Page 27

OMIR

T he tailor shop smelled like starch, old wood, and tension. That old-school kind of tension. The kind that comes when two worlds don’t just collide they grind against each other, rough and loud and unforgiving.

I stood in front of the mirror in a black tuxedo jacket that had just been pinned, the tailor still adjusting the cuffs. It looked good. Sharp lines. Smooth shoulders. The kind of shit you see on magazine covers.

And yet?—

“It’s a bit snug in the shoulders, don’t you think?”

His voice sliced through the quiet like a razor. Anya’s father. Standing at the far end of the shop, dressed in some custom navy suit that probably cost more than my first car. Salt-and-pepper hair, glasses halfway down his nose, arms folded like a judge waiting to sentence someone.

I looked at him through the mirror, then down at the jacket. “It’s cool,” I said flatly. “I’ll take it.”

He tilted his head, smirking like he knew something I didn’t. “Well, I suppose it’s better than the. . . streetwear you usually go for. Or those basic slacks you seem to like so much.”

My jaw flexed. I didn’t move. I didn’t have to move. The tension in the room shifted on its own. Marcus and Jordan both looked up from where they were standing across the shop, near a display of silk bowties.

“Streetwear?” Jordan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That's what we’re calling business casual now?”

“Bro,” I warned him, my voice low.

“What? I’m just saying,” he replied, his tone slick, ignoring me like always. “Man acting like we rolled up in hoodies and Forces.”

Mr. Hayes didn’t even flinch. Just kept his gaze locked on mine, like I was the help trying on clothes that didn’t belong to me.

“It’s just. . . different, Omir,” he said, voice casual but every word dipped in condescension.

“I’m sure Anya sees something in you, but I’ll be honest—I always expected her to end up with someone a little more. . . polished.”

I took a step forward, slow, deliberate. My fists clenched, but I kept my voice steady. “With all due respect, sir, I run two successful businesses. I provide for your daughter. I show up. I don’t know what more you expect from me.”

He didn’t blink. “It’s not about money, son. It’s about legacy. Family. Belonging to a certain. . . caliber of people. You’re trying to marry into a different kind of world.”

“That’s funny,” Jordan muttered. “I thought marriage was about bringing two worlds together. The fuck?”

Marcus grabbed him by the arm and whispered, “Chill, bro. For real. Don’t even feed into this shit.”

Mr. Hayes stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough for it to sting. “This marriage, . . . it’s not just about love, Omir. It’s about image. Structure. You should understand that if you want to build something that lasts.”

I stepped back, shrugged off the tuxedo jacket, and handed it to the tailor without a word. “I’ll be outside,” I muttered, already walking toward the door.

The second that cool air hit my face, I let out a slow breath and leaned against my car. My hands trembled. Not from fear. From restraint. That man was lucky I had self-control.

I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over Anya’s name. I thought about calling her. Telling her what happened. Letting her know I needed her to check her father.

But I didn’t press it. Because in that moment, the only face that flashed in my mind was Lennox. Her eyes. Her voice. Her truth spilling out at the lake like it had been sitting heavy on her soul for months.

“I love you.”

Fuck. I clenched my jaw and shoved the phone back in my pocket.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t pretend like I was okay with marrying into a family that looked down on me like I was temporary.

Like I was tolerated instead of embraced.

I couldn’t walk into forever with a woman who, as beautiful and kind as Anya was, didn’t hold weight when it came to Lennox.

I didn’t remember the drive. Not really.

One minute I was gripping the wheel like it might fly out of my hands, and the next I was pulling up to the bridal boutique.

Outside, the windows glowed soft with warm light.

Inside, Anya stood on a raised platform, a white gown draped around her body like a dream she’d been building since she was a little girl.

Her friends stood around her. Her mother was adjusting the veil, smiling like it was already done. And I stood there. Watching it all. Knowing I was about to shatter the whole damn thing. I pushed open the door and cleared my throat.

“Anya.”

Everyone turned. The room went still.

Her smile faded the second she saw my face. “Omir? What are you?—?”

“Can we talk?” I said, my voice low but firm. “Outside.”

Her mom stepped forward. “We’re in the middle of?—”

“We need to talk now.”

Anya blinked, then nodded. “Okay.” She followed me out to the sidewalk, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. The dress still trailed behind her like a train of innocence I didn’t deserve to touch. We stopped under the golden late afternoon light. She crossed her arms. “What’s going on?”

I swallowed hard. I had to say it. No matter what it broke. “I can’t do this shit.”

She blinked. “Can’t do what?”

“This,” I said, gesturing between us. “The wedding. Us.”

Her face cracked like glass. “What. . . what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t marry you.” My throat burned. “Because I’m in love with someone else.”

The silence after that? Heavy. Deafening. Her voice shook. “You’re what?”

“I’ve tried to push it down. Tell myself it was old feelings. That it didn’t matter. But I’m not built to live a lie, Anya. Not with you. Not with myself.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I didn’t know sooner. Not like this.”

She looked away, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” she snapped, voice trembling. “Who is she, Omir?”

I stared at her, and for a second, I wanted to say her name, but I didn’t. “Someone who feels like home.”

Her eyes closed like the words had hit bone. “You know what hurts?” she whispered. “I could feel something was off, but I was trying because I believed in you. In us.”

“I know. And you deserve someone who’s gonna believe in you the same way.”

She looked at me like she was searching for a different answer. One that would make this all make sense. But there wasn’t one. “You’re not a bad man, Omir,” she said quietly. “But you broke something in me today.”

I looked down. “I never meant to, Anya. I swear.”

She wiped her face again, composed even in heartbreak. “You know what? Just go.”

My chest ached. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded once. “Goodbye, Omir.”

I stood there long after she’d gone back inside.

Long after the sun dipped low and the street lights flickered on.

I’d just broken a good woman’s heart and it hurt.

But beneath the guilt, the sadness, the regret.

. . was something else. Clarity. I knew who I loved.

And for the first time in months, I knew what I had to do.