"Mani, you really my peace."
?*??───?*??
Imani don't do rappers.
Not when attention come before intention, and every smile hide a secret. But when a late night studio session her best friend forces her to go to, puts her in the path of Messiah Jam...
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The flash from the camera hit like lightning, rapid and relentless.
"Beautiful, Chas! One more just like that—chin down, eyes to me!"
She posed effortlessly, lips parted just enough to look soft, sultry, untouchable.
The silk champagne dress clung to her curves like it was made for her body alone.
This wasn't new to her. Being in front of the lens, knowing the world would eat up every frame—this was her normal.
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"Alright, that's a wrap!" the photographer called. "Vogue's gonna eat this up."
Chasidy smiled coolly, stepping down from the set. Assistants rushed to hand her a robe, fix her curls, clean the shimmer off her skin. But she waved them off. She needed air.
Her heels clicked across the floor of the studio as she made her way to the private lounge.
Inside, her homegirl Layah was already waiting, sipping on a matcha and scrolling through her phone.
"Chile, you ate that shoot up," Layah said without even looking up. "Like, devoured."
Chasidy rolled her eyes and dropped onto the plush couch, snatching Layah's drink and taking a sip. "Mmm. I needed that."
