Episode 1

The Ferguson estate was loud again.

Too loud.

The gigantic living room glowed under gold chandeliers while rain hammered against the estate windows outside. The tension in the mansion felt thick enough to choke on.

Jollete Ferguson sat quietly on one of the velvet sectionals near the fireplace, her massive pregnant belly pressed gently against the table as she carefully stitched tiny gold thread into a black baby blanket. Beside her were folded newborn clothes she had sewn by hand herself.

Soft little socks. Tiny button shirts. Miniature black-and-gold blankets with the Ferguson crest stitched into them.

Nobody complimented them.

Nobody really noticed her at all.

The Ferguson men were too busy arguing.

Joseph Ferguson—the eldest brother—sat with his wife sprawled against him while scrolling through stock reports on his tablet.

“This shit dropped six percent overnight,” Joseph snapped. “Six. Fucking. Percent. Because Monquez can’t keep his damn personal life from leaking into business.”

Alan Ferguson scoffed from the other side of the room.

“Man, everybody already know Monquez still obsessed with that damn girl. The blogs been eating this shit alive for weeks.”

Malcolm leaned back with a drink in his hand.

“Nah, what’s crazy is Liora got enough confidence to still be around after all these years. That woman act like she already own half the estate.”

Ezekiel burst out laughing.

“She basically do. Monquez damn near roll out a red carpet every time she breathe.”

A few of the wives exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Jollete kept sewing silently.

Her fingers trembled slightly at the mention of Liora’s name, but she kept her head lowered.

The matriarch, Linda Ferguson, sat stiffly in her chair near Richard Ferguson, her husband. Both looked irritated beyond belief.

Linda took a sharp sip of wine.

“I am sick of this embarrassment,” she hissed. “We arranged a beautiful marriage with a respectable billionaire woman, and Monquez still running around behind that damn Johnson girl like some teenager.”

Richard rubbed his temple.

“That boy getting too emotional. Emotional men make stupid Mafia leaders.”

Alan muttered, “He already doing stupid shit.”

Joseph snorted.

“Especially when his wife sitting right here pregnant as hell while he out getting lipstick all over his damn collar.”

The room went awkwardly quiet.

Jollete’s sewing needle paused.

Just for a second.

Then she quietly continued sewing again.

Like she hadn't heard it.

Like her chest didn’t feel split open.

The front doors suddenly slammed downstairs.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the mansion.

Everyone looked toward the entrance of the living room.

Monquez Ferguson entered looking absolutely furious.

Tall. Massive. Broad shouldered in a black suit that looked wrinkled from a long night.

And right there against the collar of his white dress shirt—

A dark lipstick stain.

The entire room went dead silent.

Monquez already looked pissed off before he even spoke.

His sharp eyes immediately landed on everybody sitting there.

“What the fuck y’all staring at?” he snapped.

Nobody answered.

Linda folded her arms.

“You look disgusting.”

Monquez laughed bitterly.

“Good for me.”

Richard stood slowly.

“Watch your damn tone.”

But Monquez wasn’t listening anymore.

His gaze shifted toward Jollete.

She still sat quietly on the couch, sewing tiny baby clothes with lowered eyes like she was trying not to exist.

That somehow irritated him even more.

“Everybody get the fuck out.”

The room blinked.

Ezekiel muttered, “Damn, here we go.”

Monquez’s voice rose louder.

“I said GET OUT.”

Nobody argued after that.

The brothers immediately stood, grabbing their wives while muttering under their breath.

Alan whispered, “This nigga about to start another toxic ass episode.”

Malcolm shook his head.

“Feel bad for her.”

Linda gave Monquez one long disappointed glare before leaving with Richard.

Soon the gigantic living room became quiet.

Just Monquez.

And Jollete.

She kept sewing.

Monquez stared at her for a long moment.

Then he suddenly stormed over.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Jollete slowly looked up.

Her soft expression somehow pissed him off more.

Monquez grabbed her wrist suddenly.

Hard.

The sewing needle slipped from her fingers onto the floor.

“Why the fuck you always acting like some scared little ghost in this house?” he snapped.

Jollete flinched slightly at his volume.

“I’m not…”

“The fuck you mean you not?” he barked. “You don’t say shit. Don’t ask questions. Don’t complain. You just sit around sewing all damn day like a haunted doll.”

Jollete swallowed quietly.

Monquez stared down at her face.

Then his eyes dropped to her belly.

The movement inside the fabric caught his attention for a brief second.

His child moving.

Something unreadable crossed his expression.

But it vanished quickly.

“You got everybody in this damn house looking at me crazy,” he muttered bitterly.

Jollete’s voice came out soft.

“I didn’t do anything…”

“That’s the damn problem.”

Before she could react, Monquez yanked her upward from the couch.

Jollete gasped softly as he pulled her against his chest.

His hand still gripped her wrist tightly.

“You just sit there and take shit,” he hissed near her ear. “You don’t yell. Don’t fight back. Don’t do a damn thing.”

Then suddenly—

His mouth pressed against her neck.

Jollete froze.

Monquez kissed against her skin roughly, breathing heavily against her throat like he was angry at himself for touching her at all.

His other hand gripped her waist possessively.

“Monquez…” she whispered weakly.

“What?” he snapped against her skin. “You gonna tell me to stop?”

But Jollete didn’t answer.

She just shut her eyes quietly and endured it.

Like always.

That somehow made his breathing grow heavier.

His lips moved along her neck again, slower this time, almost desperate underneath the aggression.

Jollete’s fingers trembled lightly against his chest.

Monquez noticed immediately.

And for a brief second—

He loosened his grip on her wrist.

Just slightly.

Monquez slowly pulled away from Jollete’s neck, his breathing still uneven.

The room stayed painfully quiet except for the crackling fireplace and the distant thunder outside.

Jollete remained standing exactly where he left her, one hand instinctively resting against the underside of her massive belly. Her cheeks were warm from embarrassment, her eyes lowered again like she regretted allowing herself to react at all.

Monquez stared at her silently for a moment.

Then he suddenly stepped back and adjusted the collar of his shirt roughly like he was irritated with himself.

“Sit down,” he muttered.

Jollete quietly obeyed, lowering herself back onto the velvet sofa carefully.

Monquez dragged a hand down his face before glaring toward the hallway.

“Bring the damn gift in.”

A servant immediately rushed off.

A few moments later, two staff members carefully entered carrying several luxury shopping bags and a gigantic black velvet box tied with gold ribbon.

Jollete blinked softly.

The servants gently placed everything down in front of her before quickly leaving again.

Monquez stayed standing near the fireplace with one hand in his pocket, avoiding eye contact entirely.

“I got you something,” he said flatly.

Jollete looked at the bags quietly.

Inside one of them she could already see folded designer maternity fabrics.

Another held expensive jewelry boxes.

And the large velvet box—

Probably custom made.

Monquez sighed heavily.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. My parents kept nagging me about buying you shit.”

His tone sounded annoyed.

But Jollete noticed something strange.

Everything sitting there was in her favorite colors.

Black. Gold. Deep emerald green.

Things she never verbally told him she liked.

Her fingers lightly touched the ribbon on the large box.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Monquez looked away immediately.

“Yeah.”

Jollete slowly opened the velvet box.

Inside sat a breathtaking handmade maternity gown covered in delicate gold embroidery.

Her breath caught quietly.

The stitching style instantly looked familiar.

Her eyes widened slightly.

“He… copied my old designs…” she whispered without realizing it aloud.

Monquez glanced over.

“What?”

Jollete quickly shook her head.

“Nothing…”

But she kept staring at the dress.

Because years ago—before marriage, before the Ferguson estate, before loneliness swallowed her whole—

She used to sketch gowns exactly like this.

Monquez watched her expression carefully.

For once, she actually looked happy.

Not pretending. Not forcing politeness.

Actually happy.

Something twisted painfully in his chest.

Then suddenly—

His phone rang.

Monquez instantly groaned in irritation the moment he saw the caller ID.

Liora.

Jollete’s smile disappeared almost immediately.

She lowered her gaze back to the dress quietly.

Monquez answered with visible annoyance.

“What now?”

Liora’s loud crying immediately echoed through the phone.

“Mon…! Oh my God, I think somebody broke into my apartment! I heard noises and—and I’m scared!”

Monquez shut his eyes tiredly.

“The fuck you mean you think somebody broke in?”

“I heard something downstairs!” Liora cried dramatically. “I don’t wanna stay here alone!”

Monquez pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jollete sat quietly nearby pretending not to hear.

But every word stabbed into her chest anyway.

Monquez sighed heavily.

“Liora… I can’t come tonight.”

“But Mon—”

“I said I’ll come tomorrow.”

Liora immediately started whining louder.

“But what if something happens to me tonight?!”

Monquez’s jaw tightened.

“Then call security.”

“But—”

“Goodnight, Liora.”

He hung up before she could continue.

The room fell silent again.

Jollete carefully folded part of the maternity gown over her fingers.

Her expression remained unreadable.

Monquez stared at her for a long moment.

Waiting.

For anger maybe.

Jealousy.

Anything.

But Jollete simply nodded softly to herself and whispered,

“She sounds upset…”

Something about that response irritated him instantly.

“She cries wolf every damn week,” Monquez snapped. “Last month she called me screaming because her damn cat got outside.”

Jollete looked down quietly.

“Oh…”

Monquez cursed under his breath.

Why the hell was she always so calm?

Why didn’t she yell at him? Throw something? Ask questions?

Why did she just quietly accept pain every single time?

It made him feel worse somehow.

Monquez walked toward her suddenly.

Jollete looked up in surprise.

Before she could react, Monquez bent down and scooped her up into his arms effortlessly.

Jollete gasped softly.

“Monquez—”

“You heavy as hell now,” he muttered.

But he adjusted her carefully against his chest anyway.

One arm beneath her legs. The other supporting her back protectively.

Jollete instinctively grabbed onto his shirt.

The baby shifted heavily between them.

Monquez glanced down briefly when he felt the movement.

Then he started walking out of the living room carrying her.

Jollete blinked in confusion.

“Where are we going…?”

Monquez kept walking down the dim golden hallways of the estate.

“To bed.”

Jollete immediately tensed slightly.

Monquez noticed.

His expression darkened instantly.

“The fuck you nervous for?” he asked quietly.

Jollete looked away.

“I’m not…”

“Bullshit.”

His voice lowered dangerously.

“You start shaking every time I touch you.”

Jollete’s throat tightened.

Monquez stared at her face while carrying her upstairs.

“You scared of me, Jollete?”

The question came out rougher than he intended.

Jollete froze.

The silence alone answered him.

Monquez looked forward again immediately, jaw clenching hard enough to twitch.

Somewhere deep down—

That answer genuinely hurt him.

Later that evening, the Ferguson estate dining hall glowed beneath massive crystal chandeliers.

The long black dining table looked almost royal, covered in gold dishes, lit candles, expensive wine, and untouched desserts. Rain still tapped against the towering windows while armed guards quietly patrolled outside the estate grounds.

Nobody at the table looked peaceful.

Dinner at the Ferguson estate was never peaceful.

Joseph sat at the far end scrolling through numbers on his phone while his wife argued with him under her breath about vacation properties.

Alan was loudly complaining about a nightclub owner who apparently refused to pay protection money.

“I should’ve broke that nigga jaw myself,” Alan muttered before stabbing into his steak aggressively.

Malcolm laughed darkly.

“You say that every damn week.”

Ezekiel sat beside his wife looking halfway exhausted already.

“The Colombians causing problems again too,” Ezekiel added. “Somebody hit one of the warehouses near the docks.”

Richard Ferguson immediately looked irritated.

“I told Monquez to handle that shit days ago.”

Linda took a sip of wine.

“Well maybe he would if he stopped running behind Liora every damn time she sneeze.”

The room got awkwardly quiet again.

Jollete sat quietly near the middle of the table, carefully eating small bites of food.

She barely spoke.

Her long Rapunzel-like hair flowed down the back of her chair in soft dark waves. Gold jewelry rested delicately against her skin while her maternity dress stretched beautifully over her full-term belly.

She looked soft. Elegant. Quiet.

Completely out of place in a family full of violent people.

Monquez sat a few seats away from her, one arm resting against the chair while he stared at his phone with growing fury.

His jaw tightened harder with every message.

Another warehouse issue.

Two captains fighting internally.

Money missing.

One of the rival families trying to move into Ferguson territory again.

The Mafia world was becoming a damn headache tonight.

Joseph looked over.

“What happened now?”

Monquez didn’t even look up.

“Somebody moved product through the south side without permission.”

Alan cursed loudly.

“Oh hell nah.”

Monquez’s eyes darkened.

“They claiming they ain’t know the territory belonged to us.”

Malcolm laughed coldly.

“That’s code for ‘they testing us.’”

Richard leaned back in his chair.

“So what you gon’ do about it?”

Monquez finally looked up slowly.

The entire table quieted instantly.

“Handle it.”

Nobody asked anything else after that.

Even the wives stayed silent.

Jollete quietly continued eating.

She could already feel the tension in the room thickening. Loud voices always overwhelmed her, especially lately with the pregnancy making everything feel sharper.

The clinking silverware. The loud chewing. The overlapping conversations.

Her fingers lightly twitched beneath the table.

Monquez suddenly looked over at her.

And paused.

His eyes slowly traveled over her.

The soft curve of her cheeks. The gold earrings brushing against her neck. Her beautiful eyes lowered toward her plate. The way her dress wrapped around her full pregnant body.

And her hair.

Jesus Christ.

Her hair alone almost reached the floor beside the chair.

Monquez stared longer than he meant to.

Jollete quietly tucked a strand behind her ear while taking another bite of food.

Completely unaware he was looking at her like that.

Something dangerous twisted inside his chest.

Because despite everything—

She was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

The type of beautiful that pissed him off because he couldn’t stop noticing it anymore.

Then the baby suddenly moved hard beneath the fabric of her dress.

Jollete immediately paused, one hand instinctively pressing against the side of her belly.

Monquez noticed instantly.

His eyes stayed there.

Watching her rub slow circles against the movement.

Watching the tiny reaction on her face.

Soft. Maternal. Tired.

Linda noticed him staring.

She smirked slightly into her wine glass.

“Well damn,” she muttered. “Look who finally remember he got a wife.”

Monquez immediately scowled.

“Mind your business.”

Alan snorted loudly.

“Nah, mama kinda right. You over there eye-fucking your own damn wife at the dinner table.”

Ezekiel nearly choked laughing.

Jollete’s cheeks warmed instantly.

She lowered her head further toward her plate.

Monquez shot all of them an irritated glare.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Joseph smirked.

“You mad because it’s true.”

Monquez cursed under his breath and went back to his phone.

But his mood somehow felt even worse now.

Because they were right.

He couldn’t stop looking at her tonight.

And that irritated the hell out of him.

A few moments later, Monquez abruptly stood from the table.

The chair scraped harshly against the marble floor.

“I’m leaving.”

Richard looked up.

“You heading to the docks?”

“Yeah.”

Linda frowned.

“At this hour?”

Monquez grabbed his coat off the nearby chair.

“Them dumbasses already started shooting. I gotta clean it up before this shit becomes a war.”

The brothers immediately looked annoyed.

“Again?” Malcolm muttered.

Monquez ignored him.

As servants moved around collecting dishes, Monquez suddenly glanced toward Jollete again.

She looked up quietly.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Monquez said flatly,

“Don’t wait up for me.”

Jollete blinked softly.

The words sounded almost… normal.

Like a husband talking to his wife.

Not yelling. Not angry.

Just tired.

Jollete nodded quietly.

“Okay.”

Monquez stared at her a second longer than necessary.

Then he finally walked away from the table.

The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed through the massive dining hall until the front doors downstairs slammed shut moments later.

Silence settled over the room again.

Alan immediately leaned toward Jollete.

“You know that nigga obsessed with you now, right?”

Joseph burst out laughing.

Jollete nearly choked on her water.

Linda smirked knowingly while Ezekiel grinned.

But Jollete just lowered her eyes back to her plate quietly.

Because somehow—

That possibility scared her more than his hatred ever did.

Late that evening, the Ferguson master bedroom sat dim and quiet beneath the glow of gold wall lights.

Rain still poured outside the massive windows overlooking the estate grounds. Thunder rolled low through the distance while the fireplace crackled softly near the sitting area.

For once—

The room felt calm.

Jollete slowly stepped into the marble bathroom alone, shutting the door quietly behind her.

The silence wrapped around her instantly.

She exhaled shakily.

The entire day felt strange.

Too emotional. Too overwhelming.

Her fingers slowly slid down her neck where Monquez had kissed her earlier in the living room.

Even now—

She could still feel it.

The heat of his mouth. The weight of his hands. The roughness in his breathing.

Jollete shut her eyes briefly.

Why was he suddenly touching her like that?

Why did it affect her this much?

The warm shower water began pouring down over her skin, steam slowly filling the gigantic bathroom. Jollete rested both hands against the marble wall as the water ran through her impossibly long hair and over her full pregnant belly.

The baby shifted heavily again.

She sighed softly.

“You gotta stop moving like that…”

Her body already ached enough.

Her ankles hurt. Her back hurt. Even breathing deeply felt heavier now.

But somehow the emotional pain still hurt worse.

Jollete lowered her head under the warm water quietly.

Then suddenly—

The bathroom door opened.

Heavy footsteps entered.

Jollete froze immediately.

Monquez.

She turned slightly just as he walked into the steam-filled bathroom looking exhausted beyond belief.

His black suit jacket was gone.

His white dress shirt—

Covered in blood splatter.

Not his own.

Monquez looked irritated and drained as he unbuttoned the shirt roughly while walking.

His knuckles were bruised. One sleeve slightly torn. A faint cut rested near his collarbone.

Jollete’s eyes widened slightly.

“You’re hurt…”

Monquez scoffed.

“Barely.”

He tossed the bloody shirt onto the marble counter carelessly before stepping fully into the shower with her.

The warm steam wrapped around his massive frame instantly.

Jollete swallowed quietly.

Monquez Ferguson was terrifyingly large up close.

Broad shoulders. Dark tattooed skin glistening beneath the shower light. Powerful arms scarred from years of violence.

Everything about him looked dangerous.

Even exhausted, he still towered over her.

Jollete instinctively leaned back slightly against the shower wall.

Monquez noticed immediately.

His expression darkened briefly.

But instead of snapping—

He slowly stepped closer.

Close enough for the water to run over both of them.

Close enough for Jollete to feel his body heat through the steam.

Monquez reached down quietly and took her hand into his.

The size difference alone made Jollete’s chest tighten.

His rough fingers carefully intertwined with hers.

Then his head lowered toward her neck again.

Jollete inhaled softly the moment his lips brushed her skin.

Slower this time.

Less angry.

Almost tired.

Monquez kissed along her neck while keeping one hand wrapped around hers and the other resting low against her pregnant belly.

Jollete’s knees weakened slightly.

A soft sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Monquez…”

“Hm?”

“If you keep doing that…” she whispered breathlessly, “…the baby gonna come.”

Monquez huffed quietly against her skin.

“That baby been in there way too damn long already.”

Jollete almost smiled.

Almost.

The baby shifted again beneath his hand.

Monquez paused.

For a brief second, all the anger left his face completely.

His palm slowly spread across the side of her belly while the water poured over both of them.

The room became strangely intimate.

No screaming. No fighting. No Liora. No Mafia business.

Just them.

Jollete quietly looked up at him through the steam.

Monquez’s eyes were already on her.

Something about the look in his eyes tonight felt dangerous in a completely different way.

Not violent.

Possessive.

Confused.

Like he was trying to figure out why he suddenly couldn’t leave her alone.

Monquez’s forehead slowly rested against hers.

“You scared me earlier.”

Jollete blinked softly.

“When?”

“When Alan said you might leave.”

Her chest tightened instantly.

Monquez shut his eyes briefly like he regretted admitting that out loud.

Jollete stared at him quietly.

Because Monquez Ferguson never admitted fear.

Ever.

Not even when people died.

Yet somehow—

The thought of her leaving bothered him.

The realization made her emotions twist painfully.

Monquez suddenly kissed her neck again before muttering,

“You think too much.”

Jollete looked away quietly.

Because he was right.

She did.

Especially about him.

Especially now.

—

Hours later, the shower finally stopped running.

The bedroom lights had dimmed lower now.

Jollete sat quietly at the vanity brushing out her endless damp hair while Monquez changed into black sleep pants near the bed.

Neither of them spoke much.

The silence no longer felt hostile tonight.

Just heavy.

Emotionally heavy.

When Jollete finally climbed into bed carefully beside him, Monquez immediately pulled her against his chest half-asleep like it was instinct.

One massive arm wrapped around her waist protectively.

His breathing slowly deepened moments later.

Already asleep.

Jollete remained awake.

Her eyes stared toward the dark ceiling while rain continued tapping softly outside the estate windows.

Her thoughts spiraled endlessly.

About the shower.

About his hands.

About the way he looked at her tonight.

About how gentle he suddenly became sometimes—

Only to turn cold again later.

Jollete carefully glanced back at him sleeping beside her.

Even asleep, Monquez looked intimidating.

But right now—

He also looked exhausted.

Almost lonely.

Jollete’s chest ached unexpectedly.

Because despite everything he put her through…

Despite Liora. Despite the yelling. Despite the loneliness.

Tonight had felt dangerously close to love.

And that terrified her more than his anger ever could.

The next morning, the Ferguson master bedroom felt cold again.

Empty.

Jollete slowly opened her eyes to pale gray sunlight spilling through the gigantic curtains. Rain still lingered outside, though softer now, leaving the estate wrapped in a gloomy silence.

For a few seconds, she simply laid there.

Still half asleep.

Still warm beneath the blankets.

Then reality settled in.

Monquez wasn’t beside her.

Of course he wasn’t.

Jollete slowly turned her head toward the empty side of the bed. The sheets were already cold, meaning he’d been gone for awhile.

A quiet ache settled in her chest.

It shouldn’t have bothered her.

This was normal.

Monquez rarely stayed long in the mornings. Usually he left before sunrise for Mafia business… Or for Liora.

Jollete slowly sat up, one hand immediately pressing against her lower back from the strain of the pregnancy.

The baby shifted heavily.

“Ow…”

She breathed through it quietly before carefully climbing out of bed.

The room still smelled faintly like Monquez.

Cologne. Smoke. Rain. And something darker underneath it all.

Jollete’s eyes drifted toward the bathroom.

Memories from the night before instantly flooded her chest again.

His hands. His voice. The way he held her in the shower. The way he admitted she scared him when she hid from him.

None of it felt real now.

Morning always ruined everything.

Morning brought reality back.

Jollete quietly walked across the massive bedroom wearing one of her long silk robes. Her endless dark hair flowed behind her while her hand supported the underside of her full belly.

The estate itself sounded quiet today.

Too quiet.

That usually meant Monquez had either:

A. Left the estate. Or—

B. Hurt somebody badly enough that everybody was avoiding him.

Jollete stepped toward the sitting area near the windows and noticed something sitting on the table.

A plate.

Still warm.

Her eyes widened softly.

Breakfast.

Fresh fruit. Tea. Buttered croissants. And the blueberry pastries she liked.

Jollete froze.

Then slowly walked closer.

There was no note.

No explanation.

But Monquez had obviously ordered the kitchen to bring it.

A strange warmth spread painfully through her chest.

Because Monquez Ferguson was not thoughtful.

At least…

Not openly.

Jollete slowly sat down near the table and quietly touched the teacup.

Still warm.

Meaning he hadn’t left too long ago.

Before she could think too deeply about it, the bedroom door suddenly opened.

Jollete startled slightly.

Linda Ferguson stepped inside wearing an elegant black robe and gold jewelry, already fully awake and dramatic at eight in the morning.

The older woman immediately narrowed her eyes.

“He left already?”

Jollete nodded softly.

Linda sighed loudly.

“That damn boy irritates me.”

Jollete lowered her gaze.

“He’s probably busy…”

Linda scoffed.

“Busy being hardheaded.”

She walked further into the room before suddenly noticing the untouched breakfast tray.

Linda paused.

Then slowly looked toward Jollete again.

“…He ordered breakfast brought to you?”

Jollete blinked quietly.

“I think so…”

Linda looked genuinely shocked.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Jollete looked confused.

Linda crossed her arms.

“That boy don’t do thoughtful shit for nobody.”

The older woman walked over and lifted one of the pastries dramatically.

“He barely remembers his own damn birthday half the time.”

Jollete stayed quiet.

Linda studied her carefully for a moment.

Then her expression softened slightly.

“You know he ain’t leave to go see that girl, right?”

Jollete’s eyes lifted instantly.

Linda rolled her eyes.

“Richard called him downstairs around four this morning. Somebody got shot near one of the ports.”

Jollete’s chest loosened slightly before she could stop herself.

Linda noticed immediately.

And smirked.

“Ohhhh, you care.”

Jollete immediately looked away.

“I didn’t say that…”

“Mhm.”

Linda sat down across from her.

“For somebody who hide from my son every damn day, you sure do look relieved.”

Jollete quietly rubbed her belly.

The baby moved again.

Linda’s expression softened more at the sight.

“You need to stop stressing yourself out.”

Jollete gave a tiny nod.

But neither of them believed it.

Because this entire marriage was stress.

The silence lingered for a moment before distant yelling suddenly echoed downstairs.

Both women paused.

Linda sighed dramatically.

“And there go the damn circus.”

More voices rose below.

Male voices.

Arguing loudly.

Jollete immediately recognized Alan yelling.

Then Malcolm.

Then—

Monquez.

Even from upstairs, his voice carried through the estate sharply.

Jollete instinctively tensed.

Linda rolled her eyes again.

“See? Everybody alive. Unfortunately.”

A loud crash echoed downstairs.

Jollete flinched hard automatically.

Linda noticed immediately.

And her expression changed.

Because Jollete looked genuinely frightened without even realizing it.

The older woman stared at her quietly for a long second.

Then finally asked softly,

“…Did Monquez really fuck you up that badly emotionally?”

Jollete froze.

Complete silence filled the room.

Jollete’s fingers slowly tightened around her robe sleeve.

She didn’t answer.

But somehow—

That hurt worse than if she had.

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