by Kenya Wright
How did I get here? What am I even doing with my life?
My engagement to Nick had been rushed. Frankly, it was turning into a very bad mistake. The only thing I hadn’t regretted was moving into such a nice place and enjoying a little luxury for a while.
Nick’s mansion represented the biggest home I’d ever lived in. It had been listed at one hundred twenty-five million dollars. The property sat on forty acres of lush land. Pink roses lined the front. Hordes of typical Florida orange trees crowded the back. Just like most Miami estates, one could find mangoes, coconuts, and other fruit trees.
A full staff maintained everything. There were so many people I could barely keep up with their names, although I did my best to try. And these days, I conversed with the cooks and maids more than my own fiancé. Nick barely came home, while Adrian made it his business to see me in the morning for breakfast and sit with me during dinner at night.
What I knew for sure was that I had to have a long talk with Nick about his son and the depleting status of our engagement.
Time to look closer to this life and see the rust behind all the glamour. Like they always say, all that glitters is not gold.
Chapter 2
Let me explain
Adrian
Carmen was more than my dad deserved, a queen spun from gold and all the things that were beautiful in life.
Dad broke hearts.
He was a typical billionaire—smart in business, but a horny teenager when it came to love.
Due to his money, there were many before Carmen—countless faces and forgettable names. These women had greedy fingers and cold eyes. And when I returned from graduate school, these women found their ways to my bed, hoping to sample forbidden fruit. They sucked the emotion out of my dad like vampires.
He didn't care that I fucked them. I didn’t fuck them all, just a few while drunk and bored. For him, women were only big breasts and wet sex. As with my mom, he feasted on their essence, drained them of life, and moved on.
My parents divorced when I turned eight years old.
When Dad left Mom, he surrounded himself with five lawyers, stole away Mom’s custody rights, and left her with nothing. A week later, the police discovered her bloody body in a gas station restroom. The press had a field day.
“The Tragedy of Wealth: Nick Ford’s ex-wife commits suicide due to poverty and bouts of depression.”
The articles declared that cuts decorated her wrists. It took me until my early teenage years to forgive Dad enough to where I could stand next to him without gutting him alive. That was why I moved back after Harvard. Dad was all I had in this world. I hoped to build a healthier relationship with him and get over my demons.
Then Carmen came into his life.
He could have any woman in this world. I wouldn’t get in his way.
But not her.
To Dad, Carmen was simply big breasts and a curvy form, just lush brown skin with captivating eyes. Although he had given her an engagement ring, she was just a new toy—the sexy black woman he'd been scared to try.
“I've always wanted to fuck the rainbow,” he'd said to me during a dinner where he’d just returned from proposing to her. “Besides, Carmen is fun, and a talented writer. Her life is a remarkable story.”
“It is,” I agreed.
“She had nothing. Crackhead mother and father. Raised by her grandmother, a maid for two different families. There was no way she had an easy life. How do you think she became who she is now?” he asked.
“Carmen escaped through books.”
“What?” He paused from eating. “How do you know that?”
“I read her bio, of course. I do my due diligence with any big client that we have. In her bio, she states that she read a lot.”
I could understand that. Books helped me escape too. Without Stephen King, I would never have been able to remain mentally stable after Mom’s suicide.
“That’s right.” Dad nodded. “Anyway, Carmen isn’t just a client. She’s now your new stepmom.”
“Oh, joy.” I forced a smile. “Wife number five. I’m hopeful.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“Just a little.”
“This marriage will last,” Dad said. “Trust me. As long as Carmen keeps her shape, does what she's told, and makes life interesting, this one should last.”
Although called handsome in his day, he had wrinkles and pink splotches decorating his pale skin. Carmen loved the aging playboy anyway. Thought he had a sensitive side.
You’ll see the truth soon, Carmen.
“She liked the new poems.” Dad stuffed his mouth with a big slice of steak. “Thanks for giving me some more.”
“Did you tell her that you wrote the poetry?”
“Of course. I’ve let it go on for this long. Why not?” He wiped his chin with a napkin. “Why? Are you okay with writing a few more?”
“No problem. What did she say about this latest poem?”
“She devoured those words. You know how Carmen is. She’s such a sucker for some lines that rhyme.” He grabbed his beer, chugged it, and then released a loud burp.
I was glad we were in the main dining room instead of the family eating area. I sat on the far left of a table that could fit at least twenty people while he remained on the right. I was well acquainted with the smells that came out of Dad’s mouth. His burps rivaled tear gas.
“Go ahead and write another poem for me. I’m going to take her somewhere nice this weekend. You should see the things she does to me after she reads those poems.” He clapped his hands and laughed. “Oh, if my dick could write. It would be nasty and filled with stories, my friend.”
I set my fork down and pushed my plate away.
She’s doing those things to you because of me. Don’t forget that. Or do you even care?
Dad couldn't get Carmen with his money or expensive trips, lavish dinners or high-end gifts. She didn't give Dad her number until he showed her a poem. My poem. That was how he hooked Carmen. My poetry. My words. My thoughts from my darkest moments had connected to something inside of her, so much that she overlooked the grotesque monstrosity that was my dad.
He’d found the old journal in my room and thought it would be fun to give her my poem. Dating was always a game with him, a hunt. She’d said no so much he got desperate and tried other tactics. My poetry won her over.
“Did she mention anything in particular about this latest poem?” I asked.
“She told me I was a lyrical genius and that my poetry reminded her of Catartis. I think that’s what she said.” He returned to his steak, slicing it up like he was a serial killer and the meat his victim. “I just thought the name she said sounded like your pen name.”
“Yeah. It does. My pen name’s Catharsis, by the way, not Catartis.”
“Yes, that’s what she said. My poetry reminded her of Catharsis.” Dad slung more meat into his greasy little mouth and chuckled. “Catharsis.”
“You mean my poetry reminded her of Catharsis.”
He winked at me. “That too. So I guess she’s a fan of your work. Lucky for me, you don’t like anyone knowing you’re a poet.”
“Catharsis is a secret I’m happy to keep. People monitor my movements enough in the world. I don’t need people learning about me through my thoughts.”
“You just keep on writing good poems to get her body going. I’m enjoying dating a business-minded writer. Carmen isn’t like those authors that have a book or something and never write again; she’s an artist with business sense. It’s why I spent all last year buying up her rights. It was a lovely investment for Ford Enterprises, and needless to say, she made sure I gave her a damn good deal too.”
I nodded. The agreement had made history. She’d handed over film, TV, and print rights of her international bestselling novel, Concrete Rose. Ford Enterprises gave her several million dollars. It would take time for her to get the funds due to our lawyers and hers still going over the particulars, but the initial
signings had been executed.
The first time I saw Carmen, I’d been intrigued but certainly not prepared. We’d had no idea the author was so beautiful until she walked into the conference room. Everyone stared at her. Every last dirty old man drooled. Those curves gave me pause. I babbled like an idiot when she said hello to me.
And her scent had me in a trance. She smelled like what roses should smell like–fruity and ripe for spring.
We all wanted her. Every last male in that room yearned to taste Carmen and slip their fingers between those thick thighs. But Dad got to her first.
And I couldn’t let that happen because she was more than Dad deserved.
Go find someone else.
I had a plan. Week after week, I wrote more lovely lines of poetry and gave them to Dad.
And I waited.
Dad built this sad relationship with her based on lies. I sat back and watched him, knowing his usual steps—date for a week, rush the courtship till the end of the month where he invited her to move into the mansion so she never got a chance to see what a pig he was until it was too late.
There were only so many weeks he could pretend to be the good guy.
Night after night, I followed behind Dad and Carmen without them knowing. During their walks, I always remained in the shadows in the park and even sat tables away from them as they dined in restaurants.
At no time did I believe this was normal. I’d always been good at realizing my own insanity.
Still, I followed them. Watching her became my nourishment. Like eating, I checked on Carmen three times a day. Evenings were the best. When Dad dropped her off at the end of dates, I stayed behind, sitting in my car across the street, imagining myself walking up to the door and confessing that I wrote the poetry.
“Carmen?”
“Yes.”
“I wrote those words to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You’ve become my muse. I can’t get you out of my mind. When I put my pen to paper, only my feelings for you come out.”
We would embrace, and I’d take her right there.
That never happened, of course, yet I continued to watch her. One must understand that I would never deny that I stalked Carmen. I had problems and could admit that. And with my money and looks, I got away with more than I should.
I monitored Carmen because I could.
Why does she make me so crazy?
It wasn’t just her looks that had me trapped. There had to be something else. Maybe it was the fact that she knew my Catharsis poetry; those obscure words had stuck in her mind. Regardless, I watched her, even on days when she didn’t see Dad.
Carmen became my hobby. I gave any real work to my assistants and spent my days following her. Each week, I promised that it would be the last time. I never stopped. Some nights, I didn’t drive away until her bedroom light turned off. Some evenings, I slept in my car. That was when I got a therapist.
Dr. Engles says it’s stalking. I don’t know. Sometimes, stalking can be such a harsh word.
Meanwhile, Dad and Carmen continued to get closer. I waited.
I waited for her to come to my playing ground. I knew Dad’s moves, and he didn’t disappoint me. He rushed the whole courtship with Carmen, as I assumed he would. He kept the deal for her money tied up with several legal mumbo jumbo obligations, enforced by his talented lawyers. He loved to make his women dependent on him.
I remained in the background, and Carmen moved into our mansion.
Her rose scent perfumed the empty halls. The mansion breathed—in and out, gasping with huge lungs. My hellish home shifted to heaven.
Plus, sleeping in the car was messing up my back.
I spent as much time with her as possible. We chatted during breakfast, joked around lunch, and debated in between wine-drenched giggles at dinner. By now, Dad had become Dad. Carmen bored him. He still enjoyed fucking her, but he didn’t like to talk or spend time with her.
He was fucking up, and I was moving in closer. Everything went as planned. Everything!
And then she caught me masturbating. Good job!
That morning had started off like every other one. She’d hurried down to the dining area while the staff served breakfast. Carmen fixed my coffee, a tradition she’d started on the first morning we shared together when I told her I preferred it her way—six Splenda, cinnamon, cream, and three chocolate kisses. Dad never came down to eat with us. He woke up early and ate in the office.
I loved our mornings together.
We’d had a good day. Great food. Lovely conversation. She even let me walk her out to her morning jog.
“Have a good run,” I’d said to her as she trotted in front of me, heading to the front of the property.
Cool wind had blown through her ebony hair; she’d opened the front door to leave. Usually, she had it up in a ponytail for her runs. Today, she let those strands sway past her shoulders.
“Thanks, Adrian,” Carmen had said. “You have a good day in the office.”
I chose that moment away from the staff to ask what I’d wanted to know all morning. “By the way, Carmen. Is everything okay? I heard you crying last night.”
“What? Crying?” She’d forced a pitiful smile. I knew Carmen’s expressions. Joy was high cheeks and bright eyes. Sad was a half-smile and red eyes from rubbing them the night before. That morning she’d been sad. “No way, Adrian. That wasn't me.”
“Are you sure?” I’d asked.
“Definitely.”
“Well, if you ever need me, I'm here for you.” I’d breathed her in as she stood in the kitchen doorway, sipping on the cup of coffee she’d made me. Cinnamon-chocolate lathered my tongue.
“Thanks, Adrian. That’s sweet, but I'm really fine.”
“Well, Dad didn't come home last night.”
She shrugged. “I hadn't noticed.”
“He hasn't been coming home a lot lately.”
Carmen put her back to me and stretched her other arm. “Adrian, you know something? To be twenty-five, you're pretty occupied with your dad’s and my relationship. You shouldn't have even been here last night. It was Thursday.”
“What’s so special about Thursday?”
“If I remember correctly, twenty-five year olds go out on Thursdays, especially rich ones.”
“You act like you're a wise old woman. You're only thirty-five.”
“It's a big life difference.” She’d bent over to stretch. That lush bottom rose in the air, and those tiny red shorts revealed ample, sweet cushions that I yearned to bite on and grope. Damn you.
I’d had to stifle a heated growl and grip my cup hard. Lust moved inside of me. It always rocked my body when she came around.
I’d studied the curve of her behind and the arch of her back.
My tongue would love you, Carmen.
“You're a young buck,” she joked.
“No way. The true difference is with—”
“Adrian, I'm not doing one of your debates this morning. I'm sure you're trying to start to some discussion on politics or philosophy.” She shifted to stretching her other leg. “All I'm saying is you should be living your life. Go out and have fun.”
Chuckling to myself, I dropped it. I had been leading her into a debate. I did anything to keep her talking in front of me; I needed these mornings with just her. I craved her conversation. Those minutes made my day.
But I couldn’t push it.
Dad had already ruined the week for her. Monday, he’d stumbled in, smelling of whores and liquor. It had only been a month since their engagement party, and he couldn’t even fake being a good man anymore.
“Okay.” She rose back to standing position and clapped her hands. “Time to make my body hurt.”
I couldn't help but blurt out, “You look beautiful. Don’t hurt your body too much.”
She’d paused, turned my way, and smiled. “Thank you. And, Adrian, try to take some time out for yourself today. Your father's business was successful
before you. It will continue to be a success without you.”
My words held wickedness. “Oh yes, Mommy. I'll do whatever you say.”
“Good.”
“So good,” I purred.
She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“Good. You and I. You're right.” I drank her in. “It would be good, even better than good.”
She gave me a nervous giggle. “I don't think we're talking about the same thing.”
“No. We're not. Would you like me to elaborate...Mommy?”
She frowned. “I told you that although innocent, Mr. Adrian, flirting is still flirting.”
I licked my lips and leaned on the doorframe. That foundation was as hard as my dick and all I wanted to do was take those damn shorts off her and show Carmen how good it would be. “I’ll stop flirting.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be a good boy.”
“Thank you because sometimes, you’re a very bad boy.” She shook her head.
“Hey, I've never touched you. That's progress.”
“Progress for who? One doesn’t flirt with their dad’s fiancé.”
“It’s progress for me. Trust me.” My dick rose in my pants, and I made no move to hide this from her. If she looked below my waist, she’d see it pushing against the fabric. “When I see a beautiful woman, I always go after her.”
“You shouldn't go after me. Ever.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Why not?”
“It’s so obvious why you shouldn’t that I won’t waste time discussing it.” Her gaze lingered on my pants, and the realization that I was erect spread all over her face. She stiffened, bit her bottom lip, and quickly turned away. “H-have a nice day, Adrian.”
No. You don’t get off that easy.
“I want you,” I confessed.
With her back now to me, she stood frozen in the doorway. In my mind, I imagined her expression—open mouthed and shocked eyes.
“Did you hear me, Carmen? I want you. Anyway, I can have you. Right now in this hallway or on a night when dad isn’t here. And where is he these days? Is he too stupid to see what he has at home? Is he rushing off to get a blowjob from wife number six? I want you. Anytime, anyplace—whether flying you off to my suite in London or—”