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Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
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I dedicate my art to Quaye Jovan Coleman. You are my son and my sun. All my intentions and love revolve around you.
Acknowledgments
Ash Army, I cannot even form the words to express how dear you are to me, so I will simply say thank you. From the depths of my heart I appreciate each and every one of you for indulging in my art.
Letter to the Fans
Ash Army! We have been through the most beautiful series together. Through ups and downs, heartbreaks and triumphs, you guys stuck with me through it all. I’m so grateful for every tear you cried and every heart I wrecked while penning Ethic’s story. I loved the connection I felt to you guys. I know you thought it was over, but there is still so much to tell. While my dearest Ethic and Alani have sailed off into the sunset, Morgan is still trying to piece her life back together. She’s a young girl who has been betrayed by love. She’s been lied to. She’s been hurt. She’s broken, and now it’s time for me to try to put her pieces back together, to fix the wings on this beautiful butterfly so she can do what Messiah always wanted her to do. “Live, Shorty.” Thank you so much for the years of support, for all the Twizzlers, the gifts, the letters, the retweets, the reposts, the word-of-mouth promotion, and for the love. I am so undeserving of all of you, but no one has ever appreciated their fans more. I love Ash Army. You guys give me purpose. On sleepless nights when I’m haunted by these characters, I remember that you guys are waiting for me to spin another tale, and when it feels like I just don’t have anything left, I’m motivated to push a little more. Thank you for being the gasoline to my fire. You guys ready to start another journey with me? A new but familiar one? There are some people in these pages who really missed you. Y’all know the drill. Grab your favorite drink. Put the kids to bed. Tell that significant other I need you for a little while. I hope you enjoy this new series. I hope it makes your hearts content, because it certainly made mine smile. For those of you who haven’t read Ethic yet, feel free to dive. You won’t be disappointed. For those who know, hold on tight. Y’all know how I get down. It’s going to hurt before it feels better.
-xoxo-
Ashley Antoinette
Playlist
“Foolin’ Around” by Changing Faces
“Rocket” by Beyoncé
“Lazy Love” by Ne-Yo
“Happy” by Pharrell Williams
“No, No, No” by Destiny’s Child
“My First Night with You” by Mya
“I Miss You” by Beyoncé
“Hours” by Eric Bellinger
“Part II (On the Run)” by Jay-Z ft. Beyoncé
“Secret” by Ann Marie ft. YK Osiris
“Girls Need Love” by Summer Walker
“Feenin’” by Jodeci
“Shame” by Summer Walker
“I’m There” by Summer Walker
“CPR” by Summer Walker
“Love You from a Distance” by Bridget Kelly ft. Ro James
“Flexin’” by TXS
“Catchin’ Feelings” by TXS
“Needy” by Ariana Grande
“Handle It” by Ann Marie
“Pull Up” by Ann Marie
“Belong” by Asiahn
“Kool Kid” by Layton Greene
“Naked” by Marques Houston
“One of Them Days” by Kiana Ledé
“A.D.I.D.A.S.” by Ro James
“Butterflies” by Queen Naija
“Ribbon in the Sky” by Stevie Wonder
“How’s It Goin’ Down” by DMX
“City Girls” by Twerk ft. Cardi B
“While We’re Young” by Jhené Aiko
“Knuck If You Buck” by Crime Mob
“Drip” by Asiahn
“I Do!!” by Cardi B ft. SZA
“Hold Me” by Janine
Prologue
Once upon a time, in a place called Ethic Land, there lived a princess named Morgan Atkins. She was beautiful, but she felt invisible because she couldn’t use her voice. Born deaf, she always felt like she was different. Like she was unworthy of love and attention. When her family fell into peril at the hands of a man named Mizan, she was raised by Ethic. He was a king, and he loved her like she were his own, but even still, Morgan never quite felt like she belonged. It wasn’t until she met a young man named Messiah, Ethic’s young protégé, that she felt special. When Morgan began a secret affair with Messiah, she thought she had found true love, but her prince turned out to be a fraud. He was the brother of Mizan and was plotting revenge on behalf of his family. When Ethic found out, he banished Messiah from the kingdom, and Morgan was left heartbroken and pregnant. Unable to bear life without her love, she tried to kill herself, but God had a plan that didn’t allow Morgan to give up just yet. She waited for Messiah, day in and out, but he never returned. Not because he didn’t want to—his love for her was true—but because he was sick, and he didn’t want her to watch him die. He had already caused enough pain with his deceit. He didn’t want to harm her more, so he chose to die alone. By the time she found out about his condition, it was too late and Messiah was no more. Morgan gave birth to twins, the only evidence she had left of the love she had once shared with an incredible man. She wished she’d had more time. If only … she’d had more time … she wouldn’t be settling … she wouldn’t be thousands of miles away from her family, away from her friends. She wouldn’t be running from ghosts of her past. If only Messiah had lived to love another day … things would have turned out much differently. He would have turned Princess Morgan into a queen.
1
“Morgan, sweetheart, you look magnificent! Such a pretty girl.”
Morgan turned from the mirror and gave a faint smile as Christiana Fredrick entered the room. The mother of her boyfriend. The endearing, empowering, supportive mother of that man she slept next to every night. After two years of dating Bash Fredrick, Morgan would think that Christiana would know how much she hated to be called pretty. By now, Morgan hoped to have made more of an impression besides the initial one … that she was stunning, but it never failed. Each time she walked into a room, Christiana pointed out her beauty. Every single time, Morgan cringed on the inside. She hated being called pretty. It’s all anyone ever saw in her. The outside, the beauty, the exquisiteness that God had blessed her with. Where most would love the attention, Morgan Atkins had grown to hate it. Being pretty was a curse. There was only one person who had ever gone deeper to see past it. One man … Her heart dipped in torment at the thought of him, so she tried not to think of him at all.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, her tone so soft it was almost muted. She turned back to the mirror and pressed flat hands against her blush-colored dress. Chanel. Gifted to her from the company itself because the Fredrick family were longtime friends of the head designer there. The handbag and shoes, also gifts. The dress Yara wore, also a gift. Tom Ford for Messari. Another gift.
“Where are my babies?” Christiana aske
d as she came behind Morgan and placed both hands on her shoulders.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
“Napping. No way will I be able to get Yara to behave if she doesn’t get a nap before the performance,” Morgan said, laughing.
“Terrible twos. Something every mother must survive,” Christiana said. She reached for the hairbrush that sat on Morgan’s vanity. She picked it up and brushed Morgan’s hair gently. “Let’s pull this up, okay? You’re promoting a children’s charity. We’re going for class. A bun, to the back, would be perfect.”
Morgan didn’t respond as Christiana styled her hair because she knew her protests wouldn’t matter. Her voice was muted just like before, when she was walking around unable to hear. People didn’t understand her, so she had stopped trying to be heard. Morgan was just along for the ride.
Splitting her time between London and the States, she had developed a bond with Christiana. She had doubled up on classes with the help of her family and Bash’s mother. It took an entire village to keep Morgan in school. Morgan should have been pleased with every aspect of her life, but there was an unbearable grief that crippled her. Something was missing. Messiah was missing, and knowing he had spent his last days alone, thinking that she hated him, thinking he was unworthy of her forgiveness, would haunt Morgan for the rest of her life. She couldn’t live after that. After his death … after her loss. Living was impossible. She didn’t know how to love anymore. She tolerated. She coasted … with Bash. Morgan was settling. Christiana removed the brooch on her white Chanel suit jacket and walked around Morgan. She pinned it near Morgan’s collar.
“There. Now you’re perfect. I’m going to go wake those babies. Hurry now. We have to get the pictures for the Christmas card before we leave for your event.”
Christiana’s heels echoed against the marble floor until she was out of the room.
Morgan pulled in a deep breath and stared at herself once more. “Perfect,” she muttered.
She carried herself down the stairs of the beautiful home. It was royal, and just like an Atkins girl, she had chosen the prince … or close enough to it, in Bash’s case. A true descendant of royalty. One of the only black royal families in England, in fact. It put a spotlight on them. It put pressure on her to be prim, to be proper, to love on Bash in public in a way more intimate than she ever expressed in private. His entire family accepted her. They loved her children. Bash was helping her raise them. She was grateful for him, but somehow, even with him doting over her every need, Morgan had never felt so alone.
“Ma-ma, my ma-ma.” Messari’s voice was like jumper cables to a dying car battery; it made her come alive, kept her chugging along. Her babies gave her life because they were pieces of the love of her life. She had never gotten the chance to tell him that he was the love of her life. Mini versions of Messiah. They had ended on such bad terms, and she felt the burden of that as she navigated her way through life. She wished the twins looked more like him so that she could stare into his face every day until she left this earth, but they were her spitting image.
“Hi, Mama’s big boy,” she signed. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Messari signed back. At two years old, he was just forming words. They were barely coherent, but his sign language was fluent. Morgan worked every day with the twins, teaching them to sign.
He reached for her, and Morgan relieved him from Christiana’s arms.
“It’s their thing. Their secret language,” Christiana said to the photographer, standing off to the side, as if an explanation were needed.
“My daughter’s deaf, actually,” Morgan corrected. “Messari is bilingual. Yara signs. Where is she, by the way?”
“She’s right here.”
Morgan turned to find Bash and his father walking into the room. Yara was resting peacefully on Bash’s shoulder. The sight of them made Morgan smile. Bash was beautiful with her children. One would never be able to tell that he wasn’t their biological father. No one knew, in fact, except her family and his. Everyone else thought of them as one big, happy family. Morgan was the undergraduate that Bash had fallen in love with and gotten pregnant, and although Morgan was young, they were very much in love. That was the story Christiana had spun when she had begun introducing Morgan around the family’s elite social circle. She had been accepted instantly. Bash approached Morgan and leaned down to kiss her lips.
“You okay? My mama driving you crazy yet?” Bash asked.
Morgan smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He kissed her lips again.
“Hey, Ssari man. You ready to take a big-boy picture with the fellas?” Bash asked.
Messari nodded and lunged for Bash. Bash laughed, catching the toddler with ease without ever disturbing Yara.
“Here, I’ll take her,” Morgan said. “She needs to wake up anyway.”
Morgan placed a palm on Yara’s diapered bottom and shook her gently. Yara lifted irritated eyes at her mother, then turned her head the other way on Bash’s shoulder.
“A daddy’s girl,” David said.
Morgan snapped eyes of discontent at Bash’s father. It always cut her when anyone referred to Bash as the twins’ father. She never corrected them, but it hurt all the same. Morgan walked around Bash’s shoulder and signed to Yara.
“Come on, Mama’s strong girl,” she said.
“She’s so pretty,” Christiana admired. “She’s perfection.”
“Don’t call her that,” Morgan said. “She’s strong, she’s smart. She’ll know she’s pretty. She needs to hear the other things more.”
“No one ever complained about being called pretty, Morgan,” she said dismissively.
Morgan dropped it as she pulled Yara from Bash’s arms.
“Okay, let’s get these photos,” Christiana said, clapping her hands to corral everyone.
Morgan stood off with Yara in her arms as the men took pictures. Messari was the highlight of the trio, bringing laughter and light to the shots. The ladies were next, and Yara’s resting bitch face was inherited, Morgan was sure of it, directly from her sister, Raven Atkins. Morgan had never met a more temperamental baby than Yara Rae. The group family photo was next, then Morgan was out the door.
“I’ve got to get to the venue. We’ll meet you guys there,” Morgan called out as she and Bash hurried off the estate with the babies in their arms.
“Thank you for doing that,” Bash said, kissing the side of Morgan’s head. “She insisted you and the twins be a part of it this year.”
Morgan nodded. “Of course. I appreciate how she includes us. She doesn’t have to.”
“She does,” Bash corrected. “She does have to. You’re the most important part of my life, Mo. I want to be clear about that.”
They strapped the twins into car seats and then climbed into the front of Bash’s Range Rover. It was time to make an appearance among London’s elite, and Morgan plastered on a smile, hoping that her happiness looked believable.
2
The Royal Opera House was beautiful, and just pulling up in front of the building made her nervous. There was a grandness about it, a historic aura that filled the air as soon as Morgan placed her eyes on it. She felt out of place, and she hadn’t even stepped foot inside yet.
“I feel like we should have started this small. It’s such a huge venue,” she whispered. She was intimidated. The task in front of her seemed daunting.
“It’s fine. Everything will be fine.”
Morgan placed doubtful eyes on the red carpet outside her window.
“You performed with Stiletto Gang in front of hundreds of people. This is no different,” he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
The valet opened the door, and Morgan got out. She reached into the back seat for Messari as Bash retrieved Yara. They took the red carpet, holding hands and smiling for the flashing cameras of London’s finest publications.
“Mo Money, are we going to see you back onstage with
the Stiletto Gang anytime soon? Old performance videos have been surfacing online, and it’s rumored you might be joining them onstage soon.”
Morgan looked at the young black woman in front of her, and her mouth fell open.
Aria had taken Stiletto Gang to new heights, dancing background for some of the largest artists in the world, and she had been begging Mo to come back.
“Umm, I don’t … I’m not…”
“Morgan is focused on her philanthropy right now. Giving back to the community and teaching the little ones to dance. The money from tonight will go directly toward the crisis in Flint, Michigan, her hometown, to help aid in the city’s water crisis,” Bash said.
He placed his free hand on the small of her back and ushered her down the red carpet until they were inside.
She found the parents of the other children waiting for her in the gallery. They were all dressed in blush-colored dresses, while the boys wore suits.
“Hi, everyone. Thank you so much. I’ll take over from here. Parents have the first two rows reserved. We’ll see you guys after the show,” she said. “I’ve got them. You can sit and enjoy the show.”
“You sure? This is a lot of little people,” Bash said, his forehead wrinkling, showing his skepticism. Morgan had been corralling these little humans for the past three months. She had no qualms about handling things backstage; it was the grown people watching that made her nervous. The snobby elites of high London society.
She nodded and put Messari down. “I’ve got it.”
She grabbed Yara and held her son’s hand. “Okay, guys, come to Ms. Morgan,” she called out. She bent down and placed Yara beside her brother as the group of small kids gathered. Her babies were the youngest and smallest, causing the other kids to circle in behind them. “Are you guys ready to have some fun and show your mommies and daddies what you learned?”
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