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“By snatching up my cousin and forcing me to marry him?”

“I mean—you shouldn’t have stolen from him. The last person that screwed him over is dead, so you’re getting off easy.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t steal from him,” I huffed, crossing my arms. “But if he hates me, why would he even want me in his house?”

Marco snorted. “You clearly don’t know how petty the nigga can be.”

Marco left after my boxes came up that afternoon. I sulked on the couch while they carried my whole life past me. I looked down at my hand, yanked the ring off, and threw it into the corner.

Siani had called a couple of times, but I purposefully left my phone on Do Not Disturb. What would I even say to her if I picked up?

I was still on the couch long after they’d finished bringing in my stuff. The apartment had gone dark and I couldn’t be bothered to turn on a light.

The elevator doors opened.

Cardez waltzed in carrying a bag of food. The scent made my stomach growl. I squinted as he turned the living room lights on.

I felt a nasty flicker of satisfaction seeing his bruised left eye. But as much as I wanted to stab him, he was still fine as fuck. My heart skipped the second I saw him.

“You been sitting in the dark?” he asked, setting the bags on the counter.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“You hungry? I got some pernil and mofongo from the Dominican spot you like.”

I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. My stomach rumbled as he popped open one of the containers.

“Belle.”

I turned the volume up.

He walked over and snatched the remote out of my hand.

“You’re blocking the TV,” I said.

“You need to eat.”

“Nigga is you cool?” I snapped. “You ambushed me last night, had a gun to my cousin, and now you’re trying to have dinner with me like shit is sweet? Are you dumb?”

“Are you? ‘Cause you stole from me, and that’s what got you in this predicament. You tryna eat or not?”

“I’m not eating shit from you.”

“I know your ass is hungry. But suit yourself.” He shrugged.

“Fuck you, Dez.”

“You already did. Multiple times. We both know how that turned out.” He went back to the kitchen and started making himself a plate.

I placed my hand over my stomach as it growled again, hoping he hadn’t heard it.

I stared daggers into his back as he ate with his back to me. By the eighth minute, my stomach started cramping and I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up and went to the cupboard and pulled out a plate. I could feel his eyes on me as I moved around the space with a familiarity I hated.

I filled my plate with as much attitude as a person could muster, grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, and stomped off to the guest room, kicking the door shut behind me.

I sat on the floor and tore that food up. I was so pissed about how good it was, I almost cried into the pernil.

I could hear him on the other side of the door cleaning up the kitchen, going through the motions like this was every other time I’d been here.