Page 42 of Rose

“Bitch, just come open the door,” Sarai chimed in on speaker, clearly with Kyre. “Your man’s planning you a date, and he said we need to get you ready by a certain time.”

“He is not my man, so I’m not going,” Ahzii muttered, loud enough for Savior to hear.

He walked over, smacked her ass hard, and kept it moving with a smug smile on his face.

“Ouch! Nigga!” she yelped, rubbing the sting as he grinned.

“Zii, my brother is patient and loving in his own psycho way,” Sarai said calmly, “but he hates hearing the word ‘no.’ Do you want another body on the floor tonight just because you refused to go on a date with the nigga?”

Ahzii sighed and shook her head.

“You better listen to your sister-in-law, Allure. She knows me very well,” Savior said as he passed behind her, voice smooth like a warning wrapped in charm.

Ahzii rolled her eyes. “Fine. Kyre, use your key. I’m about to shower,” she said, hanging up before they could start talking again. There was no point in arguing with a damn army.

“Savior, get the fuck out of my house,” she snapped, still annoyed as she turned toward the bathroom.

But he grabbed her, pulling her back into him.

“Will I see you later?” he asked, voice low, eyes soft, like he needed her to say it .

She gave him a deadpan mug. “Yeah. Not like I have much of a choice now, do I?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “You don’t, smart ass.”

He leaned in, one hand curling gently around her neck, and pressed three slow kisses to her lips, each one lingering like a promise.

“See you later, Allure. Get soft pink on the toes too.”

And just like that, he was gone—out of her space and out of the apartment before she could even process it.

The door clicked again.

Kyre and Sarai came barging in with shopping bags and energy like they owned the place.

Ahzii sighed and dragged herself toward the bathroom.

Whatever Savior had planned…

She wasn’t ready.

Not for this.

Not for him .

???

Ahzii stared out the window, watching the sun melt into the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the city as buildings and trees blurred past. She was riding in a white Rolls-Royce Wraith, luxury humming beneath her, but her mind wasn’t on the car, or even on the man driving it.

It was on the destination.

She’d spent the entire day trying to pull answers out of Sarai and Kyre while they dragged her from appointment to appointment—hair, nails, toes. Every question she asked was met with laughter and deflection. Nothing. Not even a hint.

She called them traitors. Fake bitches. Repeatedly.

They didn’t care. Just laughed and told her to shut up and be patient.

She even tried pressing Savior for answers when he picked her up, but he hadn’t given her shit. Not a single word. Just a smug smirk and a kiss to her temple.

Now, she sat in the passenger seat, watching streetlights flicker on, scanning the skyline like it held clues. But he was taking turns without signaling. Cutting down streets she didn’t recognize. It was like he was purposely keeping her guessing.

The light pink V-neck suit dress she wore hugged her figure perfectly.

Sleeveless, stopping just above the knee, the elegant fit kissed her brown skin like it was made for her.

She almost refused to wear it at first, the way it exposed the burn mark on her inner thigh made her flinch when she saw it in the mirror.

But Sarai and Kyre told her Savior picked the dress himself.

He wants to see you in it.

So she kept it on.

And when he showed up… when his eyes landed on her… the way he looked at her had her legs damn near giving out. Like she stole the breath from his lungs. Like she was the only thing that existed.

She burned that look into her memory. Let it wrap around the insecure pieces of her like armor.

Her matching open-toe heels flashed every time she shifted her legs, showing off her soft pink toes—proof she listened, even if she’d acted like she wouldn’t.

The gold jewelry gleamed against her skin, and her pixie cut framed her face perfectly, the light makeup softening her sharpest edges just enough.

Savior cleaned up too. Black Amiri short-sleeve button-down that hugged his arms and chest like it was stitched in place.

Top two buttons undone, exposing his gold chains and a glimpse of his tatted chest. Black Amiri jeans.

Black designer shoes. A fresh line-up from his beard to his hairline that only made his features more defined.

His cologne—Creed—mixed with her Chanel in the small space between them. Rich. Intoxicating.

And every time she glanced over at him, all she could think about was riding his face. Or his dick. Or both. His jaw clenched when he drove. His eyes never stayed still. He had this quiet intensity, like he was thinking fifty things at once and all of them ended with her bent over something.

She crossed her legs.

This man was dangerous. And she didn’t know where the hell he was taking her.

But she was starting to care less and less.

Savior pulled up in front of a glowing brick building that stood out like the star of the street. Warm golden lights washed over its entrance, drawing eyes from every direction. People in sleek suits and elegant gowns strolled toward the doors, laughter and soft music floating into the summer air.

Savior stopped in front of valet and stepped out without a word.

“Good evening, Mr. Carter,” the valet greeted, taking the keys.

Savior nodded once, then circled to the passenger side. He opened Ahzii’s door, and she stepped out slowly, still trying to figure out where the hell he’d brought her.

Her eyes followed the crowd heading inside, eyebrows pulling together. “Savior… where are we?”

“You’ll see.” He laced his fingers through hers and led her up the steps, nodding to security as they passed through the entrance.

The moment they stepped inside, Ahzii’s breath hitched.

The building, with its elegant brick facade and minimalist charm, was an art museum.

But not like the ones she was used to.

This place felt alive.

Every inch of wall space was touched by color, texture, and soul.

Paintings, sculptures, digital installations, art in every form surrounded her.

Soft ambient music played in the background, blending seamlessly with the low murmur of voices and clinking glass.

Waiters glided through the space offering champagne in crystal flutes, and both she and Savior took one without missing a beat.

“What is this place?” she asked, unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

She’d lived in Miami for years and swore she’d seen every museum the city had to offer, but this place? This space? She had never even heard of it.

“It’s called Artistic Souls, ” Savior explained, watching her closely. “A friend of mine owns it. When you told me about your dream of opening your own museum, I reached out. He hosts showcases here year-round.”

Ahzii blinked. Her chest tightened.

He remembered .

Not only did he remember—he did something with it.

Her smile grew wider, soft and stunned, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Savior didn’t just listen, he moved with intention. And it was written all over his face that he did this for her .

“There go that ugly ass nigga now,” he said, nodding toward a man nearby.

Ahzii turned to see a tall Black man with long locs, dressed in a tailored grey designer suit. He was in conversation with a group, but when his eyes found Savior, his face broke into a wide grin.

“My nigga, Savior ! I thought you were bullshitting when you said you’d pull up.”

Savior released Ahzii’s hand to dap him up. “Nah, my wife’s a fire ass artist. Had to introduce her to the second-coldest artist I know.”

The man laughed and turned to Ahzii. “ Second ?”

“Nigga, nobody comes before my wife,” Savior said, glancing at Ahzii with that usual smirk.

She shook her head and laughed.

Ahzii didn’t even bother correcting Savior. Not tonight. Not when her chest was this warm, not when her dream felt this close again.

“Allure, this is my nigga Keon. Keon, this is my wife—”

“Rose,” Keon interrupted, eyes lighting up. “ You ’ re Rose?”

Ahzii blinked. “You… know who I am?”

“Do I?” Keon laughed. “I’m tapped into every artist in this city. I went to a few of your shows at your tattoo shop a couple years back. You inspired me to start this .”

Her lips parted, caught off guard by the recognition. But when he asked, “Why’d you stop doing them?” that warmth cooled just a bit.

The real answer was too dark. Too painful. Too full of ghosts.

“Lack of inspiration,” she answered quietly.

Keon nodded slowly, the understanding in his eyes clear. “You became my inspiration when I had none. So I hope something in here gives back what you once gave me.”

Ahzii swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, a soft smile curving her lips.

“And Sav,” Keon added with a grin, “I know your money good, nigga. Buy a piece.”

Savior chuckled. “Whatever my wife wants, she gets.”

He looked down at Ahzii again, and the way he said it made her heart do a slow, heavy flip. She couldn’t stop smiling if she tried.

“I’ll be sure to pick the most expensive one,” she teased, sipping her champagne.

Keon laughed. “I need that. I gotta go mingle before folks start calling me stuck-up, but y’all enjoy yourselves. Let the art move the soul. And it was real good meeting you again, Rose.”

He hugged Ahzii, dapped Savior up, and disappeared into the crowd.

Ahzii stood still, processing. Again?

She could’ve sworn this was her first time meeting him.

Ahzii and Savior moved slowly through the museum, pausing at each piece, letting the art speak without rush. The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air around them, but in this moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room.

“You see what you started?” Savior said, his voice calm but steady behind her.