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I was going against my better judgement. I had a woman I couldn’t fully account for and I was already trying to figure out how to keep her permanently.

I got in my car and headed back to the city. There were too many moving parts, including a conversation with Belle that I had no idea how to start.

One thing at a time.

19 LA’BELLE EVANS

SEPTEMBER 2026

Cardez and I grabbed food from Maison after spending the afternoon at the Met. I was obsessed with their food at this point. Every time we went, the chef had some new secret dish she wanted me to try.⁠1

Now we were on his couch with a movie on in the background that neither of us were watching. I laid out in his lap, my legs stretched across the other side of the sectional. He was rubbing my arm idly. Whatever was on his phone had more of his attention than I did.

“You’re not paying attention,” I said, tilting my head to look up at him.

“I’m listening.”

“You don’t even know what’s happening.”

He sighed but didn’t look away from his phone. “The white lady’s about to open the door even though she knows damn well she shouldn’t.”

I glanced at the TV, and just like he predicted, the actress reached for the doorknob with shaky hands, fear all over her face, and still opened it.

“Smartass,” I mumbled, sitting up and moving out of his lap.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Cardez’s hand went to the back of my neck before I could get too far. His touch made my nipples pebble instantly. “Nah,” he said in a low voice. “What was said, Belle?”

My mouth dropped open a little, caught between a laugh and soft moan. “Nothing, Papa. I swear.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said before kissing me. “Go back to your movie.”

I settled back into the couch, but my body was lit up. This man had me open in the worst way.

I was still adjusting to Cardez Montague being my man. I’d had men say they were my boyfriends in the past, and I played the part, but I never meant it. I was their girlfriend in theory.

I was his woman in practice.

It’d only been a few weeks since the gala, but things had shifted fast. I’d come over one evening and found the closet in his guest room filled with clothes my size—workout sets, jeans, shirts, underwear. His bathroom was stocked with all the products I used at home.

“I’m not moving in,” I said when he showed it to me.

He leaned against the dresser with that amused look he got when he knew I was about to dig in his ass. “Did I ask you to?”

“I shouldn’t be freaked out that you bought me an entire wardrobe?”

“I bought you clothes so you’d stop stealing my t-shirts. And so, you wouldn’t have to worry about bringing a bag every time you come over.”

There were even shoes and a few bags on the shelf. I spotted one that made me stop mid-rant.

“Is that Saint Laurent?” I brushed past him and went over to the bag. It was, in fact, a brand new YSL mini hobo bag. “This is too much, Dez.”

He closed the distance between us and wrapped me up in his arms, the familiar scent of his Tom Ford cologne hitting me the way it always did. “Stop,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I’m not asking you to move in. I’m not trying to take anything away from you. I just wanted to make space for you here, Belle. That’s all. Stop trying to find a problem where there isn’t one.”

And that was that.