Page 233 of Invisible Bars

“As crazy as it sounds…” he replied, his voice low and certain, “I don’t care. Even if it costs me everything, I’d rather lose it all than live under your definition of success.”

Then, with a finality that stung, he turned his back on me, rudely dismissing our conversation like it was a calendar event he’d already rescheduled.

“You can see yourself out,” he yelled over his shoulder, already halfway back inside. “I’ll let you know about another dinner.”

I stood there for a moment, stunned by howcolderhe had become. Then I walked back toward the front, my heels clicking sharply against the floor, each step echoing my frustration louder than I intended. The little publicist—Saroya—was still standing by the entrance, observing us as if we were a reality show unfolding in real-time.

I rolled my eyes, put on my shades, and walked out smiling like I hadn’t just been handed my ass on a velvet platter.

I need to get some kind of dirt on Naji. Something real. Something ugly. My son thinks he’s in love? Fine. But I refuse to sit back and let him throw everything away for some broken little stray with a pretty face and a few sob stories. He needs control. He needs legacy… not her. I didn’t raise him to fall for “different.” And I damn sure won’t let him stay there.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

NAJI

“So you’re justnotgoing to bring up the fact that you're internet-famous again?” Dessign kidded as she twirled her fork through her shrimp pasta.

We decided to meet up for lunch. Of course, my ‘driver’ had to bring me, though. Honestly, I was just excited to escape the confines of my home and enjoy some much-needed girl time. The thought of sharing laughs and stories with her made my day instantly brighter.

The restaurant we were at was a cozy little spot tucked on a tree-lined street, a mix of rustic and chic—exposed brick walls, gold-framed mirrors, jazz music low in the background. Our plates came out looking like art, and the server had called me “queen” at least twice, which made me like him instantly.

Dessign sat across from me, giving full fashion week energy. She wore a structured cropped denim jacket over a flowy, pleated white dress with gold sneakers that somehow didn’t clash. Her new, neatly, long braids were pulled up into a twisted high bun, and her lip gloss shimmered like money.

I, on the other hand, had on a cozy turquoise-colored two-piece summer set—ribbed, sleeveless crop top and drawstring shorts that felt like pajamas but looked decent enough for public.Dessign had talked me into some chunky sandals and a little jewelry—silver hoops and bangles. I wore themonlyto say I tried.

I smirked, spearing a piece of jerk salmon off my plate.

“Girl, I… I know. My phone -hasn’t stopped going off with messages and tags.”

“I bet your DMs look like a slot machine!” Dessign exclaimed.

“Yes!”

We shared a chuckle.

It felt weird to beseenagain—reallyseen. But in a good way that time.

We talked for a bit—some industry gossip, about her dream for fashion, a few old embarrassing modeling moments I cringed over—until someone behind me blurted.

“Hey, Dess! Looking cute as always, girl!”

I turned and looked up just in time to seeher—the girl Aaliyah.

She was dressed in a lime green midi dress with highlighter-pink nails and her curls pinned in an unnecessarily high ponytail.

All smiles. All fake.

Dessign gave a polite smile. “What’s up, Aaliyah? Thanks.”

Then Aaliyah’s eyes flicked to me.

“Oh, Naji,” she said, still smiling, “I just want to apologize again about the whole dress situation at the gala. I really didn’t mean for that to happen. I had afewtoo many drinks, and things got a little… messy. Totally an accident!”

I sipped my ginger lemonade and nodded once, slow. “Mm-hmm.”

I didn’t owe her anything more than that… and she knew it.

Dessign tilted her head. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Aaliyah. But we’re gonna get back to our lunch.”