Page 3 of What the Leos Burned (BLP Signs of Love #6)

Love Like a Leo

Fifteen years later

Princess Love Tate had long since retired the name “Princess.”

It didn’t fit anymore. Not after everything.

These days, she went by her pen name of Love T.

—national bestselling author, keynote speaker, and literary darling of the moment.

Her debut novel, When the Rain Stops , had not only hit the New York Times Bestseller’s List, but stayed there for sixteen weeks straight.

The story was a haunting, lyrical journey about teenage love, grief, and joy.

It exploded on social media and captured hearts and book clubs alike.

Readers quoted her on TikTok, tattooed lines from her chapters on their ribs, and passed the book between sisters and friends like a sacred heirloom.

Love had poured her whole soul into those pages, and now, the world knew her name.

Still, for all the glitter of success, this morning—on her daughter’s fourteenth birthday—she was exhausted.

Her iced coffee sat untouched on the kitchen island.

Her curls were pinned into a messy bun, scarf still wrapped around the front.

The sunrise hardly touched the edges of the marble countertops, but the house already buzzed with quiet chaos: balloons being delivered, music playing low, the scent of vanilla cake thick in the air.

Yana, her daughter, was in her room, getting dressed for her big day.

And he was in the guest room.

Love took a deep breath and walked down the hallway. Her heels clicked loudly across the hardwood. She knocked once on the door and pushed it open.

Juwon stood at the mirror adjusting his cufflinks. He appeared to be very comfortable, like he still had the right.

“Good morning,” he said, like they weren’t living in a warzone of unresolved betrayal.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she said, flat.

He never turned to her, just continued to watch her through the mirror’s reflection. “Of course.”

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

“I didn’t want you here,” she said quietly. “You know that.”

He sighed. “It’s Yana’s birthday, Love.”

“Exactly. It’s her day. That’s the only reason you’re in my house right now.”

He looked at her with tired eyes beneath a fresh cut. “You act like I don’t want to make things right.”

“You’re right,” she dryly replied. “I don’t think you want to make things right. I think you just want to undo being caught.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

“You don’t get to cheat with your assistant and then parade back in here like the husband of the year.”

“It was one mistake,” he muttered.

Love laughed bitterly. “Yeah, accidentally falling into her pussy was a mistake. Don’t forget, your mistake called me from your phone, telling me she’s pregnant with your child. Can’t keep your hoes or your dick in check.”

He flinched. He stopped fiddling with his cufflinks and sat at the edge of the bed and exhaled.

He’d heard this same rant over and over for the past six months.

He wanted to work it out, but Love was too far past gone with this marriage, despite his attempts.

He knew there was nothing left to do or say to win her back, but he couldn’t bring himself to sign the divorce papers she had delivered to the Marriott Marquis Hotel in Atlanta that had become his temporary residence three times already.

Love folded her arms, took a deep voice, and spoke calmly. “I’m not here to fight you. But don’t play husband in front of my friends. I do not have the strength to pretend with you any longer. Be Yana’s father. Then go peacefully.”

With that, she turned to leave with one hand on the door handle to shut behind her.

“Love,” he said softly.

She didn’t turn around but paused with her hand still on the handle and door slightly ajar.

“I miss you.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she sighed and closed the door. She stood there for a moment, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

“I miss who you were supposed to be,” she whispered.

Then she strutted down the hallway to her bedroom.

Later that afternoon, the house overflowed with family, friends, and love.

Yana stood tall at the center of it all, with soft brown skin, wide expressive eyes, and a quiet power that pulled everyone in. She wore her hair in a curly puff, earrings sparkling as she leaned into her mother’s arms.

“You okay, birthday girl?” Love asked and gently pulled her into a hug.

Yana nodded, then shrugged. “I’m good. Just weird having Dad here after not really being around for this long.”

Love smiled and brushed a curl behind her ear. “I know, baby. But today’s about you. We’re gonna celebrate you exactly how you deserve.”

Yana grinned. “Can we do the aquarium tomorrow? Just me and you. They’re having that jellyfish light exhibit.”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

Yana squeezed her tight. “Thanks, Mama.”

Love kissed the side of her head. “You’re the best thing I ever created. You know that?”

“I do,” Yana teased. “You tell me all the time.”

They laughed.

It was true. Yana was Love’s greatest creation, but her home was her second.

Tucked into the quiet Atlanta, Georgia Suburb of Stone Mountain, her house wasn’t just big, it was intentional.

Every square inch, molding, and velvet drapes was touched by her vision.

She and Juwon had built it from the ground up, but she led the design.

She chose the layout and the windows that let in just enough lighting in the morning but bathed the kitchen in gold by late afternoon.

She hand selected the marble that veined through the counters and floors like living art.

The walk-in library just off the grand staircase was her favorite part.

It was modern but warm, rich in the kind of elegance that didn’t scream money but whispered legacy .

Even the garden out back that was wild and a little overgrown felt like a poem out of a fairy tale.

The sunken living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a black baby grand that no one knew how to play sat in the corner.

Admittedly, it wasn’t just book money or Juwon’s wealthy career as an accountant for rich folks that made it possible to afford this place.

Although she had grown up wealthy, in Detroit’s neighboring city of Redford, her father’s career excelled during her teenage years, allowing them to move from Redford into the neighboring city of Bloomfield Hills.

He left her a trust earned from his decades as one of the most respected black architects in the Midwest when he passed away when she was nineteen years old.

The house was built on foundation and inheritance, yes. But also on grit, vision, and love.

That was why it hurt her like hell to fight for it now.

It was the centerpiece of a divorce that Juwon still hadn’t answered to.

He knew what it meant to her. Every day that went by without him signing those papers felt like another reminder that when he’d given up on them, he still couldn’t let go of what she’d built.

As guests filled the room and music drifted through the speakers, Love stepped away to refill her glass of champagne, followed by her best friend Quiyanna.

“Look at him,” Quiyanna began, staring at Juwon with her eyes narrowed. “Walking around like he ain’t just tear his whole family apart for a bitch with a stiff wig.”

“Q, don’t even start,” Love replied through an exasperated breath.

“I’m just saying. Got the nerve to be passing out party favors, smilin’ for photos like he didn’t have your name saved in his phone when he was with her as ‘Do Not Answer.’”

Love popped open another bottle of champagne and refilled her glass. “It was actually ‘Love T. (Old Life).’”

“Old life? Oh, hell no. He really had some nerve!”

“Girl, tell me about it.”

Q held out her glass to Love, signaling to refill her glass as well. “I will never forgive him. Ever. I hope the judge makes him hand deliver you alimony in silence every month,” she stated.

“He still won’t sign the papers,” Love replied, refilling her champagne flute.

“Of course he hasn’t. He knows the second he does, it’s real. You, the house, the legacy. He didn’t want you but don’t wanna see you walk away either. Typical.”

Love bent over the kitchen island and watched her daughter through the opening to the living room. She took a sip of her champagne and exhaled.

“It’s her birthday. I’m just trying to breathe through it.”

“You better than me,” Q shot back. “I would’ve threw a damn cupcake at his head by now.”

Love smirked and took another sip. Before she could respond, her assistant, Tara, burst through the front door, breathless and grinning.

“Love!” she called and rushed through the crowd in nude heels that were made for warm Atlanta Spring evenings. “Love, where are you!”

Love turned, confused. “Tara, . . . why are you here? What’s going on?”

Tara pushed through the crowd, getting nasty stares and remarks from guests, and stumbled into the kitchen. She grabbed Love’s hands and shook her slightly.

“You remember the pitch . . . I made to that . . . creative media group downtown?” she exclaimed in between breaths.

Love blinked. “The Essence Fest-style event thing? The huge one?”

“Yes! Guess what?” Tara practically vibrated. “You’ve been invited to headline! And there are producers that are speaking about adapting When the Rain Stops for a feature film.”

Love’s mouth dropped open.

Quiyanna screamed behind her, nearly dropping her champagne.

“No. No. No way,” Love said, hand flying to her mouth.

“It’s real. I saw the paperwork. It’s almost a sure thing. You’re about to be in production!”

Tears welled in Love’s eyes as she stared at the two women who knew her best.

From a girl who scribbled love stories in the margins of school notebooks . . . to this.

She thought she would always remain that scared eighteen-year-old college freshman with swollen ankles, sitting in the back of her creative writing class at Eastern Michigan University with a secret: a baby growing inside her and a future so blurry she couldn’t imagine next week, let alone this.

She could still hear Yana’s baby laugh in her memory, still feel the fear she carried during those early nights. Now, her daughter would watch her live a dream most people only ever whispered about. She felt like she was rising.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, smiling through her tears. “Just one second.”

Q watched her lovingly as Love slipped upstairs and headed to the walkway toward her bedroom.

She walked into the room and shut the door behind her. She reached the closet and walked to the far end where her old jewelry box sat untouched on top of a shelf in the corner. She pulled it down gently, like she was handling something fragile.

Inside, nestled in velvet, was a small sterling silver necklace. In the center, a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

Not worth much, but not like anything she could afford today.

To her, it was priceless.

She held it in her palm as a familiar feeling washed over her. It was the necklace that held the memories of what led her to write this book to begin with.

A cold, Detroit winter night in a beat-up Ford Fusion. A boy with music in his eyes and bruises he never explained. A promise whispered between two teenagers who thought love would always be enough.

She closed her hand and for a moment she was that girl again. Before the books, the betrayal, . . . before everything.

Just pure love and the only person who ever really saw her.