Page 37 of Certified Pressure 3 (Certified Pressure #3)

Trill-Land, Jungle Estate

Since Pressure had been away, getting him on the phone felt impossible and that shit had me feeling some type of way.

I had been staring at my phone for what felt like hours, refreshing the messages, checking my call log, scrolling through the thread just to see if I missed something, but it was always the same.

My name wasn’t lighting up on his screen and he damn sure wasn’t lighting up mine.

The water in the tub was still hot, steam rising high enough to blur the mirror across from me.

I slid deeper into it, letting it cover my chest and shoulders, but even that couldn’t wash away how irritated I was.

Soft R&B played low from the speaker by the sink, and that usually relaxed me, but right now every note just made me think harder.

I had my glass of wine sitting on the edge of the tub, half-empty, and the more I thought about Pressure, the more I wanted to finish it.

I picked up my phone again, my thumb hovering over his name.

I had already sent him a few texts, some calm, some not.

Where you at? You said you would call me back.

You with her? I hated even typing it, but the thought had been eating at me since he left.

I didn’t have proof, but I knew Pluto still had some kind of hold on him.

I scrolled up through old messages, looking at the ones where he used to call me baby every other line.

That tone was gone now, replaced by short replies and one-word answers that didn’t match how he used to talk to me.

My mind started running through every scenario possible and I could feel my gut tightening the more I thought about it.

I put the phone down and took a long sip of my wine, letting it burn down slow. I wanted to be calm, but my head was loud. The same thoughts kept repeating. If he wasn’t answering me, then what the fuck was he doing? Who was he with? And why couldn’t he just be honest?

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, trying to talk myself down, but the images of him and Pluto together kept flashing behind my eyelids.

I pictured her smiling, him touching her the way he used to touch me and that soft look he always got when he was trying to be gentle.

My stomach turned. I sank lower in the tub until the water covered my neck and ears, but that didn’t stop it either.

I could still hear my own thoughts echoing loud in my head.

When I finally sat up again, the song had switched to something slower, and I could feel the weight of every lyric pressing on my chest. My eyes burned, but I wasn’t about to cry. I was mad, and underneath that anger was hurt so deep it almost scared me.

I thought about his damn mama too. It was the way she sat there with that perfect little smile and told me right to my face that another woman would come before me.

It was her telling me she only wanted what was best for her son.

That shit replayed in my head word for word.

I had nodded like I was okay, but deep down, I was boiling.

It was the way she said it, like I wasn’t enough, and like she had already made up her mind about me.

Pressure didn’t say nothing about the shit she pulled at the dinner table days ago.

He just sat there, looking stupid as fuck, like he didn’t want to cross her.

I wanted him to check her, to defend me and tell her that I wasn’t some random chick he was playing with.

But he didn’t, and that shit hurt just as much as her words did.

I leaned forward and picked up the wine glass again, finishing what was left in one swallow. The heat from the water and the alcohol mixed together, and I could feel it spreading through me. It wasn’t comfort though, instead, rage with nowhere to go.

I looked down at the bubbles breaking around my skin, then at the small ripples moving across the water, and I thought about the nights I stayed home waiting for Pressure to call, and the way I let myself love him even when he made it hard to.

I hated that I still loved him through all this and I hated that I still wanted to believe he was in love with me.

Just as I reached for the bottle to pour another glass, I heard the room door open. The sound was faint, but it was enough to pull me out of my head. I froze for a second, listening. Then I heard heavy I knew that sound anywhere.

It was Pressure…

I stayed in the tub a little longer, pretending I didn’t notice.

I wasn’t about to jump up like I’d been waiting by the door.

I grabbed the loofah and dragged it across my arms slow, washing off what little patience I had left.

The smell of his cologne drifted through the crack under the bathroom door, that rich, warm scent that always made my chest ache.

After a few minutes, I finally pulled the plug on the drain and stood up.

Water slid down my legs, glistening in the low light.

I grabbed my towel from the rack and wrapped it around myself, then wiped a clear spot on the fogged-up mirror.

My reflection stared back at me. My eyes were a little red, my lips pouty and my hair stuck to the side of my face, but I still looked like me. I still looked like Kashmere Charm.

I opened the door and stepped out into the bedroom. Pressure was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t even notice me. His duffel bag sat on the floor by his feet, still zipped up.

From where I was standing, I could see the side of his face, his beard glistening and the tattoos peeking out from under his shirt. He looked calm, like a man who didn’t have a single thing on his conscience. That only made me madder.

“How was your trip?” I asked, my voice coming out smooth but cold.

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since he walked in. “It was straight,” he said simply.

I stared at him for a moment, then raised a brow. “I bet.”

He didn’t say nothing. He just went right back to scrolling on his phone like my attitude didn’t bother him. That hit me harder, only adding to my damn irritation.

“So you wasn’t with nobody?” I asked, my arms crossing over my chest.

Pressure sighed and looked up again, this time with that tired expression he always got when he thought I was doing too much. “Kash, I told you where I was. I was out handling business.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Business, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly, his voice calm but cold enough to make me want to throw something.

I stood there for another second, staring at him.

There were so many things I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell him how lonely it felt not hearing from him, how much I hated wondering where I stood with him and how much I still loved him even when I wanted to hate him, but I knew none of it would come out right.

So instead, I turned to walk away. I only made it a few steps before I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. My voice came out low but firm. “I just hope you got enough respect for me to be honest, Pressure. That’s all I ever asked you for.”

He didn’t respond, and that silence told me everything I needed to know.

I went back into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me. The mirror was still fogged, but I wiped it clear again and reached for my body oil. The soft scent filled the air while I smoothed it over my skin, watching my reflection as I moved. My thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.

Pressure had given me a life I couldn’t ignore. The cars, the clothes, the mansion, all of it had my name written on it. He made sure I was good, and even made sure the world saw me as his, but when it came to his heart, I still felt like I was on the outside looking in.

I rubbed the oil into my thighs and looked myself in the eyes through the mirror. “You’re not losing this, bitch,” I whispered.

That was my truth. I wasn’t about to let Pluto or anyone else take what I was trying to build.

I earned my place in Trill-Land, and if his mama or the rest of them didn’t like it, that was their problem.

Oh fuckin’ well! Abeni could talk all she wanted, but she didn’t run me, and she wasn’t about to run Pressure once he became my husband.

I leaned on the counter, staring at my reflection like I was staring at my own warning. If Pressure wasn’t going to make it official soon, I would. I was done waiting. I was done playing the background while everyone else had an opinion about who deserved him.

I reached for my phone again, opened my calendar, and started scrolling through dates. If nobody else was going to move this wedding forward, I would, even if I had to drag this nigga by his damn head—we was getting married.

Because at the end of the day, I wasn’t just his girl. I was the woman who loved him enough to fight for him, even when it hurt, and once I had my ring and my title, nobody would be able to control what I had going on with Pressure.

As the weeks rolled by, I found myself deep in wedding planning mode, and it was the kind of planning that made me feel alive.

Every morning started with phone calls, appointments, and designers sending sketches that didn’t feel big enough for what I had in mind.

Pressure acted like he didn’t care about half of it, but I knew he loved watching me run the show.

That man liked seeing me in control even when he pretended to be annoyed by it.

The first fitting was at a boutique in Nzuri Hall that looked like something out of a dream.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the air smelled like vanilla and new money.

Racks of gowns shimmered under the light, each one more dramatic than the last. When I walked in, the owner greeted me by name, already knowing I was the bride that came with the tab that didn’t have a limit.