Page 22 of Heavy Is The Crown

Krys turned to him, lips parted, ready to cuss him out. But something in his gaze made her pause.

He was watching her now. Not in the playful way he had been earlier. But like he was really seeing her, and for some reason, that made her nervous.

The room was still loud; laughter, music, the distinct flick of a lighter as someone sparked up. But in this moment, it was just them.

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The night had settled into an easy rhythm, the room buzzing with conversation, music, and smoke curling through the air like whispers of old sins.

Krys held her own among Kenyatta’s people, shutting down any slick remarks with her quick tongue, earning both amusement and respect. She hadn’t folded under the pressure of being the only outsider in the room; she had never been the type to fold.

But eventually, the crowd started to thin, people moving into smaller conversations, stepping outside to smoke, or heading to the back rooms for their own personal business.

That’s when her mind settle on the shift between them.

She turned her head and met Kenyatta’s gaze. He had been watching her.Stillwatching her as he had been all that night. There was something undeniable in the air between them. Something that made the room seem too small, too hot, too charged.

Krys licked her lips and straightened, brushing off imaginary lint from her luxe but understated outfit, like she needed to distract herself from the weight of whatever this was.

“You keep staring at me like you tryna read something,” she murmured, voice even.

Kenyatta smirked, leaning back into the chair, one hand resting against his thigh, the other casually swirling the liquor in his cup. “Maybe I am.”

Krys tilted her head slightly, mirroring his lazy confidence. “And what you think you figured out?”

He exhaled a low chuckle, shaking his head. “That you got a smart-ass mouth.”

Krys grinned. “You just figuring that out?”

“Nah.” His eyes flickered over her face, dark and unreadable. “But I think you use it to keep people from getting too close.”

Krys blinked, caught off guard for a split second before she masked it with a scoff. “Oh, so you Dr. Phil now?”

Kenyatta just stared at her, that smirk still there but quieter now.

Something about that unnerved her. She shifted in her seat, running a finger along the rim of her cup. “You talk like you know me.”

“I don’t.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “But I know people.”

“And what kinda person am I?” she challenged.

Kenyatta studied her for a moment before he shrugged. “One that don’t like being figured out.”

Krys hated how accurate that was. So, she flipped it.

“What about you?” she asked, crossing one leg over the other, shifting her body toward him now. “You move like somebody who don’t like being figured out either.”

He chuckled, low and deep. “You tell me.”

Krys leaned in slightly, studying him now. “You got this whole too cool, too unbothered thing going on…but I see it.”

“See what?”

She tapped a manicured finger against the table. “You don’t like being known for who you used to be.”

For the first time, Kenyatta’s smirk faltered. Just a fraction. A flicker of something passed over his face, something heavy.

“You don’t know me,” he murmured, but it wasn’t defensive. Just a statement.

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