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Krys stared at her plate, her fork dragging through the remnants of what used to be a Michelin-star-level masterpiece, now reduced to a tragic wasteland of forgotten dreams. Across from her, Taurean, her sister’s perfect pick, was still talking.

And talking.

And talking.

“…so, I told my boss, ‘ I don’t work overtime unless I’m getting paid overtime ,’ you feel me? Ain’t nobody about to take advantage of me.”

Krys gave a slow, robotic nod, her soul actively trying to escape her body. She wasn’t listening.

Not even a little. Not even by accident.

This man had spent the past forty-five years—or thirty minutes, same thing—talking about himself; his job, his gym routine, his “crazy exes,” the time he almost got drafted into the NBA, the time he almost opened his own business, the time he almost ran into Denzel Washington at the airport, but it was just a man in glasses.

Krys took a slow, desperate sip of her wine, contemplating whether smashing the glass and faking an injury would be more effective than simply running out of the restaurant.

Instead, she slid her phone under the table and furiously texted Meisha.

[Krys] 8:49 PM— GIRL. CODE RED. I NEED YOU TO CALL ME NOW.

[Krys] 8:49 PM— I’M BEGGING YOU. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY. LEVEL. TEN.

She hit send and peeked up to see Taurean grinning at her like he had just revealed the secrets of the universe.

“You feel me?” he asked, eyes twinkling, as if he had just delivered the monologue of a lifetime.

Krys stared at him. Then forced a tight smile. “Mmm. That’s crazy.”

That was all she had left in the tank.

Where the hell was Meisha! She checked her phone. No reply. No call.

Her eye twitched. That heifa was playing. Meanwhile, Taurean was still talking.

“You ever been with an athlete before?” he asked, leaning back with a smirk like he was about to bless her with a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Krys blinked. “I thought you said you almost made it to the NBA.”

Taurean chuckled, waving his hand like the technicality didn’t matter. “I mean, yeah, but it’s still the same. I got the discipline, you know? The mindset. I treat my body like a temple.”

Krys took in his polo shirt stretched over a gut that was very much under construction and bit the inside of her cheek. Did this man just compare his cubicle life to the likings of Trinity Bay’s Cyclone’s power forward Xavier “Hurricane X” Malone?

She was about to say something, like maybe ask if his temple accepted visitors on Sundays, but then, finally, mercifully, a miracle happened; her phone rang.

Meisha .

Krys snatched that phone up like it held the last golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory.

“Hello?” she answered, voice immediately drenched in concern.

On the other end, Meisha was cackling.

Krys gritted her teeth. This was not the time.

“Wait—slow down. What happened?” she gasped, Oscar-worthy performance incoming.

Meisha laughed harder.

“Oh my GOD,” Krys said, clutching her chest for dramatic effect. “Are you serious? No, no, I’ll be right there.”

She shot up from her seat, snatching her purse with a level of urgency typically reserved for house fires.

Taurean frowned. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Krys gave him her best I-don’t-have-time-to-explain-but-also-don’t-ask-any-more-questions face.

“It’s…it’s my friend. Emergency. I gotta go.”

Taurean squinted. “Damn, for real? I mean…we were just getting to know each other.”

Krys placed a gentle, tragic hand over her heart. “I know. Unfortunate.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out that restaurant like Angela Bassett leaving a burning car in Waiting to Exhale.

Date: OVER.

On paper, Taurean should have been a contender.

Tall, about six-one, broad shoulders, a gym-built frame with a little gut that filled out his designer polo just right. Smooth brown skin, a crisp haircut, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He had the kind of smile that probably got him out of parking tickets, deep dimples that made women swoon, and a confidence that bordered on arrogance but not quite. Taurean was nothing more than a well-dressed disappointment.

But here’s the thing, looks were never enough for Krys. Plenty of men were fine. Few were worthy.

Men like Taurean needed to understand dating Krys was a privilege; and impressing her was damn near impossible.

See, Krys wasn’t just any woman; she was the woman. The kind who didn’t just sit at the table, but owned the whole damn building it was in. The kind of woman who walked into a room and didn’t just get noticed, she got studied.

She built her own empire, from a thriving trucking company to an ever-expanding portfolio of commercial and residential properties and she ran both with the kind of cutthroat precision that left men either in awe or intimidated as hell. Honestly, she preferred the latter.

At five-three, she was petite in stature but moved like a woman who stood six feet tall. Every step deliberate, every movement controlled; grace and dominance wrapped in one.

She possessed rich, flawless, golden brown skin. Always glowing. The kind of glow that came from wealth, peace, and knowing she could have whatever she wanted. That did wonders for the skin.

Symmetrical, sharp, delicate, but commanding facials features created a face made for power and privilege. Almond- shaped eyes that didn’t just look at you, they read you. High cheekbones, full lips, and a resting face so unbothered it could make a grown man rethink his entire existence. But if she smirked, dimples showed and meant she was planning something or about to destroy whatever plan a person thought they had.

She had sleek, jet-black, waist length hair; never a strand out of place. Sometimes bone straight, parted down the middle like a ruler’s crown. Other times, twisted into a high bun when it was time to handle business. Often took offense if asked if it was hers or not.

Nails always done, a soft almond shape, polished in neutral or classic tones, because class doesn’t need to scream. Jewelry kept at a minimum but expensive. A thin diamond tennis bracelet; elegant, understated, but carrying the weight of wealth. Small gold hoops or studs because too much flash was for the insecure. An anklet or two because even her feet stayed iced.

Always put together, always elite.

When Krys stepped into a room, people adjusted. She didn’t have to raise her voice to command attention; she was attention. She wasn’t loud, wasn’t aggressive, but she didn’t need to be. Her power was in how she moved, how she spoke. Every word slow, deliberate, sharp; like she was signing your fate with her tongue.

She was the standard, not the exception. And most men were intimidated.

She wasn’t out here looking for love; love needed to be looking for her. And if a man wanted to stand next to her, he had to be just as powerful, just as confident. Because a man who flinched at her success, questioned her money, or tried to “humble” her…Yeah, he wasn’t lasting past hello.

The moment she stepped outside into the warm, muggy Trinity night air, she pressed the phone to her ear.

“You are so wrong for that,” she snapped, heading toward her obsidian black S-Class Mercedes Benz parked at the valet stand.

Meisha was still laughing. “I just wanted to see how long you could survive.”

Krys rolled her eyes, handing the valet her ticket. “Girl, I barely made it. He was talking about his NBA mindset like he wasn’t working in corporate finance. ”

Meisha wheezed. “Wait— what? ”

“I swear to God, Meisha,” Krys muttered. “He said he almost made it, so he still thinks like an athlete.”

Meisha burst out laughing again.

Krys shook her head, watching as her sleek black Mercedes was pulled up to the curb. “Anyway, what are you doing? Please tell me you have something better planned.”

Meisha giggled mischievously. “Meet me at Mark’s house. We about to chill over there.”

Krys frowned. “Mark? As in your trifling-ass-boyfriend-Mark?”

Meisha sucked her teeth. “Girl, don’t start.”

Krys sighed, climbing into her car. “Meisha, if I show up and it’s a bunch of broke, weed-smoking, PlayStation-playing men in that apartment—”

“Just come!” Meisha cut her off. “I promise your night will get better.”

Krys started the engine, shaking her head. “For your sake, it better.”

And with that, she pulled off into the night hoping Meisha wasn’t about to waste more of her time.

**********

Krys’ car purred beneath her hands, the soft hum of the engine blending with the city sounds as she cruised through the bustling streets of Trinity Bay.

The night air was thick with weekend energy; people moving in and out of rooftop bars, neon signs flickering against the pavement, laughter spilling from open patios. The skyline stretched above her, a mix of old brick buildings and sleek glass high-rises, a perfect metaphor for the city itself, gritty but evolving.

She loved Trinity Bay. She loved the way it never truly slept, never let anyone get too comfortable; much like herself.

She switched lanes effortlessly, the dashboard glowing as she turned up the music, a sultry R just reflective.

Then her phone rang, cutting through the moment. When she saw the name flashing across her screen, her impatience deepened.

Zahir.

She shook her head, already knowing this was about to be some grade A entertainment. Without hesitation, she hit accept.

“Zahir.”

A deep sigh came through the speakers, followed by that smooth, familiar chuckle. The kind of chuckle that used to mean something.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice dripping with something between amusement and frustration. “Hello to you too.”

Krys switched lanes, keeping one hand on the wheel, the other resting against her thigh. “We’re past ‘hello’ at this point, don’t you think?”

Zahir let a pause stretch between them. Like he was choosing his words carefully, trying to say the right thing as if that would change anything.

“I was just checking in,” he finally said, voice low, like it held weight or as if it mattered.

Krys rolled her eyes. “You don’t check in with me, Zahir.”

“Why you always gotta act like this?”

She was tickled. “Like what? Minding my business? Living my life?”

He sighed, and Krys just knew he was gripping the bridge of his nose like he was trying to collect himself.

“You ain’t gotta be like that, Krys.”

Krys let out a soft hum, pretending to think. “Be like what? Honest?”

Zahir didn’t say anything for a second, then he exhaled. “Look, I miss you.”

Krys snorted. “I bet you do,” she muttered.

“You don’t miss me?” His voice dipped, smooth, coaxing. The same way he used to sound when he was in her ear, when his hands were on her skin, when he was saying all the right shit, doing all the right things until he wasn’t.

Krys didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tapped her nails against the steering wheel, letting the anticipation build.

Then, finally she asked, “For what, Zahir?”

He scoffed. “Come on, you know what I mean.”

“Nah.” Her tone was light, teasing, but sharp underneath. “Spell it out.”

Zahir groaned. “Man, stop playing.”

She smirked. Oh, but she loved playing.

“Just say it, Zahir,” she murmured. “Say you miss fucking me.”

Silence.

Yeah, that shut him up. There was no denying that was exactly what he meant.

He let out a low chuckle, one that was just a little embarrassed. “You wild as hell, Krys.”

“And you predictable as fuck.”

Zahir sighed, but she could hear the grin in his voice. “Look, you know I don’t wanna keep doing this back and forth with you. I’m trying to be serious.”

Krys arched a brow, amusement dancing in her voice. “Serious? You?”

“Why you acting like I’ve never been serious about you?”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes again. He was so damn delusional. “Zahir, we both know what this is. You hit me up when you’re bored. Or when your situation at home is stressing you out.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Then why you calling me?”

Silence.

“Why are you calling me, Z?” she repeated, this time a twinge of agitation in her tone.

He exhaled sharply, and Krys could picture his jaw tight, that vein in his temple flexing because she always knew how to get under his skin. She wished she could say she loved it, but actually, she felt indifferent.

“Krys…”

“Yes, dear?”

“You know we got something. You can’t tell me you don’t feel our connection.”

Krys scoffed. “Boy, what connection? Furthermore, you ain’t my man.”

Zahir pressed on like she hadn’t said a thing. “But I could be.”

Now that made her laugh. She genuinely laughed, tilting her head back for a second before refocusing on the road.

“Oh, so now you tryna lock me down? That’s cute.”

“I mean it.”

Krys shook her head. “Zahir, you cute and all, but you ain’t that nigga for me.”

That punched him in the gut; she could feel it through the phone.

He stayed quiet, probably trying to come up with something that would shake her, something that would make her slip, but Krys wasn’t built like that.

“You ain’t even giving me a chance,” he muttered.

“I gave you plenty. You just didn’t use them.”

Another pause.

Then, he tried one more time. “You ever think about how things would be with us now?” His voice had that soft, thoughtful quality to it, the one she used to fall for.

The only difference today, she wasn’t falling for the shit now. Had she thought about it? Yeah, but not for reasons that he’d want her to. Hell, she thought about it more than she wanted to admit, but unlike him, she didn’t live in the past.

Krys exhaled, smooth, final. “Goodnight, Zahir.”

She hit end before he could respond.

The silence in the car felt heavier now.

She wouldn’t take him back. She knew that. That was no question. But sometimes, she wondered if he had really been her only shot at love? He had come close, closer than others.

Was there really someone out there who could match her? Who could handle her ambition and her power? Who wouldn’t make her question her worth? Did they exist?

She scoffed, shaking the thought off.

Fuck that.

She had too much going for her to be stuck in “what-ifs.”

Prince Charming would come. And when he did, he’d have to come correct.