Page 8

T he morning light seeped softly through the clinic windows, casting a calming warmth over my office. Yet, I found myself restless. My thoughts drifted back to my last three sessions with Damier. He’d spoken with rare vulnerability about Damian, recounting the traumatic accident with their grandfather—a terrible incident where their grandfather, partially blind and already showing signs of dementia, had struck Damian in the head with an axe. The memory had stayed with Damier, haunting him with the weight of what might’ve happened had the blow been fatal. He shared how he had felt frozen with terror, unsure if his twin would survive.

I could almost feel his pain as he spoke, his voice tinged with a bitterness that didn’t suit him. There was a fierce loyalty beneath his resentment, a brotherly bond that had somehow unraveled into rivalry and hurt. Watching him wrestle with that guilt only deepened my own affection for him. I could still see him sitting across from me, his usual confidence softened by something deeper—a rare, unguarded glimpse at the weight he carried.

“It’s strange,” he’d said, leaning back with a sigh, eyes focused somewhere beyond the room. “You’d think a hit to the head would’ve been something we’d laugh about one day, just one of those wild childhood stories.” He gave a bitter chuckle, but there was no real humor in it. “But I don’t think anyone else really gets it. I felt it—every bit of what he was going through. That accident, it was like... it changed him in a way I couldn’t reach anymore.”

He looked at me then, the hardness in his gaze melting into something like regret. “For a long time, I didn’t want to admit how much I blamed myself. Like, maybe if I’d held him back or stopped him from running past Grandpa that day, things would be different.” He took a deep breath, jaw clenched.

“And now?” I’d asked gently.

“Now, I wonder if we’re even brothers anymore or if he’s just someone I used to know.”

The door to my office opened, jolting me out of my reflections. My receptionist’s voice crackled through the intercom.

“Dr. Jaxton, Jennifer Dolphin is here for her session.”

Jennifer’s name still had an odd ring to it. She was mysterious, and those mismatched eyes of hers—one green, the other light brown—left an impression that lingered. I couldn’t quite shake the sense of familiarity that clung to her presence, though I hadn’t yet pieced together why.

Jennifer entered, her usual composed demeanor tinged with a hint of nervous energy today. She took her seat with a sigh, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“It’s been close to a month already, and I know I missed a couple of sessions, but I couldn’t wait to come back,” she began, her voice soft yet resolute. “There’s just… so much to unpack.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” I replied, offering a reassuring smile as I prepared to take notes.

Jennifer took a steadying breath, gazing at the floor as though the words were hiding somewhere beneath the carpet. “I keep thinking about my ex… Franklin. There’s no one in my life I can tell the truth to. No one who would understand. And some days, it’s like he’s still with me, casting this dark shadow I can’t shake.”

“What was he like again?” I asked, keeping my tone gentle, though a familiar sense of dread curled in my stomach. The stories she shared always seemed to brush up against an unnamed darkness.

Jennifer’s lips curled into a wry smile. “He was everything, honestly. Showed me a lot of shit no man has ever. As I stated, I loved his fast-lane lifestyle. Franklin would take me to dangerous places and leave me in the car, saying he had business to handle. I’d wait, and when he came back, he’d be the same man he was before. But… he’d have a little blood on his shirt or his hands. It was like he’d leave a part of himself behind in those places, and I was expected to sit there and act like nothing was happening.”

Her eyes seemed to cloud over as she spoke as if the memories themselves had wrapped her in their grip.

“It sounds like he was someone who took pride in compartmentalizing his life,” I said, watching her carefully.

“Very,” she said quickly as if even the suggestion was absurd. “He was so gentle with me, never raised his voice until he found out about me using his supply of drugs and how much money I spent. I took millions, girl. I should probably be dead like those men in those buildings.” She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to her hands. “It was more the way he could kill without blinking. Just calmly moving from one person to the next as if he were invincible. You can’t imagine what it’s like to love someone like that.”

I tried to steady my breathing as the edges of my mind began to blur, connecting pieces I hadn’t allowed myself to think about until now. “Did that lifestyle affect you?”

She let out a small, hollow laugh. “You could say that. He always wanted me around, so I saw a lot that affected me mentally. I stayed loyal and went wherever he dragged me. Right up until I didn’t, though.”

Her gaze shifted as though she’d just revealed something she hadn’t meant to.

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my expression neutral.

Jennifer chewed on her lip, clearly reluctant but unable to stop herself now that the words were spilling out. “I mean, I’m ready to talk about all the money I spent and how I used it to manipulate him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I fell for his money and all the access I had to it. I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. I started getting cosmetic surgeries, partying seven days a week, and starting businesses I couldn’t conduct. When he found out I stole a million in drugs from him, used most of it, and gave some to my family to sell, he divorced me. I had so much access to him, and I got caught up in my world.”

The room seemed to shrink as I processed her words. Everything about her story was starting to feel too familiar, too close to the stories Damier had shared in our sessions. I couldn’t shake the feeling that “Franklin” might be more than just a coincidence. But I kept my thoughts guarded, my face unreadable.

“Do you regret it?” I softly asked.

She nodded slowly. “More than anything. What started as something passionate and exciting turned into a nightmare. I realized too late that messing with Franklin’s money wasn’t just another bad decision. Big mistake for me, even though Franklin still takes care of me from a distance. That’s why I am able to sit here with you. I’m thankful to be sitting here. As I stated, I should be dead, but Franklin blamed my behavior on the drugs and mental illness. My mental illness came from the demons he exposed me to.”

We spent the next few minutes in silence, her words hanging heavy between us. I took notes, recording her every word, though my mind was spinning, trying to piece together the fragments of truth hidden within her cryptic confessions.

Jennifer looked at her watch and sighed. “There’s more, but I’ll save it for next time. I’m not sure you’re ready to hear all of it.” She gave me a teasing smile, though her eyes held a glint of something darker.

“Whenever you’re ready, Jennifer. We’ll be here,” I replied, keeping my tone even as I showed her out.

As the door clicked shut, I felt a strange shiver run through me. It was as if a storm had swept through my office, leaving behind an eerie silence. There was no denying it now—Jennifer’s story felt like a twisted reflection of the life Damier had begun to share with me. Could he be Franklin? The question burned in my mind, but I couldn’t allow myself to believe it, not without proof.

$$$$$

I hadn’t seen my best friend Zaraa in months, so picking her up tonight after work felt like a breath of fresh air. She’d just finished filming Divas, a reality show I’d been dying to ask her about. With my own schedule filled with clients and the chaos of my relationship with Damier, our catch-ups had been painfully sparse.

When she climbed into my Bentley, her familiar laugh instantly put me at ease. The air between us was alive with stories we were itching to share. We decided on Roscoe’s, ordering a nostalgic and necessary spread. As we ate, Zaraa filled me in on all the behind-the-scenes drama of her show. Between bites of waffles and laughing over the absurdities of reality TV, we streamed the first couple of episodes on my phone, reliving her wildest moments on screen. It felt like old times, the noise, the energy—all of it.

As we headed out, I reached for my keys, but my steps froze as I noticed a figure standing in front of my Bentley, illuminated by the streetlights and a faint haze of smoke. The man’s stance was too familiar—the slouch, the cockiness—and when he looked up, I recognized the dark glint in his eyes that I’d only seen in old photos that Damier had shown me in our sessions. Damian.

He looked almost identical to Damier but with an edge that screamed trouble. The sight of him sent a shiver through me, though I kept my face neutral as I met his gaze. Zaraa, oblivious to who he was, rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, “Here we go. Another guy trying to act tough.”

“Dream, is that you?” he called, his voice smooth but laced with malice, the smirk on his face deepening as he sized me up.

I didn’t need to answer. He knew who I was. “What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my tone steady, ignoring the way my heart raced.

He took a lazy drag from his blunt, exhaling the smoke with a smirk before he stepped closer, invading my space. “Just wanted to meet my brother’s girl. See what all the fuss is about. You definitely are sexy as fuck. Unique, just the way my brother likes them.” He leaned in, his eyes flickering with a dangerous amusement. “I’ll cut to it—tell your nigga he’s got one last chance to cut me in, or I’ll make my own moves. And when I do, sweetheart, you’ll be the first on my list.”

A cold wave of fear washed over me, but I steadied myself, maintaining a calm expression. I’d heard about his schizophrenia and knew he had a reputation for lashing out unpredictably. Any sudden reaction from me could set him off. I kept my voice firm. “You really think I’m the one you should be threatening?”

Zaraa, still unaware of the tension, scoffed and put a hand on her hip. “Who do you think you are, coming up here and talking to her like that? You better back off, my nigga.”

Damian’s head snapped toward her, his expression darkening in a way that made even her bold attitude falter. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes alone were enough to make her step back. He turned his gaze back to me, a twisted smile returning to his face. “Deliver the message. And don’t take too long,” he said, flicking his blunt to the side before giving me one last look over. “Wouldn’t want things to get… messy.”

With that, he turned and sauntered off to a sleek Porsche parked nearby. He slid in, the engine roaring to life as he drove off, leaving a thick tension in his wake.

As his car disappeared down the street, Zaraa finally let out a nervous laugh, though her voice held a trace of awe. “Okay, he was too fine to be acting like that. Are you sure he’s not into you?”

I shook my head, my heart still pounding. “Trust me, Z. Looks don’t make up for what he’s capable of. That was Damian, Damier’s twin brother.”

Zaraa’s eyes widened, her shock turning to mild horror as she put the pieces together. “Twin? And he’s got a crazy side? You’re living in a crime novel, girl.”

I gave a shaky laugh, masking my unease as we drove back. I dropped her off at her place, and the second I was alone in the car, the adrenaline hit me all at once. I barely noticed the city lights streaming by as I navigated to Damier’s office, my thoughts a tangled mess of fear, anger, and urgency.

When I finally reached his building, I bolted out of the car, practically sprinting to his office. I needed to see him, to tell him everything that had happened, to feel safe again in his presence.

The receptionist gave me a sympathetic look as I hurried past her desk, barely acknowledging her greeting. Damier’s office door was open, and he was seated at his desk. His posture was relaxed, but the look on his face darkened the second he saw my expression. “What’s wrong, Dream?”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. But the second I opened my mouth, everything spilled out—Damian’s threat, the twisted way he’d looked at me, the malice in his voice.

He clenched his jaw, fists curling as he listened, the intensity in his eyes growing with every word. “So, he threatened you?” His voice was low, barely controlled.

I nodded, fear resurfacing now that I was reliving it. “He wants money, Damier. He’s giving you one last chance, or… or he’ll come after me.”

His expression hardened, a dangerous calm settling over him as he stood and walked over to me, pulling me into his arms. “This nigga tripping thinking he can fuck with you.”

His words, fierce and protective, gave me a sense of relief I hadn’t realized I needed. But beneath his comforting embrace, I could feel the rage simmering―a storm waiting to break.

The weight of his arms around me and his promise of protection made my fears fade, if only temporarily. I knew this would only deepen the rift between him and Damian, but there was no turning back now.