And Adair.
The double doors swung open with a thud of bass and perfume.
Inside, the venue was a riot of rhinestones, faux fur, and body glitter. Purple LED lights cast everything in a sultry glow, bouncing off sequined dresses and gold nameplates.
Balloons arched across the ceiling like royalty had arrived, and in the center of it all was a massive throne-style chair covered in velvet and feathers with a sign behind it in LED cursive:
Reeka: Born Bad. Still Badder.
The DJ was already deep in his set, spinning early 2000s bangers. Women lined the bar sipping something bright and bubbling, every outfit louder than the last. Bedazzled nails, thigh-high boots, Chanel-inspired clutches, lashes that could fan fire—all of it. Ghetto glam royalty.
Sabine scanned the room, exhaling slowly as she unbuttoned her coat and slipped it from her shoulders. Her dress shimmered under the lights, a deep sapphire blue that hugged her figure just enough to command attention without begging for it. She could feel eyes again. Not just from strangers. Familiar ones.
Family.
A few cousins waved. One auntie grinned wide and mouthed,Yesss, Bine!
Sabine gave a small wave and kept it moving, walking with that careful blend of confidence and tension that always settled over her when she was in a room Adair might be in.
“Bineeeeeeeeee!” Reeka’s voice sliced through the music. She came stomping through the crowd in a hot pink fur, high ponytail snatched to the sky, and rhinestones covering just enough but nothing at all. Her heels sparkled. Her lashes fluttered. Sabine laughed and braced herself as Reeka flew into her arms.
“Girl you fine as hell,” Reeka said, pulling back and grabbing Sabine by the wrist. “You was tryna outshine the birthday bitch?”
“I would never.”
“You doin’ it though. Turn around—no, for real. Let me see.”
Sabine did a half-spin, cheeks warm.
Reeka clapped her hands then Sabine’s cakes. “Yup. I knew it. You better act like you still part of this family. Don’t play.”
“I almost didn’t come.”
“Youalwayssay that,” Reeka rolled her eyes. “Then you show up lookin’ like a baddie and steal all my uncles old asses attention,” Reeka said, making Sabine laugh, but her smile faltered for a second which she caught, and her eyes softened. “If he comes, you just sip your drink, dance with me, and let him sit with his feelings. He gonna look but that’s good wit his bitch ass. Show him why he shouldn’t fuckin lie!”
Reeka tugged her further into the room as the next song dropped—Lil’ Kim this time, and the whole party screamed the lyrics. Sabine took a breath and let herself be pulled in, just for tonight.
ADAIR
Adair pulled his coat on one arm at a time, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he slid his watch on, adjusted the strap, staring at his reflection in the front hall mirror. His line-up was fresh, jacket tailored to perfection.
"Nigga, she already here," Tate said on the other end, music thumping low through the line.
Adair paused, lips pressed together. “She look good?”
“Don’t she always? Geechie been on her ass since she walked through the door. Posted up near the bar like he forgot who she used to be married to. His bitch ass.” Tate kept going.“She ain’t bitin’ though. Just went to shake her ass with Reeka and Narri. Bro…they out there cuttin’ up.”
Adair paused at the counter, in the midst of grabbing his keys, jaw tight as Tate went on about the scene at the party. But it wasn’t just Sabine dancing that had his blood running hot. It was the mention of Geechie. His cousin had always been reckless with his mouth. Never crossed the line—at least not outright—but he had a way of looking at Sabine a beat too long. Saying slick shit when Adair wasn’t in the room. Jokes that weren’t quite jokes.
“Boy, if she ever leave you, I’m shootin’ my shot.”
The nigga had always been reckless with his mouth. Adair used to laugh it off. Brushed it off like he didn’t hear it. But he heard it. Every time. And now? Now that they weren’t together? Geechie wasn’t joking anymore.
Growing up, they could never get along. Geechie was a year older and hated the way everyone bragged about Adair being smart, being the one who would “make it out.” He never said it outright, but Adair could feel it in every jab, every side comment, every time he’d try to punk him in front of the other people like having brains made him soft.
Even now, grown as hell, Geechie hadn’t changed. Still careless. Still moving like loyalty was optional. He’d told the whole block one night, drunk off brown liquor and attention,“If I wanna fuck something, I’m gon’ fuck it. Family or not.”
And now? He wasn’t just looking at Sabine anymore. He was watching her. Probably following her around the party, saying slick shit and getting too close. Tate’s play-by-play had Adair’s blood simmering.