
I just looked him dead in the face and said:
"Marco... stand up."
He stood up—nervously. Adjusted his collar like that was gonna fix what was already broken. His voice came out shaky but trying to sound strong.
"I didn't know he was going to do that to you."
The room got even quieter. I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"If I would've knew that... if I knew that's what Tyshawn was on, it would've been a big no. I don't play like that," he said, eyes shifting around the room like he was looking for backup.
He looked back at me.
"Yeah, we used to talk about business, flipping stuff... but never no robbery. I would never let that happen to you, not you."
I tilted my head, arms still crossed.
He kept going.
"I swear to God, I didn't know. He never told me nothing about your house. Never told me where you lived. I would've never let it get that far."
My face didn't change. Not one bit.
Because the way my trust was set up?
It wasn't about what he said.
It was about what I felt the moment I walked in this room and saw him sweating before I even asked a question.
I stared at him. I mean, really stared.
His mouth was moving, but I wasn't hearing shit but lies dressed up in nervous apologies.
And then it hit me.
That rage I been trying to keep down? It snapped.
I slammed both hands on the table, making a few people jump in their seats.
"So you worked with this motherfucker every day—EVERY FUCKING DAY—and you never knew he was gonna try to rob me?!"
My voice echoed through that glass boardroom like a damn gunshot.
Marco froze. Everybody else sat stuck, eyes wide, too scared to breathe wrong.
"You sat in meetings with me. Ate off MY fucking company. Took MY money. And the whole time you was standing next to a snake and didn't smell nothin?"
He opened his mouth like he wanted to defend it, but I wasn't done.
"You ain't know?" I repeated, my voice breaking through every inch of silence.
"You ain't know he was plotting to come in my home where my kids sleep? My babies?"
I could feel my chest rising fast. My heart was pounding, not from fear—but from betrayal.
"Nah. See, either you stupid... or you lyin'. And I don't hire stupid."
"And whether you knew or you didn't... that still make you dangerous to me."
I stared at Marco, my jaw tight, chest rising. I meant every word. It wasn't about who pulled the trigger—it was about who held the damn gun while he loaded it.
I took one step back from the table and raised my voice so the whole damn building could hear me.
"SECURITY!"
Two guards stepped in so fast, they had to pause to make sure they heard me right.
I pointed straight at Marco.
"Get his ass outta my building. NOW."
He started to speak again, but I wasn't hearing it.
"Cancel his badge, wipe his access, and if I find out he so much as breathes near Luxor Rentals again—call the police."
Marco stood there stunned, looking around the room like someone was gonna save him. But nobody moved. Nobody spoke. They all just watched him like a ghost was being escorted out.
I kept my eyes on him the whole time.
"You let somebody put my family in danger... and you expect me to give you mercy?"
I shook my head. "You got the wrong bitch."
The guards grabbed him by the arm, and just like that—he was gone.
And I was still standing.
But this time...
I was standing alone.
As soon as they dragged Marco out, I turned back to the room. The silence was still thick — but this time, it was fear, not guilt, sitting in the air.
I looked around at every face that had been too quiet. Every voice that had nothing to say when it mattered.
And I let the old me go right there.
"Now I want everybody in this room to understand something..."
I took a breath, my tone sharp, ice cold.
"I'm not that same nice bitch y'all been used to."
A few people blinked. One gasped.
"I don't want to talk. I don't want to hang. I don't want to hear about your family, your birthdays, your weekend plans. From now on, you motherfuckers better work, make that money, and go home."
I stepped back to the head of the table, voice rising.
"I should've never gave y'all the benefit. Never let y'all get too comfortable. Some of y'all got so close you thought I was easy."
I laughed once — dry and bitter.
"But let me remind you..."
I leaned forward, eyes cutting through the room like knives.
"I'm your boss. And your boss ONLY."
I stood up straight again, voice booming.
"Now get the fuck to work before I fire ALL you motherfuckers."
And just like that, they scrambled.
Chairs slid. Papers flew. Phones dropped.
People moved so fast out that boardroom you'd think I pulled a gun out instead of a truth.
I stood there alone.
Same building. Same title.
But a whole new version of me just clocked in.
***********************
The next morning, I woke up with the meanest headache. I patted the space next to me with my eyes still closed, hoping to feel my husband sleeping — but it was empty. I quickly opened my eyes and sat up, only to find the bed cold and his side untouched. I looked over at the time and saw that it was past my kids' school drop-off time. I jumped up fast.
"Slow down or you might break a bone," my husband chuckled as he entered the room with a tray full of food.
"The kids... I have to get the kids to school," I said quickly, rushing to the closet.
"Fuck... I'm late," I added.
"I took care of it. They're at school. They ate and look presentable, I promise," he said as he sat the food tray on the bed, then pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of the kids in their school uniforms.
I smiled and stared at him for a second as he held his arms out, waiting for me to embrace him.
"Thank you," I softly said as I hugged him.
We stood there in silence for a couple of seconds as we acknowledged each other's presence.
For once, he wasn't smelling like another woman's perfume. For once, as we stood in silence, I wasn't thinking about the business, the kids, or being married. For once, it was just Fatima and Darious, standing in a million-dollar bedroom.
We used to dream about living a life like this. I used to dream about a life like this. I wanted the houses, the cars, the buildings. I wanted to be rich — not to be comfortable, but to have power. Because having power meant no one could stop you.
Having power meant you could fix things that wouldn't be possible if you were normal. Having power meant you could help whoever needed help — not because I had to, but because I wanted to.
"Fatima," Darious whispered, knocking me out of my thoughts as he leaned down, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look into his eyes.
Darious was much taller than me. His brown complexion and dark brown eyes were what drew me in when we first met, but it was his ambition that made me stay.
His hair was always cut low with tight curls and waves so clean it looked like the barber used a paintbrush.
Even back then, he talked about building empires. Not just being rich — but being untouchable.
And for a while, I believed him.
I believed in him.
Until the night he wasn't there.
Until the night I had to become everything he promised he'd protect me from.
"I miss us," he said.
Before I could respond, his lips met mine.
Soft. Slow.
Like he was scared to ruin the moment, but too hungry to hold back.
I didn't stop him.
His mouth moved against mine like he was remembering every part of me. His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, like he was trying to hold together all the broken pieces he left behind.
We kissed deeper, needier.
The years, the pain, the silence — it all came rushing out between us.
In one motion, he lifted me into his arms.
The tray of food spilled off the bed and hit the floor with a loud crash — syrup and eggs smearing across the hardwood.
He laid me down rough, his body pressing into mine, hands already sliding up my shirt.
Our breathing got heavy. Lips still tangled. Heart still guarded.
I felt him start to peel my clothes away, like he was trying to strip off everything we hadn't said.
But my body tensed.
My heart screamed before my voice could.
"Wait," I whispered, turning my face to the side.
His hands froze instantly.
"I'm not ready," I breathed. "I'm just... not mentally ready."
He looked down at me, eyes soft but filled with something close to guilt.
"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush anything."
I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet across my chest.
"I need to feel safe, Darious. Not just physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually."
"I know," he nodded. "I'm not trying to take anything from you. I'm just trying to give something back."
His voice was low, sincere — but the ache in my chest told me it was still too soon.
"Give me time," I said.
He kissed my forehead gently, then stood up, grabbing the tray from the floor.
"I'll send the maid up," he softly added, referring to the breakfast still scattered across the floor.
I watched him walk out of the room — quiet, careful, and for once... patient.
I laid back against the pillows, letting the silence wrap around me.
Because even though my body was here...
My soul was still in survival mode.