ᥫ᭡ ⇽✧♛✧⇾ ᥫ᭡

1

Morning came in slow and gold. Sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the edges of Terae’s white linen sheets. The candle from last night had burned itself out, leaving the faint scent of vanilla and smoke hanging in the air. Her phone buzzed against the marble nightstand—three times in a row—before she cracked her eyes open.

She didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Her head felt heavy, not from drinking, but from thinking too long in the dark. She lay still for another minute, listening to the muted hum of the city outside, the occasional rush of tires on wet asphalt down below.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Her phone lit up again, lighting the bedroom wall.

It took her longer than it should have to roll over and pick it up. Forty-seven notifications. Missed calls from her cousin Keisha, from her homegirl Sloane, even a DM request from some girl she’d met once backstage at a Savage Fenty shoot. The group chat with her college friends was nothing but screenshots—clips from that same damn video—captions like girl?? and omg is this from last night??.

She dropped the phone back on the bed and let out a long breath.

The sound of her intercom chiming broke the quiet. She frowned, dragging herself out of bed and padding across the cool hardwood. Her bonnet was still tied tight, tank top loose against her skin, lashes half-on from last night. She hit the button.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Keisha, girl, buzz me up before I blow your phone up again.”

Terae pressed the release without answering and went straight for the kitchen. She pulled a chilled bottle of alkaline water from the fridge, twisting the cap as Keisha’s heels clicked down the hall outside.

The door swung open before she could even greet her. Keisha stepped in like she owned the place—oversized hoodie, bike shorts, her hair wrapped in leopard print.

“You look like hell,” she said, eyes scanning Terae up and down.

“Good morning to you too,” Terae muttered, taking a long sip.

“Nah, we not doing the calm act. I wake up and my whole Explore page is your man in VIP with some girl lookin’ like she shopping for a Birkin with his card. And you—” Keisha gestured wildly “—not even online? Not even throwing subs?!”

“I’m not giving them anything,” Terae said, voice even. “Let them talk.”

Keisha planted herself on the kitchen stool, pulling her phone out. “They already are talking. And the comments are nasty, Rae. Like, the kind where I almost started fighting strangers at eight in the morning.”

Terae leaned against the counter, the cool stone grounding her. “It’s been three years, Kei. This ain’t the first time.”

“Yeah, but this is the first time the whole damn city saw it in HD,” Keisha shot back. “You gonna tell me you’re really just… chill?”

Terae didn’t answer right away. Her eyes drifted to the balcony, where the sunlight was burning hotter now, bleaching the tops of the buildings. Her phone buzzed again on the counter, and without looking, she knew it wasn’t him.

2

Terae set the half-empty water bottle down and reached for the open Don Julio on the counter. The bottle was still beaded with condensation from last night, sitting next to the same glass she’d been nursing when she came home. She poured until the pale liquid touched the rim, no ice, no lime.

“Kei—” she started, voice low, “I’m not chill. I’m… relieved? I don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m just tired.”

Keisha blinked at her. “Relieved? Girl, are you drunk already?”

“Not yet,” Terae said, sipping. The tequila was sharp, burning all the way down, but she welcomed the sting.

Keisha leaned forward on her elbows, eyebrows pulling together. “So, let me get this straight—you been letting him run through the city like some rookie fresh off the draft, and now that the world sees it, you just… exhale?”

“That’s about right.” Terae set the glass down, watching the sunlight catch in the liquor. “I’ve been over it for a while, Kei. I just didn’t want to be the one to set it off. I didn’t wanna deal with the pity looks, or the fake ‘you deserve betters’ from people who would’ve smiled in my face and then partied with him.”

Keisha rolled her eyes. “They already partying with him. They been. I don’t know why you even—” She stopped, catching herself. “No, I do know. You loved that man. That’s the only excuse.”

“Loved,” Terae corrected softly. She let the word sit in the air between them. “Past tense.”

Keisha shook her head and pulled her phone out again, thumbs flying over the screen. “I swear to God, I should start sending these videos to his mama. The way Sefa got you out here—nah, it’s embarrassing.”

Terae’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “You think she doesn’t already know? I bet she sees more of him than I do.”

Keisha sighed, tilting her head. “So what now? You hiding out in here for a week? You posting some cryptic soft launch single-girl pic? What’s the plan?”

“I’m not hiding,” Terae said, pouring another splash into her glass. “I’m not posting anything. If people wanna know, they’ll figure it out. I just…” She trailed off, her gaze sliding to the city beyond the balcony doors. “I just want my peace back.”

Keisha’s face softened, just for a second, before she straightened again. “Fine. But if I see that man’s face anywhere near you, Rae, I’m swinging. And not just at him—at you, too.”

Terae actually laughed at that, low and warm. “Duly noted.”

The intercom buzzed again, sharp in the quiet. Both women glanced toward it. Keisha’s brows shot up.

“You expecting somebody?”

“No.” Terae set her glass down, wiping her palms on her tank before walking toward the wall panel.

She hit the button. “Yeah?”

Silence for a beat. Then— “It’s me.”

The voice was deep, familiar, and absolutely not the one she’d been avoiding.

3

She froze for a second, thumb hovering over the intercom button like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Keisha looked between her and the wall panel, eyebrows creeping higher.

Terae pressed the speaker. “Jey?”

“Yeah.” His voice came through low and even, that same clipped cadence she’d heard a handful of times at cookouts or game nights when Sefa had dragged her along.

Her stomach did a weird, quick twist—reflex more than anything. If he’s here, then Sefa’s… She swallowed it down. “Uh… you here for whatever’s left of his stuff?”

On the couch, Keisha’s head snapped toward her. “Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

“It’s his brother,” Terae murmured, covering the mic with her palm.

Keisha’s eyes went wide, then narrowed to slits. “Oh, hell no. The family retrieval mission? Girl, tell him you burned it all.”

Terae shot her a look. “Kei—”

“I’m serious, Rae. Dogged you for three years and now they sending in the clean-up crew? Nah.”

The speaker crackled again. “I can come back if now’s not a good time.”

She hesitated. The truth was, she didn’t want anyone—Fatu bloodline or not—stepping foot in her space right now. But letting him stand downstairs like some random delivery guy felt petty in a way she didn’t have the energy for.

“It’s fine,” she said finally, pressing the button to buzz him in.

Keisha muttered something under her breath that sounded like ‘better not try to play middleman’.

By the time the elevator pinged and the heavy steps sounded in the hallway, Terae had downed the rest of her tequila and rinsed the glass. She opened the door before he could knock.

Jey filled the doorway like he always had—broad shoulders, forearms inked and bare beneath a loose white tee, that quiet, unreadable look in his eyes. No smile, no warmth, just polite recognition.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she returned, leaning her weight on the doorframe. “You need me to grab whatever you came for?”

His gaze flicked past her, clocking Keisha sprawled on the couch with her phone in hand, chin lifted like she was ready to cut in if necessary. “I can get it. I know what’s his.”

Keisha muttered, “Yeah, the trash pile’s in the back,” without looking up.

Terae sighed. “Ignore her. Come on in.”

He stepped inside, moving with that same unhurried weight she remembered from every room he’d ever walked into—like the floor would adjust for him, not the other way around.

4

Jey leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp but careful. He didn’t look sorry like some guy handing out pity—more like a man who carried his own burden and didn’t need to announce it.

“You good?” he asked, voice low but steady, like a question and a statement all at once.

Terae shrugged, folding her arms. “I’m here.”

Keisha was watching him from the couch, eyes narrowed, nails tapping lightly against her phone. The moment stretched, silent but heavy.

Finally, Jey ran a hand through his hair and spoke again, slower this time. “Look… I’m sorry.”

Terae blinked, waiting for the usual “my little brother was a dog” speech, but it never came.

“Not sorry like I’m feelin’ bad for you,” Jey said, eyes locked on hers. “More like… sorry it had to be like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

Keisha snorted from the couch, loud and sharp. “About damn time somebody said it.”

Jey gave her a glance, half amused, half warning. “Keisha.”

She waved him off, biting back a smile. “Nah, I’m just saying what you won’t.”

Terae watched the exchange, a knot loosening somewhere deep down. This wasn’t the apology she wanted—because she wasn’t looking for pity—but the one she needed.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Jey nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching almost into a smile before he stepped back toward the door.

“I’ll get the rest later,” he said. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Keisha stood up, heels clicking against the hardwood. “If you ever try to step on her toes, Fatu, you’ll have me to deal with. That’s on the record.”

Jey’s gaze flicked between them both. “I’m here for the truth,” he said simply.

Terae let that hang in the air as the door closed behind him.

5

The city wasn’t the only thing burning—Terae’s phone was, too.

Keisha sat sprawled on the couch, her eyes glued to the glowing screen, thumbs scrolling fast enough to make the words a blur. “Girl, you gotta see this.”

Terae leaned against the counter, cold coffee untouched beside her. Her own phone buzzed nonstop, each notification a dagger sharper than the last.

On The Shade Room, the headline blared in bold:

“ATL Falcons Player Sefa Fatu Caught Slipping — Multiple Women Drop Receipts While Still in Long-Term Relationship with Model Terae Simpson”

Below it, a carousel of posts showed screenshots:

A DM from a woman named “Jazzy” with a picture of Sefa’s phone screen — texts flirting, late-night “u up?” messages, even a selfie of them together at a club.

A shaky video from another woman caught laughing with Sefa, his hand on her thigh, a whispered promise of “you’re my favorite.”

A tagged Insta Story from a third woman, a luxury hotel room with two blurred figures in the background, captioned “Guess who’s not as loyal as he claims? # FatuTea”

Comments flooded in, the mood savage:

“Bet she didn’t see this coming 🤡”

“The Falcons got a problem on their hands 👀”

“Sefa really thought he could play us all lmao”

“Terae don’t even post? She’s the real queen for that silence 👑”

Keisha tapped the screen, scrolling through the flood of new confessions, every message a new layer to the story.

“Some of these girls aren’t just talkin’,” Keisha said, voice low. “They got receipts — videos, pics, even some of his own DMs leaked out. Atlanta’s watching him burn.”

Terae didn’t say a word. Her face was stone, but inside, a storm was raging.

Keisha threw her phone down on the couch with a smirk. “You’re keeping quiet now, but when you’re ready, we gon’ turn this into a demolition.”

Terae let out a breath, eyes drifting to the city skyline. The noise outside was nothing compared to this digital inferno.

For now, she was still watching. Still waiting.

6

Jey pushed open the door and stepped inside, the duffel bag from Terae’s place hanging heavy over his shoulder. Jimmy followed close, eyes scanning the room with that cold, quiet fury only family could carry.

Sefa lounged on the worn couch, blunt hanging loose between his fingers, eyes half-lidded and completely unfazed. Draped over the cushions was the same woman from the videos — naked, laughing without a care, one of Sefa’s chains heavy on her thigh like a trophy.

Jey shifted the duffel to the floor with a thud, the sound sharp and final. He didn’t say a word. No anger. No judgement. Just that silent statement — this is what you left behind.

Sefa’s eyes flicked toward the bag, then back up to Jey. A low, cruel laugh rumbled from his throat.

“Did she cry?” he asked, voice dripping with mock concern. “I know she in there miserable and shit again. She’s so fucking dramatic.”

Jimmy’s jaw clenched tight.

Jey’s stare sharpened, cutting through the room like a blade.

But he kept his voice steady, cold. “She’s done with you.”

Sefa shrugged, smirk widening. “Let her be. She always been too soft anyway.”

The room fell heavy with all the things left unsaid — disrespect, betrayal, a man who didn’t give a damn.

Jey and Jimmy exchanged a look — no words needed. They knew exactly what this was.

Sefa wasn’t broken. He wasn’t sorry.

He was just the same dog he always been.

7

The quiet hum of her phone was the only soundtrack as Terae tapped the last photo into the slideshow—each shot a flawless blend of her style and the sleek, iconic bags she’d helped design for Telfar. The caption was light but sharp, exactly the kind of energy she wanted to put out:

“Built for the hustle, designed for the bold. Proud to finally drop this collab with @ Telfar — here’s to owning every part of the journey.”

She hit post and leaned back, eyes flicking to the comments already flooding in.

But when she scrolled, the familiar mess was there — comments dragging Sefa, some throwing shade, others calling for her to speak up.

Terae didn’t respond.

Instead, she swiped up and dropped a new story—her and Keisha, sweaty and glowing after their favorite spin class in Buckhead.

Keisha’s smile was bright, infectious, the kind that could drown out the city noise.

“Keepin’ it moving,” the story read.

The world was loud, but Terae’s feed was calm — a small island of control and power she wasn’t about to lose.

8

Keisha didn’t take no for an answer.

“Girl, you can’t stay cooped up like this,” she said, voice like a drill sergeant wrapped in velvet. “Sloane’s got a spot at The Battery, and it’s our kinda scene—designer everything, vibes on a hundred. You need this.”

Terae sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. She was tired—not just physically, but bone-deep drained like the weight of the last few weeks had settled into her bones. But she knew Keisha was right. Even if she didn’t want to admit it.

Hours later, the trio was drenched in neon and bass, lights flashing over their designer fits, laughter tangled in the air thick with heat and music.

Keisha was the queen of the moment, snapping shots like a paparazzi pro—candid smiles, champagne toasts, wild eyes shining bright.

But one photo cut through the hype—the one that showed Terae caught between her two closest friends, Keisha and Sloane. Her smile was there, but her eyes told a different story—tired, worn, miles away from the club’s neon glow.

Keisha posted it on her story with the caption: “Real queens keep going, even when tired 💅🏾 # BuckheadNights”

The pic didn’t stay quiet. It blew up overnight, bouncing from friend to friend, landing on gossip pages and stirring whispers.

And somewhere across town, Jey’s phone buzzed.

He didn’t scroll through the usual noise. His eyes locked on that one image—Terae, looking like she was holding a whole damn world in her tired eyes.

The image unraveled something inside him, something he’d buried beneath years of being the “older brother,” beneath the noise of family drama and the chaos of his own fights.

He saw it—the exhaustion that nobody else caught, the silent battles she fought, the weight she carried alone.

A slow, hard twist settled in his chest. It wasn’t sympathy. It was something deeper. Something raw.

He’d watched her through all of it—the betrayals, the silence, the fake smiles—and now this picture was a quiet scream he couldn’t ignore.

Jey’s thumb hovered over the screen, wanting to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words stuck, heavy and jagged.

Because what he felt wasn’t simple. It was complicated. Protective. Possessive.

He wasn’t just watching from the sidelines anymore.

Something had shifted.

9

The elevator dinged open, and Terae finally stepped inside the quiet sanctuary of her Buckhead penthouse.

Her body was a map of exhaustion — every muscle tight, every breath a little heavier than the last. The night’s forced laughter and flashing lights felt miles away now, like a distant memory she wasn’t sure she could hold onto much longer.

She kicked off her red bottoms the second she crossed the threshold, the relief immediate but fleeting.

Her steps toward the living room were slow, weighed down by a mental fog that blurred the edges of reality.

She flicked on the TV and let it wash over her — an old episode of Sister Sister, voices from her childhood filling the room with warmth and familiarity.

The sounds softened the edges of the night’s chaos, if only for a moment.

Her feet dragged toward the kitchen, movements half-automatic, half absentminded, as if her body was just going through the motions without consulting her mind.

She opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of alkaline water, and popped the cap off with numb fingers.

A couple of headache pills followed, swallowed dry as she leaned back against the cool marble of the kitchen island.

The chill of the stone seeped into her skin, a small anchor in the whirlwind of her thoughts.

Her eyes closed, and for a brief second, the weight pressed down less.

But only for a moment.

Because the noise — the memories, the betrayal, the exhaustion — was never far behind.

10

Terae’s phone buzzed against the silence like an alarm she didn’t want to hear.

She stared at the screen—Sefa’s name flashing.

“If you done bein’ a child about this, come chill for a bit.”

The words felt like a slap dipped in indifference.

Reconciliation? Care? Respect?

That shit had never been part of the equation.

She thought back — all the times he was “out with the boys” but left traces of someone else behind: the random texts that popped up on her phone while he swore it was nothing; the Instagram DMs she caught him sending at 3 AM, all flirty, all lies.

The nights she waited, hoping he’d show up with something real, with a sign that she mattered—only to be met with silence or excuses so thin they shredded under her gaze.

The way he talked over her when she tried to be heard, acting like her feelings were an inconvenience.

How he never showed up for the milestones she poured her soul into—no flowers, no congrats, just empty words or worse, silence.

And every time she tried to hold onto something good between them, he’d slip away like water through her fingers, leaving her holding nothing but questions.

No, she wasn’t about to answer a text like that.

Like it meant anything.

She blocked his number, the final door slamming shut on a chapter that had long since crumbled under the weight of neglect and betrayal.

Terae slid down against the couch, her body sinking into the cushions as if trying to disappear.

The bottle of alkaline water felt cool and steady in her hands — a quiet anchor in the storm of her thoughts.

She took a slow sip, eyes heavy and burning, mind replaying every scar he left behind.

This mess of a love story?

She was done being a character in his endless act.