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Trinity Bay Arena was packed to capacity, the energy buzzing as graduates, families, and friends filled the stands. The stage was set at the center, draped in the school’s colors, black and gold banners hanging high, the words Class of 2025 shining in bold letters across the screen.

Krys adjusted her sunglasses as she and Kenyatta made their way inside with Kaliyah, who gripped her dad’s hand tightly, taking everything in.

“You sure we even supposed to be here?” Kenyatta asked, leaning toward Krys.

“Would you relax?” she told him. “We belong everywhere.”

He exhaled, tugging at the designer shirt she got him. “I just ain’t been in a stadium like this since—” He caught himself, shaking his head.

“Since what?” Krys pressed.

Kenyatta glanced at her. “Since my last court date.”

Krys burst out laughing, covering her mouth when people turned to look.

“Not funny?” he muttered.

“It is. Just—” she composed herself. “Try not to look like you ‘bout to get sentenced.”

Kaliyah tugged at his sleeve. “Daddy, look! That girl’s shoes light up!”

Krys followed her gaze and asked with excitement matching hers, “You want some?”

Kaliyah’s eyes widened, looking at her, then at Kenyatta.

“She don’t need those,” Kenyatta muttered, but Kaliyah had already locked onto Krys, newfound admiration in her eyes.

Krys winked. “We’ll talk later.”

Kenyatta exhaled through his nose. “I see what you doing, Bae.”

“Me?” Krys said innocently. “I’m just building rapport with my future stepdaughter.”

Kenyatta choked. “Man—”

“Shh,” Krys whispered, eyes twinkling. “Ceremony’s starting.”

Kenyatta shook his head but smirked despite himself.

The ceremony was long as hell, but it was worth it when Sydnee’s little brother crossed the stage, snatching his diploma with a proud grin. The entire family section erupted in cheers, Krys included, standing and clapping like she’d been supporting him since birth.

“You don’t even like them like that,” Kenyatta muttered, clapping lazily.

“True, but I love being seen,” she grinned.

Kenyatta chuckled, rubbing his chin. “Yeah, I peeped that.”

Krys just flipped her hair.

Now, onto the real show.

**********

The moment they pulled up to Karen and Thomas’ house in Westview Terrace, Krys felt the shift.

Unlike Bayfront Heights, this wasn’t old money, nor was it generational wealth; this was new money trying to look like old money. A neighborhood built on flexing harder than your bank account allowed. Expensive cars parked outside houses with past due mortgages, designer fits worn by people still living check-to-check, and pools that only got used when company came over. Bougie, but with a hint of hood.

The house itself was a two-story modern colonial with an oversized porch and tacky finishes that screamed “somebody wanna be rich real bad.” The lawn was perfectly edged, but the HOA fees probably hurt. Driveways showcased leased foreigns, and inside were marble countertops, velvet curtains, and at least one room with furniture no one was allowed to sit on.

The scent of seasoned barbecue and overpriced candles mixed in the air, while trap music laced with R it was about showing up with him.

The moment she stepped out of her black S-Class Mercedes, all eyes turned to the driveway. Krys knew her family. Knew they were about to have a damn field day.

As Krys strutted forward, leading the way toward the backyard, confidence radiating from every step, she was well aware of the attention shifting in her direction. The summer sun kissed her skin just right, highlighting the golden undertones in her complexion as her fitted dress hugged every curve effortlessly.

Kenyatta moved beside her, unbothered as ever, but he wasn’t blind. He caught how heads turned, how conversations momentarily halted, how the subtle hush of whispers spread through the backyard like a slow ripple.

A few uncles paused mid-sip from their cups, already sizing him up. A group of women by the patio gave Krys that knowing glance, like they couldn’t wait to get her alone and dig into the tea.

Kenyatta clocked Zahir immediately. Posted up near the grill with Trevor, arms folded, jaw tight. His whole stance screamed agitation, but he played it cool for now.

Kaliyah stuck close to her father’s side, her wide brown eyes flicking around, taking in all the unfamiliar faces in the lively backyard. The space was immaculate, perfectly manicured lawn, high end patio furniture, a gleaming outdoor bar, and a DJ booth set up near the firepit, already blasting smooth R hard to tell when he was playing it up for the crowd or if he was being genuine.

Kenyatta grinned.

Krys took another sip, looking away. “Don’t start that shit.”