Page 19 of Rose

Her silk pajama set—a pale pink button-down and snug shorts—hugged her slender frame.

Taylor was tall like Ahzii, all legs and soft beauty.

Her long locs trailed down her back, tucked beneath a silk scarf, complementing her caramel skin and the freckles dancing across her cheeks.

Hazel eyes locked onto Ahzii’s, visibly trying to read what she wouldn’t say.

“I’m okay.”

Ahzii’s voice was calm, too calm .

But everything about her—the blank stare, the tight jaw, the heaviness weighing down her limbs—said otherwise.

And she knew Taylor saw it too.

Taylor wasn’t just her assistant. Not really.

She was family now.

They met years ago during one of Ahzii’s art showcases in the city.

Taylor had shown up wide-eyed and quiet, completely captivated by Ahzii’s work.

Turns out, she was an artist too—young, gifted, and already creating magic with nothing but tattoo ink.

Ahzii had admired her pieces instantly. There was something raw and hauntingly beautiful in them, something that reminded her of herself at that age.

Taylor was only twenty-three now, juggling med school on the path to becoming a medical scientist while still showing up at the shop with creative brilliance and steady hands.

She was a walking contradiction—science and art, soft and steel—and Ahzii hadn’t hesitated to offer her a high-paying position when she found out she needed work.

Because talent like that? It deserved room to breathe.

Even after everything—the blood, the trauma, the darkness Ahzii tried to hide—Taylor still looked at her like she was legendary. Like she hadn’t lost pieces of herself along the way.

That alone made Ahzii feel seen in ways she didn’t know she still needed.

She sat up slowly, eyes sweeping the space.

“You seen my phone?”

“Yeah, it was ringing off the hook,” Taylor replied from the kitchen, voice slightly muffled as she poured a glass of orange juice. “Kyre and Maz been blowing it up since last night. Kiyan too. And honestly? I’m surprised about him after the way you cussed him out.”

Ahzii sighed, guilt curling in her chest.

“I wasn’t trying to listen, but girl, you were going in,” Taylor added with a small laugh. “I put your phone on the charger so you could sleep. You came in so shaken up last night… we ate, chilled for a bit, and then you crashed like you hadn’t slept in days.”

She hadn’t.

And knowing Taylor saw that—saw her unravel like that—made her skin prickle. She hated feeling exposed. Vulnerable. Weak.

Right now, she needed a blunt more than she needed breakfast. Weed was the thing that ever muted the storm inside her, along with sex.

“I’m sorry…” Ahzii started, but Taylor spun around and cut her off with a look.

“You don’t owe me an apology.”

Her tone was gentle but firm. “I might not know everything you’re battling, but I know you’re carrying something heavy.

You work nonstop, you never rest, and you pretend to be okay when you’re clearly not.

I don’t know what triggered you last night, but I’m glad you came here. That means something.”

She walked closer, her eyes softening.

“I know I’m just your assistant or receptionist or whatever… but you’re like a big sister to me. And I want to be here for you the way you’ve always been there for me. ”

Ahzii gave a faint smile, something tired but real flickering in her expression.

“Thank you, Tay. For everything. And you’re not just anything to me—you are my little sister.”

Taylor’s smile broke wide and warm, and she took a sip of her juice as she spoke again.

“Speaking of sister… I think you should call Kyre and Maz. They were worried sick. I figured you didn’t want them knowing where you were last night, but I texted them from your phone and told them you were safe, just needed space.”

“I’ll call them,” Ahzii murmured, finally pulling herself off the couch. “I need to head home anyway. I know Ace is probably losing his mind wondering where I’m at.”

She glanced down at herself, realizing she was still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

“I wanted to give you something comfortable,” Taylor said, stretching her arms with a sleepy grin. “But you were already knocked out by the time I came back downstairs. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Truth was, she didn’t know how long she’d been out… or how long she’d been sitting there, lost in the blank hum of the TV screen. Lately, every day felt like a simulation—one she couldn’t exit, couldn’t escape.

“It’s fine,” she said quietly, taking the phone Taylor handed her. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

Her screen lit up with a long scroll of missed calls and unread messages from Kyre, Maz… and Kiyan. Her stomach turned.

“I’m about to go get dressed real quick, then I’ll take you home,” Taylor offered, already halfway toward the stairs.

Ahzii blinked. She hadn’t even realized she didn’t drive herself here.

“You don’t have to do that. I can just grab an Uber.”

Taylor stopped mid-step and threw her a look.

That signature mug.

It always caught Ahzii off guard—adorably serious, especially coming from someone who rarely wore anything but a smile.

“Girl, please. I’m taking you home. I need to head to the shop anyway and open up,” Taylor said, tossing her locs over her shoulder. “Don’t need my boss firing me.”

That made Ahzii crack a real smile. Taylor always found a way to lift the fog, even if just for a moment.

“I’ll be right back. Just give me twenty,” Taylor called as she jogged up the stairs.

Ahzii didn’t argue this time. She just sat, quietly waiting—twisting the chain the held her wedding ring around her fingers, thinking of all the things she wasn’t ready to face.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor came back down fully dressed, keys in hand. Together, they stepped out into the new morning and climbed into her Jeep, heading toward the place Ahzii called home.

But home didn’t feel like home right now.

And even surrounded by familiar things, Ahzii wasn’t sure she’d find herself there either.

?? ?

The steady hum of the tattoo gun vibrated through Ahzii’s hand as she worked on the woman’s ribs, the buzzing sound blending with the mellow music drifting from her surround speakers. This—right here in her private suite at The Escape Room —was the only place she felt in control.

It was Saturday, and the shop was alive with its usual vibrant energy.

Muffled sounds pushed against the closed door—men arguing over stats and scores, women tossing around the latest gossip, someone laughing from the front desk. It was the kind of noise that normally made her feel connected. Today, it just felt heavy.

She needed the silence of this room. She needed to disappear into her work.

Wiping away the excess ink, Ahzii continued shading the intricate flower wrapping around the woman’s ribs. Each motion was precise, fluid—almost like therapy.

Then the door swung open.

Ahzii didn’t even have to look up. The scent of Chanel Chance told her everything.

Kyre.

She stood in the doorway, framed like a storm waiting to break. A tailored black Dior pantsuit clung to her curves, flashing a hint of cleavage. Red-bottom heels clicked against the floor as she stepped in, all power and poise. Whether she was coming from work or heading to it, she didn’t say.

“Hey, Ky.”

Ahzii kept her tone light, casual, but she already knew Kyre was holding something back. The silence said more than words. No greeting. No smile. Just tension.

She didn’t leave. Didn’t sit. Just stood.

Minutes passed.

Finally, Ahzii finished the piece, cleaned the skin, and applied aftercare.

“Leave the tape on for seventy-two hours. You know the rest,” she told her regular, voice distracted.

“Thanks, boo. You kill it every time.”

The woman grinned, snapping a quick mirror pic before heading out with a satisfied strut.

As soon as the door shut, Kyre closed it behind her, sealing them in.

“Ky—”

“No. Me first.”

Ahzii fell silent.

Kyre’s voice was calm, but there was weight behind every word.

“I didn’t have anything to do with what happened at Gold. And it hurt… that you thought I did.”

Ahzii dropped her gaze. The shame crept in fast.

“I know what you’re going through. And I do want you to have love again one day. Real love. The kind William gave you. Hell, better than that. A fairytale ending that doesn’t end in pain. But more than anything, I just want you to find yourself again, Zii. That’s it.”

Her voice cracked slightly, raw and real. “I would never try to erase William. I’d never force you to move on. That’s not love. That’s cruelty.”

Tears slipped down Ahzii’s cheeks before she could stop them. Kyre opened her arms, a soft smile curling her lips.

“Come here, crybaby.”

Her voice was light, teasing—but gentle.

Ahzii didn’t hesitate. She stepped into Kyre’s embrace and finally broke.

The sob that escaped her chest wasn’t quiet. It was heavy, cracked open by everything she’d been trying to hold inside.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, voice fragile against Kyre’s shoulder.

Kyre rubbed her back, letting her fall apart without flinching.

“No need to apologize,” she said softly. “I know grief. I know what it does. That was grief talking at Gold, not you. You were triggered. You snapped. That’s human.”

“But that doesn’t make it right.”

Ahzii pulled back, wiping her face as her tears slowed.

“I was wrong. And I know that.”

Kyre gave her a warm, knowing smile.

“Yeah, you were. But I love you anyway.”

“Now I got some tea for you, bitch.”

Kyre’s tone shifted instantly—light, mischievous—and it made Ahzii chuckle through her sniffles.

“Oh Lord, what now?”

“I know who sent the donation and the flowers.”

Kyre’s grin was all smug satisfaction.

Ahzii instantly mugged.

The gesture had wrecked her emotionally, cracked her open in a way she hadn’t been ready for. It wasn’t just the beauty of it—it was what it triggered. It made her feel things she had trained herself not to feel.