Page 4 of Certified Pressure 2

Trill-Land, Jungle Estate

I had just spent hours setting up my new room.

Every bag was unpacked, my clothes were hung neatly, and the small things I brought with me were placed around so it actually felt like mine.

The space was beautiful already, but I needed to put my touch on it because I didn’t want to feel like I was just a visitor here, especially since Pressure refused to let me stay in his room.

This wasn’t temporary for me. I was here for a reason, and in my heart, I was convinced that reason was Pressure.

As I fixed the last pillow on the bed, I paused, catching myself lost in thought again.

I didn’t have the right to feel any type of way about Pressure moving on because I’d done it years ago, but I couldn’t help it.

No matter how much I tried to move forward, I missed him.

Pressure had always been reckless, his temper short, and his possessiveness sometimes made me want to run as far away as possible.

My father couldn’t stand him, claimed he was disrespectful and wild, and maybe he was right in some ways.

But even with all that, nobody ever fought for me or protected me like Pressure did.

What most people didn’t know was that we had already lived a whole lifetime together.

What Pressure didn’t like to acknowledge was that I had been his fiancé once, and I carried his child.

It was a little boy that both of our families couldn’t wait to meet.

I was seven months along, feeling every kick, dreaming of what life was about to look like for us.

We had names picked out, little arguments over paint colors for a nursery and plans that felt too solid to break.

Then one day, our baby just stopped moving.

Just like that, everything we thought we were building shattered.

I could still remember the silence in that hospital room, the way my whole body felt hollow, and the way Pressure stood there with rage in his eyes because he didn’t know how to grieve.

He never talked about it again. He told people he never had a child, lied like it never happened, and buried it so deep that sometimes I wondered if I imagined it all. But I hadn’t. I felt every kick. I lived through every second of that loss, and so did he.

Later, when I ended up pregnant again, the weight of that grief crushed me all over.

I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t. I thought I could handle it on my own.

I thought I could just end it before he even knew.

I remember holding the abortion pills in my hand, crying in the bathroom, convincing myself it was for the best. I kept telling myself I couldn’t go through another loss. And that’s when he walked in on me.

The look on his face when he stepped closer to me and realized I was holding the pill bottle with tears streaming down my face is something I’ll never forget.

He grabbed me as soon as I swallowed them, his hands rough, one of them around my throat so tight, trying to force me to spit them out, but the damage was done.

He was cussing, begging, furious, terrified—all at the same time.

That moment changed everything. From then on, he never trusted me again.

His love twisted into something darker. He couldn’t let me go anywhere, couldn’t let me breathe without him knowing exactly where I was.

The cage he built around me was made of grief and fear, but it was still a cage, and eventually it became unbearable.

That’s why I fled. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I couldn’t survive like that.

During that time, I was trying to heal, so I returned to my home that I had never fully moved out of, even when I was engaged to Pressure.

I threw myself into new routines—going out more, hitting the gym, trying to distract myself from the hole Pressure left behind.

That’s where I met Donovan. He was different.

He was calm, easygoing and somebody who didn’t come with all the chaos and scars I’d just walked away from.

At first, he felt like a breath of fresh air, something new to take my mind off everything I’d gone through with Pressure.

After spending all those years tied to a man who consumed every part of me, Donovan seemed easy, predictable and safe.

For a while, I let myself believe he was what I needed.

He showed up, he listened, he didn’t demand every piece of me.

But eventually the cracks started to show.

Pressure harassed Donovan every chance he got.

It didn’t matter where we were—if they crossed paths at a club, in traffic, or even if Pressure decided to pull up to my house—he made sure Donovan felt small.

He’d press him, talk crazy to him, threaten to beat the shit out of him right in front of me.

Pressure made it his mission to bully him, and it wore Donovan down little by little until it started to become too much.

Pressure kept his foot on Donovan’s neck, crashed his bachelor party just to make him call me and cancel our wedding in front of everybody, then turned around and shot him in the leg.

Donovan hated how weak that made him look.

Instead of standing up to Pressure, he turned that frustration on me, blaming me for everything he couldn’t control.

The resentment sat in him so deep that he eventually put his hands on me, and in that moment, I knew for sure he wasn’t the one for me.

No matter how reckless Pressure was, he never beat me.

Thinking about Donovan made me shake my head.

That whole relationship had been a mistake, a weak attempt to convince myself I could live without Pressure.

Donovan used to feel safe and predictable, but he wasn’t strong enough to stand next to me the way Pressure had.

Deep down, I always knew it. And now, seeing Pressure move forward without me, looking for a wife in front of the whole world, it pulled me right back here.

When I walked into this mansion earlier, I truly thought he would see me, consider our history and drop every single one of these bitches on the spot.

I thought he would know immediately that we were supposed to finish what we started.

I thought he would choose me, no questions asked.

But the way he looked at me told me it wasn’t that simple anymore.

This wasn’t just some flyer on social media.

This was real. He was really searching for someone to stand next to him for life, someone to carry his children when I couldn’t, to live in this estate and wear his name with pride.

That realization stung, because I knew I had wasted time with Donovan, and now I had to fight for what used to be mine.

And maybe the worst part of it all—the part that made my chest ache whenever I thought about it—was that the idea of him marrying someone else and having a child with her would forever remind me of the baby I lost. That’s why I was here. That’s why I came back.

I sat at the vanity, touching up my makeup and giving myself the extra confidence I needed.

A little gloss, a little more liner and a quick change into a dress that hugged me in all the right places.

When I was satisfied, I poured myself a glass of wine and headed toward the back patio where I had heard voices earlier.

The sliding door opened smoothly, and the cool night air hit me as I stepped outside.

The pool lights glowed against the water, and the sound of low laughter faded as soon as they noticed me.

Two women were sitting out there, cups and a half-burnt blunt on the table between them.

I didn’t fully know their names yet, but I could tell by the way they both looked at me that they weren’t happy to see me.

Their eyes followed me as I walked with confidence across the patio, wine glass in my hand, and took a seat.

“Evening,” I said smoothly, keeping my tone light.

Neither of them looked eager to return the energy. They stared, almost daring me to prove I had a reason to sit down. I crossed my legs, sipped my wine, and broke the silence myself. “So, how y’all liking the mansion?”

One of them finally answered, her tone dry as she leaned back in her chair. “It’s straight.”

The other didn’t say a word. She looked right past me like I wasn’t even there, her expression calm but sharp enough to let me know she was ignoring me on purpose.

I studied her for a second. She was cute, I couldn’t deny that, but I could already tell she was the type that thought too highly of herself.

She was conceited. I didn’t like being dismissed, especially not in a place where I had history they couldn’t even imagine.

I took another slow sip of my wine and smiled. Her silence told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t just another contestant hoping for a shot at Pressure. She already had strong feelings for him, and the way she avoided me said she didn’t want me anywhere near him. That only fueled me more.

“I ain’t gon’ lie,” I said casually, swirling the wine in my glass, “this place feels good to me. I missed it. I spent years here with Pressure, you know. We built a bond no one could even begin to comprehend inside this estate.”

That got her attention. She didn’t say anything, but the way she cleared her throat and abruptly stood up said it all. She grabbed her cup, glanced at the other woman, and muttered, “I’ll get up with you later Toni.”

“Okay, Kashmere.”

Then she walked right past me without a second look. Her hips swayed as she moved, and the air shifted just enough to let her perfume drift in my direction before she disappeared inside.