Page 139 of Heavy Is The Crown

“Then that’s what we do.”

If she really meant that shit; if she was really stepping into this with him, then this wasn’t just some casual whatever-the-fuck between them anymore.

This was bigger.

If he let Krys do this, then he would never be able to walk away from her.

Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that would keep her safe.

His chest rose and fell, the weight of it all sitting heavy on his ribs. Was he really about to let her do this? Was he really about to let someone else carry his burdens? Was he really about to let her be the one?

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. Even if he wanted to object, he couldn’t. The thing was he had already fallen, and from the look in Krys’ eyes, so had she.

Leaving the implications of her words in the air, he exhaled breaking the silence. “Okay…but do you got any hard liquor in here?”

Krys glanced over her shoulder, one brow lifted. “You tryna drink?”

Kenyatta gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Something strong.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Krys’ lips. “Alright, Yatta. Come on.”

She walked off without another word, moving with that effortless confidence that always had him low-key mesmerized.

Kenyatta followed, expecting her to lead him to the living room or one of the fancy ass cabinets in the kitchen. Instead, she took a turn he’d never noticed before.

Kenyatta’s brows furrowed as she led him down a sleek hallway, then downstairs.

Hold up.

He had been in Krys’ house enough times to think he had a general feel for the space. But this was new.

The air changed the moment they stepped into the lower level. It was cooler, darker, but not in a creepy way. It was deliberate. Controlled. Designed to be separate from the rest of the house.

Kenyatta’s eyes flicked around, taking in the sheer size of the space. The entire basement was set up like an entertainment paradise. A massive tan sectional sat across from a wall of big screens, some showing sports highlights, others muted on news channels. A pool table gleamed under soft lighting, and in another corner, there was a fully decked-out gaming setup.

Everything about it was sleek, exclusive, high-end. Then his eyes caught something else. Tucked in the cut, almost like it didn’t want to be found, were two large, black double doors.

Krys stopped in front of them, pulled the sconce like a lever and retrieved a key from a hidden cutout.

Kenyatta arched a brow. “Damn. You got a whole secret vault down here?”

Krys just smiled knowingly as she unlocked the doors and pushed them open.

The room was luxurious. Black walls, deep crimson accents, gold trim. A bar stretched across the length of the back wall, lined with top-shelf liquor, crystal glassware, and hand-carved decanters. A sleek poker table sat in the center, the felt a rich blood red, the chairs around it low, comfortable, inviting.

The lighting was dim, intimate, not like some underground dive bar, but like a place where powerful people sat and discussed shit that never made the papers.

Kenyatta took a slow step inside, his head tilting slightly as he took it all in. He was stunned. This was Krys’ own private speakeasy.

“You been holding out on me, huh?”

Krys smirked, walking behind the bar like she’d done it a million times. “Not really. Just never had a reason to bring you down here.”

Kenyatta ran his fingers over the edge of the poker table, then looked back at her. “What’s this for?”

Krys poured herself a drink first, then lifted the bottle toward him. “What you think?”

He walked over, taking the glass from her, his fingers brushing against hers.

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