Page 49 of Before I Say I Don’t

And right on cue, Roman stepped out from the groomsmen line, bold as a headline. He slid behind me, one hand gripping my waist before the other smacked right onto my ass, squeezing. Then he yanked me back into him and kissed me nastily and unapologetically, like he owned every piece of that moment.

The room exploded with gasps, shrieks and camera flashes.

We planned that little act the night before.

When I finally pulled back, breath heavy, I caught Danica’s face. She was smiling like Christmas came early. Everyone else? Pure shock.

“If you’re wondering how I found out everything…” I tipped my mic toward Roman, who stood right beside me. “Here’s your guy.”

Roman gave Viangelo a hard nod, calm as ever, then said, “You’ve really gotta be more careful with who you trust…

especially a lawyer. We don’t just listen; we build cases.

And sometimes—” he slid his arm tighter around my waist, smirk sharp as a blade—“we take the lies you thought were airtight, tear ‘em open, and give the woman you tried to break a whole new life. One where she’s fucked right, loved better, and walked out the front door with her head high and her dignity untouched. That’s the difference between you and me—you borrowed her time, but after this day… I own her forever .”

That did it. The line that set Viang e lo off.

He lunged forward—face red, spit flying, veins bulging at his neck.

“You snake-ass nigga! I knew you wanted my bitch! I knew it! I’ma kill both of y’all asses!”

Security, already in position, swarmed. They held Viangelo back by his arms, his feet kicking at the floor like a toddler mid-tantrum. The sight only made the crowd louder.

Roman adjusted his cufflinks like nothing rattled him.

“Yo’ bitch ? Nah…” he smirked. “This beauty is a queen. And you said I wanted her? You’re damn right I did… since day one of meeting her.”

Roman glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with deep adoration, as if I were the only person in the room. After a moment, he shifted his gaze back to Viangelo, his expression becoming more serious as he concentrated on the conversation at hand.

“Shid, it don’t matter. I had her first anyway! You gettin’ my leftovers, homie!” Viangelo spat bitterly, trying to act like it didn’t burn him alive.

Roman chuckled low as h e pulled me closer, arm snug at my waist.

“Leftovers? Nah. What you had was the sampler menu, homie. You thought you had a meal, but all you ever managed was crumbs. You didn’t have the patience, the taste, or the budget for the entrée.

She saved the feast for a man who knows how to handle it.

I’m the one who gets the full-course meal, the fine dining, the wine pairing, the five-star experience you couldn’t afford or appreciate.

You don’t call a diamond you dropped a leftover—you call it a lifetime mistake. And that’s exactly what you made.”

The crowd went ballistic. Somebody yelled, “Say that, Roman!” while Viangelo’s face twisted, red with fury he couldn’t do a damn thing about.

My chest swelled with pride, heat sparking under my skin. Hearing Roman shut Viangelo down so clean had me feeling seen, claimed, and—if I was honest—a little undone. It wasn’t just savage; it was sexy as hell.

I tilted my head, smirk creeping onto my lips.

Yeah, that’s my man.

The one who knew how to drag with precision and love with fire.

Every word Roman spit wasn’t just about tearing Viangelo down—it was about lifting me up, showing the whole damn room I was no one’s leftovers.

And the way his arm gripped tighter at my waist?

Lord… if we weren’t surrounded by two hundred witnesses, I might’ve let him prove every word right then and there.

“So yeah, you had her first, homie. Congratulations. But all you really proved is that you can lose the best thing you’ll ever touch.

And the thing about fumbling a woman like her?

There’s no overtime. No rematch. Game over.

She’s the trophy you’ll never hold again.

So thank you for fumbling her and showing her what she never deserved.

Because now?” He chuckled, tauntingly. “Now I get to show her what it feels like to be with a man who protects her, respects her, and loves her out loud. You had her body, but I’ve got her soul…

and that’s a loss you’ll never recover from. ”

Praises flowed throughout the room as Roman pulled me closer like he was already claiming the victory.

Roman stepped closer. “One last thing. If I were you, I’d be mindful of what I say in a room full of some of the best attorneys, Angelo.

Threats carry weight—and trust me, your record is already lengthy.

Don’t let this lawyer title fool you. I fight cases by day, but I fight niggas like you by night. Courtroom or curb, I don’t lose.”

Someone shouted, “Read him, counselor!”

Viangelo thrashed harder, but the guards dragged him back another few steps. His curses tangled into the noise of two hundred people watching him unravel.

I lifted the mic again to clarify a few things.

“For the record, let me clear up any confusion. Roman and I never crossed an intimate line while I was with Viangelo. That was… until I found out the truth about everything—well, the baby, that is,” I semi lied, then turned to Viangelo.

“So don’t you ever try to paint me dirty when the dirt was always on you.

I stayed loyal while you were wallowing in lies! ”

From the back, a loud voice cut through the noise, “Well, Roman is better looking anyway!”

The room erupted in laughter, and another voice agreed, “She upgraded, baby!”

“For anyone here who has ever wondered what self-respect looks like? It looks like this. Choosing myself over a man who never chose me, speaking truth when it would’ve been easier to stay quiet and walking away with my head high while he stands guilty on his knees.”

The room clapped, snapped, and cheered like a verdict had already been handed down.

Danica approached us, raising her invisible gavel, her grin wicked. “The court?—"

I held my arm out, silencing her. “No, sis. I got this one. It’s personal.”

The crowd screamed—half in awe, half in chaos.

“The court finds the defendant guilty on all charges—fraud, infidelity, and felony-level clown behavior. Your sentence?” I chuckled, darkly. “The worst one of all. To stand back and watch me be loved by your friend; the man you could never be. Effective immediately. Checkmate.”

A murmur rolled across the room like a wave hitting a seawall.

If looks could’ve killed, the heat in Viangelo’s eyes would’ve dropped me where I stood—stone cold on that runner, with my veil draped over a casket instead of my shoulders. But all it did was prove the truth: he was furious, and I was free.

I tugged Roman closer, but before we could make our exit, I lifted the mic one last time.

“Actually… before I go, there’s one more piece of business we need to handle.”

The officiant blinked erratically. “Business?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Ask me the question.”

He frowned, perplexed. “What question?”

I cocked my head, giving him a knowing look. “You know… Do I take this man… that question.”

The officiant’s hands fumbled with his little book. “Uh—m-my dear, are you sure?—”

“Yes,” I cut in, firmly. “Ask it.”

He swallowed hard, eyes fleeting between me, Roman’s steady hand on my waist, and Viangelo thrashing against security like a man unhinged. The officiant hesitated, then, with the weight of a man just trying to make it through the shift, he asked the question anyway.

“Kamira Sinclair… do you take Viangelo Grant, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish… till death do you part?”

Every head craned toward me, waiting.

I smiled wickedly. “Viangelo,” I said, letting his name be a benediction and a boundary. “I don’t hate you. I just refuse to dim God’s work in me to excuse your refusal to do God’s work in you. I release you to go be the version of yourself you’ve been fighting so hard to protect.”

I reached into the neckline of my dress and retrieved my engagement ring, tucked snug in my cleavage like I’d been saving it for that exact finale. The gasp that rippled through the crowd was instant and sharp, like two hundred people had all remembered to breathe at the same time.

“So, to answer his question—and probably everyone else’s—” I raised my chin, steady. “I don’t! You may now kiss the mistakes you thought I didn’t know about,” I concluded, then tossed the ring at him, the metal flashing through the light before it clinked against his chest.

“Highlight of the whole damn ceremony!” Someone exclaimed.

Danica hurled her bouquet in the air like it was a graduation cap.

“Case closed! Court adjourned! Y’all free to eat chicken now!”

I dropped the mic right onto the runner, laced my fingers with Roman’s, and prepared to walk out while the room fell apart behind us—or at least I thought that would be the happily ever after.

”Wait!”

The word sliced through the swirling chaos, instantly silencing the murmurs and laughter.

All eyes pivoted toward the back of the room.

A beautiful woman in a deep emerald dress stood tall, elegant and hair pinned back that suggested she had arrived with a specific purpose. She held no baby in her arms or partner at her side—only a slim, black folder clutched tightly to her chest, as if it contained the weight of her revelations.

The room gr ew sil e nt, tension palpable as everyone awaited her next move.

“Sorry, sis. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she announced, her voice steady yet imbued with an undercurrent of truth that felt like a sharp pinprick in my side. “I just came to see who wore the dress better.”

I blinked, taken aback by her approach. “Huh?” I managed to stammer, b e wildered.