Yaya's phone was on Do Not Disturb, but the screen lit up for one name: Brent.
She ignored it.
Not because she didn't care.
Because she did, and that was the problem.
She was laid up on the couch in a big t-shirt and lashes still halfway on, replaying their argument like it was on loop. That man had the nerve to act like she wasn't supposed to defend herself. Like she was some pawn in his little game.
"You my girl out here..."
She didn't like how that sounded. Like she was owned. Like she belonged to him. But still, when he said it, her chest tightened — in a way it never had before.
Another text buzzed through.
Chris: I'm outside. Open the door.
She rolled her eyes, but she got up anyway.
⸻
The door creaked open slow, and there he was — standing under the hallway light in all black, durag on, diamond cross showing. Calm, unreadable, like always.
"You good?" he asked, his voice low.
Yaya folded her arms.
"Didn't I just get yelled at for not following orders?"
He walked past her without waiting to be let in.
"You left mad. I'm checkin' on you. That's all."
She shut the door and leaned on it.
"Why do you even care, Brent? You said this was business. I mess up, I sit out. Ain't that the rule?"
He turned to face her. His jaw tightened, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"I care 'cause it's you, Yaya."
The air got heavy. Silence stretched long.
She looked at him, her voice softer now.
"You ain't gotta play soft with me. I know what this is."
Brent stepped in closer, his voice a little lower.
"I'm not soft. But I'm not heartless, either."
His hand reached for her waist but stopped midway. He waited.
She didn't stop him.
His hand rested on her waist, fingers splayed just enough to feel skin under the hem of her shirt.
She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just looked up at him like she was daring him to keep going.
"So what now?" she asked, voice low.
"You gon' punish me or press up on me?"
Brent's lips curled into a half-smirk.
"Don't tempt me, Yaya."
She stepped into him — chest to chest. Her hands found his shirt, tugging it up just enough to trace her nails along the lines of his stomach.
"I already did."
That's all it took.
He backed her up against the door, one hand gripping her thigh and the other sliding under her shirt. Skin met skin, and his breath hitched when he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
"You always this bold after pissing me off?"
His mouth was on her neck now, slow and hungry.
"Only when it works." She gasped when his tongue touched that spot under her jaw.
Brent lifted her with one arm like it was nothing and carried her to the couch, her legs wrapped around him.
He didn't rush. That wasn't his style.
He slid the shirt off her shoulders, took his time with every inch of her skin like he was memorizing it.
Every curve, every sound she made — he wanted all of it. And she gave it, breathless and biting her lip, nails dragging down his back.
"Chris..." she whispered, the name slipping out raw, unfiltered.
He paused. Looked her in the eyes.
"Say it again."
She did. Over and over — softer each time — as he moved slow inside her like he was making love, not claiming her.
And in that moment, he forgot about rules.
Forgot about the game.
Because for the first time...
he wasn't just Brent the pimp. He was Chris — hers.
Brent was still shirtless, sitting at the edge of Yaya's couch, elbows on his knees, catching his breath.
Yaya was in the kitchen in just his shirt, making a lazy cup of tea like nothing just happened.
His phone buzzed on the table.
Nova.
He ignored it the first time. Second time, it buzzed again — back-to-back.
That meant something was off.
He picked up.
"What."
Nova's voice was tight.
"I been tryna call you for twenty minutes. Dream was supposed to be at that downtown hotel for the 10 o'clock. It's 10:42. The client blowing me up."
Brent rubbed his face, already annoyed.
"You sure she knew the time?"
"I sent the itinerary twice. She read it. She just ain't show."
Brent stood up, grabbing his jeans off the floor.
"Aight. I got it."
He clicked over, dialed Dream direct.
It rang once. Twice.
"Yeah?" Dream's voice came slow, dry, like she just woke up.
That was all he needed to hear.
"You serious right now?" he snapped. "You had one fuckin' appointment tonight. One. I'm gettin' calls while I'm tryna handle shit, and you laid up?"
"He ain't my regular—"
"I don't give a fuck who he is."Brent's voice dropped an octave. "You makin' me look sloppy. You make us look like amateurs. That ain't how I run."
Dream stayed silent. He hated that too.
"You wanna disappear, cool. But don't ever forget whose name gets vouched when you walk in them rooms. You tarnish that, I'll erase you from this whole operation. Quick."
Click. He hung up.
⸻
Brent tossed the phone on the couch. He could feel Yaya's eyes on him from the kitchen.
"You always yell like that?"
He glanced over, jaw still tight.
"Only when people fuck with my name."
Dream stood in front of her cracked bathroom mirror, brushing her teeth like Brent hadn't just barked on her less than ten minutes ago.
She didn't flinch when he cursed.
She'd heard worse. Done worse.
But that tone he used?
That "I'll erase you" tone?
Yeah, that sat different.
⸻
She spit, rinsed, then lit a blunt right over the sink. Her phone vibrated again — this time from Nova.
Nova: "You fucking up, sis. For real. Don't play like this."
Dream didn't reply.
⸻
Meanwhile...
Brent leaned back in Yaya's bed, eyes closed, but his mind was wide open.
Even when he was laid up, he was working.
Yaya slid beside him, legs wrapped in the sheets, fresh gloss on her lips like she wanted to distract him.
"You good?"
"Yeah."
His voice was distant. Still tight from the Dream situation.
"That was about her, huh? The one that be movin' real mysterious."
"Dream." He nodded. "She solid, but she playing herself. One slip don't cost you money — it costs you trust."
Yaya raised a brow.
"You ever gonna talk to me like that if I mess up again?"
He looked at her sideways, smirk tugging at his lip.
"You ain't just business, Yaya."
"So I get softer threats?"
"Nah," he said, turning over to face her, "you just get different consequences."
⸻
Back with Dream...
Dream's phone buzzed again — this time, it was the client she ghosted.
She let it ring out.
But deep down, she knew Brent wasn't bluffing.
You get one chance to make a boss look stupid — and she just cashed hers in.
Brent was posted in his home office — candles lit, blinds closed, playlist low.
His phone sat face down. His Glock sat face up.
Yaya was on the couch nearby, legs tucked under her, sipping on a Capri Sun she found in his fridge like it was wine.
"You always got it this quiet in here?" she asked.
"Gotta hear my thoughts before I act on 'em."
She smirked.
"So what's the thoughts sayin'?"
Before he could answer, a knock hit the front door.
Three quick taps. No doorbell.
"That's her," he said, standing up.
"Dream?"
He nodded.
Yaya sat up straighter, lips tight. She wasn't nosy, but she wasn't about to miss whatever was going down, either.
⸻
Dream stepped in slow, dressed down — no lashes, hoodie, slick bun. She knew better than to come cute when you coming to explain yourself.
"What's up," she said, voice even.
Brent stood by the desk, arms folded.
"You tell me."
Dream glanced at Yaya.
"You want her in here?"
Brent didn't move.
"She already in."
Yaya smirked.
Dream took a breath.
"I missed the appointment. That's on me. I was in my head. Shit been heavy."
"Heavy don't stop the money," Brent said flat. "And heavy don't risk the brand. You move with emotion, I gotta move without you."
Dream tensed.
"I ain't disloyal. I fucked up. I just ain't feel safe meeting that man solo."
Brent raised an eyebrow.
"So you ain't trust the vetting?"
"I ain't trust the vibe. My gut was screamin', Brent."
He paused.
Yaya looked up then, speaking low:
"Sometimes your gut know more than your schedule."
Dream looked at her, surprised. Brent looked at both of them.
"You could've called," Brent said. "Nova had to chase your shadow. That ain't how we move."
Dream nodded.
"Won't happen again."
Brent held her eyes a beat longer, then jerked his chin toward the door.
"Go home. Stay on the bench this week. No bags, no bookings."
Dream didn't argue.
She dipped her head once and walked out.
⸻
The door shut.
"That was kinda soft," Yaya teased.
Brent leaned back in his chair, jaw tight.
"That was mercy. But now I know where she stand."
Yaya walked over, perched on the edge of his desk.
"You ever give me mercy?"
He smirked.
"You ain't asked for it yet."