Page 13 of Certified Pressure 3 (Certified Pressure #3)

Crystal Bay

Once the jet landed, I quickly stood up and grabbed my Chanel bag from the seat beside me.

I had been smiling the whole descent because I couldn’t wait to get back home for the day.

I hadn’t been in Crystal Bay for weeks, and as much as I loved living in Trill-Land and being wrapped up in Pressure’s world, there was still something comforting about stepping back on the ground where I grew up.

The smell of the ocean in the air, the way the sun hit different in this city, even the sight of the palm trees lining the runway felt like a welcome I didn’t know I needed.

I stepped off the jet with a little bounce in my step, the heels of my Louboutins clicking against the pavement.

Today was supposed to be a good day. I was finally engaged, officially about to marry the man who had changed my life in ways I could barely put into words, and I wanted my parents to be the first to hear it from me face-to-face.

I couldn’t wait to see my father’s reaction when I told him.

My mother… that was a different story. Things between us had been rocky for as long as I could remember, and I wasn’t sure if she’d even care about me being engaged, but that didn’t stop me from having high hopes.

No matter what flaws they had, they were still my parents, and a part of me was still that little girl who wanted their approval.

The Uber ride from the private terminal to their house was quick, maybe twenty minutes at most. I kept looking out the window, recognizing streets and stores that brought back memories.

My heart started to beat a little faster the closer we got.

When the car turned onto my parents’ block, I leaned forward and looked at the familiar two-story home sitting in the middle of the quiet street.

It wasn’t a mansion, but it had always been beautiful in its own way.

The cream-colored stucco, the red-tiled roof, the black iron balcony over the front door, looked like the kind of house that held stories, laughter, arguments, and everything in between.

My father’s black Benz was parked in the driveway, shining like he’d just had it detailed, but my mother’s car wasn’t here.

I paid the driver, slid out of the backseat, and smoothed my skirt before walking up the path.

I already had my key in my hand, and I smiled to myself because I’d never once been without one.

Even when I moved into my own apartment, and after I started spending more time away than at home, they had never taken it from me.

This was still my home, whether I lived here or not.

The door clicked open, and the familiar scent of vanilla candles mixed with a faint trace of my mother’s favorite perfume drifted into my nose.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and the sound of my heels echoed across the hardwood floors.

The house looked the same as always—family pictures lined the hallway, the glass coffee table in the living room had fresh flowers sitting in the middle, and the cream leather couches were spotless like my mother kept them.

Everything felt so normal that my smile grew wider.

“Daddy,” I called out, dropping my bag onto the couch as I glanced toward the kitchen. “I’m home.”

Silence answered me, but I wasn’t worried.

I figured he was upstairs, so I kicked off my heels, leaving them near the couch, and started walking through the house.

The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a glow on the tan walls and the framed art my mother loved collecting from flea markets.

“Daddy,” I called again as I made my way up the stairs, my hand brushing along the smooth wooden banister. “Where you at? I got somethin’ to tell you.”

I reached the top and paused when I heard music playing faintly down the hall. A slow R&B song, the kind of music my father always liked when he was chilling. I smiled to myself, assuming he was in the bedroom, probably stretched out with a drink, just vibing in his own world.

I walked down the hall and stopped at the door, my hand resting on the knob. I was still grinning, thinking about the way his face was about to light up when I told him about Pressure. I twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

My smile froze instantly…

The music filled the room louder now, and the scene in front of me made my whole body go stiff.

My father wasn’t stretched out on the bed, and he damn sure wasn’t relaxing.

He was bent over, naked, with his hands gripping the hips of a woman who looked younger than me, slamming into her like he had no care in the world.

For a moment, I couldn’t even process what I was seeing.

My Chanel bag slipped a little in my hand, and I just stood there frozen, staring at my own father inside the bedroom I grew up peeking into for bedtime stories.

He didn’t even notice me at first. He was too lost in what he was doing, his face twisted with pleasure, and his voice low as he groaned.

Five seconds passed before his eyes finally lifted and locked on mine.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion then.

His body jerked back, he pulled himself out of the woman, and she screamed when she realized I was standing there.

She scrambled for the sheets, clutching them to her chest before she bolted toward the bathroom with her heels clutched in her hands.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the room, and my father was left standing there, bare and exposed, looking just as shocked as me.

My chest felt tight as I clutched my bag harder and took a step back.

I couldn’t believe I had just walked in on my father like that.

I had always known he was a cheater, and always suspected he was out doing his dirt when my mother wasn’t around, but I never thought he would be so bold as to bring it home.

I quickly turned away and stumbled back into the hallway, my heart racing.

I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath until I reached the living room and dropped onto the couch, pressing my hands against my face.

My mind was spinning with too many thoughts at once.

I wasn’t even shocked that he was with another woman, but it was the fact that I had just seen him naked.

It was the fact that he had no shame doing it in the home where his family lived.

Minutes passed before I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I lifted my head just in time to see him walking the woman out, her hair messy and her clothes wrinkled. He whispered something to her, and she nodded before rushing past me with her eyes glued to the floor.

I let out a long sigh and shook my head, my stomach twisting as I leaned back against the couch. When he came back inside, he didn’t even look embarrassed. He rubbed a hand over his head and muttered, “I’m sorry you had to see that, baby. You should’ve called first.”

I looked at him, my eyes narrowing, because that was all he had to say? He didn’t give an explanation, and he had no fucking shame. He just gave a half-assed apology like I had walked in on him watching TV too loud.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” I said slowly, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “This is still my home, right? Or at least it’s supposed to be. Where is mama?”

He shifted on his feet, avoiding my eyes. “Your mama went to the salon. She’ll be back later.”

The way he brushed past everything made me feel sick.

After being gone for weeks, I had come back ready to share good news, and to feel that sense of family I thought I still had, but instead I was met with the same darkness that had followed me my whole life.

My father’s cheating wasn’t new, but it was the kind of wound that never fully healed and seeing it up close like this just reminded me of everything I had tried to escape.

I leaned back on the couch, pressing my lips together as I stared at the man who was supposed to be my first example of how a man should treat a woman. All I felt was disappointment settling heavy in my chest.

A few hours passed and I was slowly getting over the shock of walking in on my daddy with another woman.

The image still lingered in the back of my mind, but sitting with him in the living room softened it.

It was awkward at first, both of us avoiding the subject like it hadn’t just happened, but the bond we had was too strong to let that moment hang between us for long.

My father was the one person I had always felt I could lean on.

He had a way of disarming me and made me feel like his baby girl no matter how grown I got, and that part of him was still here.

He didn’t flinch when I kept side-eyeing him like I was waiting for him to say something about what I’d seen.

Instead, he poured me a drink, sat across from me, and started cracking jokes like nothing was wrong and it worked.

Against my will, I laughed. I let the moment wash over me because it was easier than dwelling on the sight of him naked with another woman in the bedroom he shared with my mama.

The two of us sat for hours, the conversation flowing the way it always had when we were around each other.

The conversation circled around everything I’d missed in just a couple of weeks.

Daddy told me about which neighbors had been stopping by, how the garden was starting to look rough because Mama refused to let anyone else touch her roses, and how he had been keeping himself busy with work.

I updated him on Trill-Land, letting him know about the new restaurants Pressure had taken me to, the people I had met, and how different life felt when you were living in his world.

Two hours slipped by before the sound of the front door opening broke through our easy rhythm. My father’s head turned, and I followed his gaze as the clicking of heels echoed against the hardwood floors.

My mother stepped inside like she was on a runway.

Her new hairstyle was sleek and sharp, the bob framing her face perfectly, and her nails flashed when they caught the light.

Her perfume drifted into the room before she even reached us, the strong floral scent wrapping itself around everything. She looked good, and she knew it.

Her eyes landed on me, and surprise flickered across her face for only a second before she smoothed it away with a smile. It was a practiced smile, the one she had worn all my life, and it never fooled me. “Well,” she said, her voice warm on the surface, “this is a pleasant surprise.”

I stood up quickly, brushing my skirt down and walking toward her.

The tension had been sitting on me since the moment I walked into this house, and I thought maybe hugging her would help dissolve some of it.

I wrapped my arms around her, trying to bridge the gap between us, but her hug back was light and careful, more about preserving her hair and nails than connecting with me.

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, her tone measured, and before I could respond, she added, “Pressure must not have chosen you.”

The words slid into me like a blade, not enough to make me bleed on the outside but sharp enough to sting deep. I swallowed the irritation and forced my smile back into place. “No, Mama,” I said evenly. “He did choose me.”

I lifted my hand and stretched it toward her, the diamond on my finger catching the chandelier light above us. The sparkle filled the room, impossible to ignore, and I let it shine while I spoke. “We’re engaged.”

Her eyebrows arched high before she could stop them, and the surprise on her face gave her away before she could cover it.

She quickly forced another smile, pressing her lips into a neat line like she wanted me to believe she was happy.

“Engaged?” she repeated softly, her tone laced with disbelief.

A small laugh followed, and she pressed her hand against her hip. “Well… congratulations.”

It wasn’t blatant disrespect, but I felt it. The forced smile, the sarcasm curled into her voice, the way her eyes scanned me as if she couldn’t quite believe a man like Pressure had asked me to marry him—it was irritating as hell.

She turned toward the kitchen, smoothing a hand over her bob like she was checking her reflection in her mind. “You should be careful though,” she said casually. “Men like him… men who have that kind of power and attention… they can’t be faithful to save their lives.”

I almost laughed out loud. The irony of it was ridiculous.

She had no idea that while she was sitting at the salon letting somebody style her hair and polish her nails, her husband had been in their bed with another woman.

She was trying to lecture me on what to look out for in a man while hers had just finished disrespecting her in the worst way.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything.

It wasn’t worth blowing up the moment, even though every part of me wanted to throw it back in her face.

My father must have felt the shift in the room because he suddenly clapped his hands together and stood up with a wide grin. “Baby girl, I’m proud of you,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension. “And you know your mama and I will support every decision you make.”

He walked over to the bar cart and grabbed three champagne glasses, filling each one until the bubbles rose to the rim. He handed one to me, one to my mother, and held his own high.

“To my daughter,” he said, his smile genuine and his eyes glowing with pride. “To Kashmere and this new chapter in her life. May it be everything she deserves and more.”

I lifted my glass and tapped it against his, the warmth of his words sinking into me and softening the sharpness of what had just passed. My mother clinked her glass too, her smile plastered back onto her face as she echoed, “To Kashmere.”

But when I looked into her eyes, I saw the truth. She wasn’t really happy for me. She could raise her glass and force her smile, but underneath it all, there was something else. It was something closer to rivalry than love, and I felt it down to my core.

I sipped the champagne and leaned back into the couch, letting the bubbles fizz against my tongue while silently promising myself that no matter how my mother felt, nothing could take away from what Pressure and I had. He had chosen me, and that was all that mattered.