Page 5 of Blake University HBCU Chronicles: Nuri & Silas

D raped in a gold and black Balmain T-shirt that fit his frame just right, paired with Balmain black jeans and Unicorn low sneakers, Silas was fine as hell, light flex.

He embodied the aura of the man who had the city in the palm of his hand.

A black diamond chain rested across his chest, catching the light with every movement.

Matching bracelet, and an iced-out black diamond Patek on his wrist. Even the time agreed that he was that nigga.

Silas didn’t step out often. That kind of luxury came with room to slip, and he didn’t leave space for none of that.

Tonight he needed freedom, even if it came dressed in basslines and liquor.

He stood in the mirror, and slid his soft-bristle Torino brush over his deep, spinning waves–eyes low, movements smoother than the black and gold.

Balmain shirt stretched across his chest.

Rich.

Boss.

Unreachable.

Right before he dipped, his phone chimed just before he slid his wallet into his back pocket.

“Yo.”

“What’s good fam?” Memphis spoke above the noise of the club roaring behind him. “It’s thick in here. You en route?”

“Ten out. Order some Henny and Azul.”

“Say less.”

It’d been a good week. Clean drops. Fast money.

No slip-ups, no drama. Silas figured he’d reward himself.

Not with anything wild, just wanted to feed that part of him that still craved a little noise.

He didn’t party in Cove City. Never had, never would.

It was too risky. He wasn’t about to be on somebody’s IG story standing behind a bottle girl, while his students blew up the comment section.

That’s why he drove an hour out—no face, no case.

By the time Silas pulled up to VYCE CLUB , engine purring low, and the valet was already waiting, eyes widening at the sight of the black 2024 Ferrari Purosangue gliding to a stop at the curb.

Silas stepped out slow, knowing all eyes were on him before the door lifted.

VYCE CLUB sat just outside city lines—far enough to keep his name outta whispers, close enough to reach if he needed to disappear.

He wore power like cologne. Even the air shifted when he passed.

The valet took the keys, and Silas slipped him a few folded hundreds with a nod. No words.

The side entrance was thirty steps from the curb.

Closest in, quickest out. That wasn’t paranoia—it was protocol.

Silas didn’t move sloppy. Not even on nights meant for fun.

As soon as he stepped inside the club it was lit.

Key Glock’s Understood rattled the walls, made the floor vibrate beneath his sneakers.

The crowd moved like water—bodies swaying, bottles flashing, security too distracted to matter.

Silas’ eyes cut through the crowd like glass, but when he looked up at the mezzanine level he smiled when he spotted his mans’ Memphis vibing with some shorty he likely just met in their private section.

Henny bottle in one hand, the other gripping her ass.

Everywhere he went, his presence was respected.

Despite the attention Silas received he didn’t pause for none of it.

He moved through like a song with a dope hook—it was so good it stayed on repeat…

stayed in your head even after it went off.

When Silas reached the VIP , bottles were already popped, and the booth was full of expensive cigar smoke, laughter, and heavy flirtation.

Future’s Turn On The Lights dropped next.

“What’s good, my nigga?” Memphis greeted as soon as Silas made it to their VIP. “Shorty said she got some friends that wanna come spend the night wit’ us.”

“Who?” Silas asked. “Ol’ girl wearing the dress that’s barely holdin’ on?”

“Hell yea, that’s her.”

“I’m straight, dawg. My pallet callin’ for some otha shit tonight.”

Memphis nodded, while Silas grabbed his personal bottle of Henny and Azul, and got comfortable. His mind stayed moving. Watching. Even when his body sat still.

Silas leaned back, glass loose in his hand, the burn of Henny sliding down his throat without resistance.

The Azul had hit first—clean and smooth, but the Henny never missed, always putting him right where he needed to be.

Had him feeling weightless and grounded at the same time.

However, no matter how much liquor coasted through his veins, he couldn’t shake her.

Nuri Sinclair had lived rent-free in his thoughts for three years, but lately, he hasn’t been able to shake her.

Even when he closed his eyes, he saw her.

He’d tried to pivot his focus, to let the music distract him.

Tried to look left when every piece of him leaned right.

It was no use. He was just like a kid told he couldn’t have something—he wanted her more.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, but when he opened them; he swore his eyes had betrayed him.

When he opened them, his eyes caught movement on the dance floor—slow, rhythmic, fluid.

It was her. He took another, long swig of Henny, then looked again. What the hell she doin' here? Is she alone? Who she came with? Who’s watching her? The questions came fast; too fast. And the fact that he didn’t have an answer to any of them was unacceptable.

He didn’t like feeling caught off guard, but Nuri had done just that without even knowing it.

She was in her own world—twirling her hair, sipping slow from her glass, dancing like nobody in that club existed but her and the bassline.

Like peace wasn’t something she looked for… it was something she brought with her.

Silas studied her for damn near an hour, waiting to see if she was there with anyone else.

He refused to entertain anyone else. Silas had watched Nuri enjoy herself by herself, and that shit was a major turn on knowing she didn't need a crowd with her to feel validated.

Silas needed to get closer. Needed to talk to her.

Rising from his seat he motioned for Twan, his hired security that was in his section.

“I need a private room,” Silas said, eyes never leaving her. “And I need her…” He nodded in Nuri’s direction. “To join me. Alone.”

Twan gave a sharp nod. “Bet.” He pivoted quick, already halfway across the floor before Silas sat back down.

Memphis, posted in his usual spot, lifted a brow and chuckled. “I was wonderin’ when you was gon’ make ya move. Shittt… go ‘head and live a little. Shorty bad as hell.”

Silas didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t even blink. “Aye, watch ya mouth, nigga,” his voice was calm. Controlled. But it landed heavy.

Memphis raised both hands like a man who knew his limits. “My bad, boss. Ain’t mean no disrespect.”

“Hold it down. I’ll be back.” Silas nodded then he dipped without hesitation.

Silas slid through the back hallway of Vyce like he’d been there a thousand times before. Every step closer to her felt heavier. Like the shit he tried to keep buried. Silas wasn’t the type to chase, but something about Nuri Sinclair had his ass ready to run.

That desire.

That pull.

It had forced its way to the surface. Silas had no idea what the hell he was about to say to her, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t leaving the club without Nuri. The hallway leading to the back rooms of Vyce was quiet, dimly lit, and smelled like too many secrets had been kept there.

Room 9. That’s where Twan directed him, and as soon as Silas stepped inside he immediately approved.

It was lowkey but gave luxury vibes. The lights were cut off, but a black light near the ceiling glowed purple, casting everything in soft, seductive shadows.

The air was smoky, laced with sandalwood and expensive liquor.

A black leather loveseat sat across from a low-sitting glass coffee table, and just a few feet away, a built-in minibar gleamed with rows of Henny, Rémy, Don Julio, and three types of tequila.

Everything about the room said privacy and top-tier.

Silas didn’t sit down right away. He poured himself a double shot of Henny without thinking twice—dark liquor, no chaser—and let it sit heavy on his tongue before swallowing it down, then posted in the middle of the loveseat like it was his throne.

Minutes later, Nuri walked in like the room belonged to her before Silas ever touched it.

Black leather pants that hugged her hips like skin.

A lace top that was see-through enough to start shit and detailed enough to end it.

Her bra was visible beneath the threads, but tasteful—like she knew exactly where the line was and how to step over it without stumbling.

Her hair was bone straight, with a deep-defined side part, and her makeup was always on point.

Silver hoops.

Silver bangles.

Silver rings.

Her appeal was palpable as she closed the door slowly behind her. In this space the professor-student label was non-existent. There was no title. No rules. Just two adults who were attracted to each other with nothing but space and opportunity between them.

Silas tilted his head slightly, his gaze low but locked in, then nodded toward her with a motion so smooth it almost looked like a dare.

“Come here.”

He was already leaned back on the loveseat, one arm draped over the back, legs wide, body relaxed…

but every part of him was watching . Her eyes locked on him and didn’t shift.

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask for permission.

And that…That made his pulse quicken under the surface of his skin.

She walked toward him slowly, but not like she was teasing him.

It was like she was taking what she’d already claimed, and she didn’t need permission.

Instead of taking the chair that was a short distance away, Nuri took the seat beside him, closing any and all space between them.