Page 23 of Heavy Is The Crown

Krys tapped her chin like she was contemplating. “Maybe not. But I know the type. Everybody in there talking about who you was. How you almost had this whole city on lock. How you was on the verge of being that nigga.”

She saw his jaw clench. She had hit a nerve.

He didn’t respond, just rolled his cup between his hands, his mind clearly somewhere else.

Krys didn’t know why, but she felt the need to soften the moment. She asked, her voice quieter now, “So, what changed?”

Kenyatta exhaled through his nose, staring at the dark liquid in his cup like it held all the answers. Then, he said something she didn’t expect.

“I did.”

Their eyes met again. This time, it felt more raw. More open.

Krys didn’t have a reply. What could she say to that?

She looked away first, suddenly needing air.

Kenyatta must’ve felt it too because he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head like he needed space. But the pull between them was still there.

And they both felt it.

Chapter 6

The morning light seeped through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Krys’ 4,200-square-foot modern masterpiece, casting golden streaks against the polished marble floors. The house was all clean lines and understated luxury, black and gold accents complementing the sleek, minimalist design. Everything about Bayfront Heights screamed wealth and exclusivity: gated mansions perched high above the city, a view of Silverstrand Beach just a short drive away, and neighbors who flew out of town just to get coffee in another time zone.

This was Krys’ domain. Yet, in that moment, her thoughts were in complete disarray.

A deep sigh left her lips as she padded across the cool marble, silk pajama shorts hugging her hips, her off-the-shoulder top slipping slightly as she adjusted her hair wrap. She barely noticed the faint scent of vanilla and sandalwood lingering in the air; her home was always pristine, curated to perfection.

But her thoughts were chaotic.

She reached the kitchen, where the gold-veined quartz countertops gleamed under the soft glow of the recessed lighting. As she grabbed a bottle of alkaline water from the built-in fridge, she heard the familiar heavy padding of paws against the marble.

Musa.

The massive Cane Corso strolled into the kitchen, his jet-black coat gleaming under the lighting, his golden eyes watching her with quiet scrutiny. He didn’t need to bark or nudge her to get her attention; his presence alone was enough to command it.

“You judging me too?” Krys muttered, twisting open the bottle cap and taking a sip.

Musa sat down with the weight of a king settling onto his throne, his muscular frame taking up an absurd amount of space. His gaze stayed locked on her, as if assessing her energy, sensing the whirlwind of thoughts she was trying to suppress.

Krys sighed, walking over to scratch behind his ear, feeling the warmth of his fur under her fingertips. “It’s almost time for you to go to the groomer. You can’t be out here looking rough, big boy.”

Musa exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.

Krys smiled. “You got a reputation to uphold. I don’t need people thinking I neglect you.”

She was met with more silence, just the slow, knowing blink of a dog who tolerated no nonsense.

Before she could say anything else, her phone rang from the oversized island.

Meisha.

Perfect. She needed a laugh. Krys tapped the speaker button, leaning against the counter. “Girl.”

Meisha’s cackle hit first. “Krysta! You still ain’t text me back! Where the hell did you disappear to last night?”

Krys rolled her eyes. “Long story.”

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