Page 8 of Heavy Is The Crown

On paper, Taurean should have been a contender.

Tall, about six-one, broad shoulders, a gym-built frame with a little gut that filled out his designer polo just right. Smooth brown skin, a crisp haircut, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He had the kind of smile that probably got him out of parking tickets, deep dimples that made women swoon, and a confidence that bordered on arrogance but not quite. Taurean was nothing more than a well-dressed disappointment.

But here’s the thing, looks were never enough for Krys. Plenty of men were fine. Few were worthy.

Men like Taurean needed to understand dating Krys was a privilege; and impressing her was damn near impossible.

See, Krys wasn’t just any woman; she wasthewoman. The kind who didn’t just sit at the table, but owned the whole damn building it was in. The kind of woman who walked into a room and didn’t just get noticed, she got studied.

She built her own empire, from a thriving trucking company to an ever-expanding portfolio of commercial and residential properties and she ran both with the kind of cutthroat precision that left men either in awe or intimidated as hell. Honestly, she preferred the latter.

At five-three, she was petite in stature but moved like a woman who stood six feet tall. Every step deliberate, every movement controlled; grace and dominance wrapped in one.

She possessed rich, flawless, golden brown skin. Always glowing. The kind of glow that came from wealth, peace, and knowing she could have whatever she wanted. That did wonders for the skin.

Symmetrical, sharp, delicate, but commanding facials features created a face made for power and privilege. Almond- shaped eyes that didn’t just look at you, they read you. High cheekbones, full lips, and a resting face so unbothered it could make a grown man rethink his entire existence. But if she smirked, dimples showed and meant she was planning something or about to destroy whatever plan a person thought they had.

She had sleek, jet-black, waist length hair; never a strand out of place. Sometimes bone straight, parted down the middle like a ruler’s crown. Other times, twisted into a high bun when it was time to handle business. Often took offense if asked if it was hers or not.

Nails always done, a soft almond shape, polished in neutral or classic tones, because class doesn’t need to scream. Jewelry kept at a minimum but expensive. A thin diamond tennis bracelet; elegant, understated, but carrying the weight of wealth. Small gold hoops or studs because too much flash was for the insecure. An anklet or two because even her feet stayed iced.

Always put together, always elite.

When Krys stepped into a room, people adjusted. She didn’t have to raise her voice to command attention; she was attention. She wasn’t loud, wasn’t aggressive, but she didn’t need to be. Her power was in how she moved, how she spoke. Every word slow, deliberate, sharp; like she was signing your fate with her tongue.

She was the standard, not the exception. And most men were intimidated.

She wasn’t out here looking for love; love needed to be looking for her. And if a man wanted to stand next to her, he had to be just as powerful, just as confident. Because a man who flinched at her success, questioned her money, or tried to “humble” her…Yeah, he wasn’t lasting past hello.

The moment she stepped outside into the warm, muggy Trinity night air, she pressed the phone to her ear.

“You areso wrongfor that,” she snapped, heading toward her obsidian black S-Class Mercedes Benz parked at the valet stand.

Meisha was still laughing. “I just wanted to see how long you could survive.”

Krys rolled her eyes, handing the valet her ticket. “Girl, I barely made it. He was talking about hisNBA mindsetlike he wasn’t working incorporate finance.”

Meisha wheezed. “Wait—what?”

“I swear to God, Meisha,” Krys muttered. “He said healmostmade it, so hestillthinks like an athlete.”

Meisha burst out laughing again.

Krys shook her head, watching as her sleek black Mercedes was pulled up to the curb. “Anyway, what are you doing? Please tell me you have something better planned.”

Meisha giggled mischievously. “Meet me at Mark’s house. We about to chill over there.”

Krys frowned. “Mark? As in your trifling-ass-boyfriend-Mark?”

Meisha sucked her teeth. “Girl, don’t start.”

Krys sighed, climbing into her car. “Meisha, if I show up and it’s a bunch ofbroke, weed-smoking, PlayStation-playingmen in that apartment—”

“Just come!” Meisha cut her off. “I promise your night will get better.”

Krys started the engine, shaking her head. “For your sake, it better.”

And with that, she pulled off into the night hoping Meisha wasn’t about to waste more of her time.

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