Page 83 of Free to Fall

But then, the lights shifted. The beat ofWestlake Avedropped through the speakers, Royal’s voice booming through the arena. The crowd erupted. I stood up as the camera panned to the jumbotron, showing Royal and Nasseem emerging from the tunnel in all black. His walk was confident, calm. He wore a black hooded robe with silver trim, his custom gloves glintingunder the lights. Royal had the mic in his hand, rapping the lyrics to his song, but my eyes lingered the most on Nas. He looked like death coming to collect.

I felt my knees wobble. The pride in my chest threatened to crack my ribs. My man was back. He entered the ring with precision, stepping through the ropes like he owned them. And in that moment, I think he did. Right before the bell rang, he looked back, right at me. We locked eyes and I gave him a small nod, lips pressed together to keep from crying. He nodded back, and just like that… the bell rang.

Round One started fast. Sadiq came in aggressive, throwing hooks early, trying to test Nas’s reflexes. But Nas was ducking and weaving, his footwork clean, moving better than I’d seen him in months. He jabbed with intention, used his reach wisely. He was taking his time, letting Sadiq burn his energy.

Rounds Two through Four were more of the same—Sadiq throwing power punches that mostly missed, Nas connecting light but strategic shots. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. Every time Nas got hit, I gasped. But he kept bouncing back, never shook.

By Round Five, Nas was turning up the heat. You could see the shift in his stance. His punches started landing cleaner. A right hook to Sadiq’s ribs made the man stumble. The crowd roared.

Round Six, Nas landed an uppercut that made everyone in our section stand. Creed was yelling. Brodie was on his feet. Royal had both arms in the air like Nas already won.

In Round Seven, they both looked tired, sweat dripping, breaths heavy. But Nas had that look in his eye. That look that saidI’m not leaving this ring without the win.

Then came Round Eight. Midway through, Nas ducked Sadiq’s swing, stepped in close, and threw a right-left combo that had Sadiq on his heels. The next punch was a clean shot tothe jaw. Sadiq’s knees buckled. He hit the canvas. The referee started the count. The crowd was in chaos. I was frozen, standing but not breathing. Praying. Whisperingstay downover and over.

“…Nine… TEN!” The bell rang. The fight was over. And Nasseem Walker was still undefeated.

Nas dropped to his knees in the center of the ring, lifted his face to the ceiling, and prayed. I didn’t wait for security or protocols. Reg waved me in, and I climbed through the ropes, my heels forgotten.

I knelt beside him, threw my arms around his neck and pressed my forehead to his. “I’m so proud of you,” I whispered. “I love you. You did it, baby. Youdid it.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just breathed, eyes closed, arms wrapped around me like I was the prize. And maybe I was. Because in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the cameras. Not the crowd, just us, together. Still standing.

A monthafter Nasseem’s fight, my life, our life—felt like it was finally coming together. Not in the perfect fairytale way, but in that grown, hard-earned way. The kind of way you only get after you’ve been broken wide open and put yourself back together again. The kind of way that mattered.

The night of my album release party was a blur of lights, champagne, and celebration. The venue was packed, floor to ceiling. Velvet curtains, gold-accented fixtures, and high beams spotlighting every corner. The label had gone all out with the decor—roses hanging upside down in a canopy over the stage, black and gold-themed everything. It felt luxurious, powerful, feminine. It felt like…me.

My albumUncoveredwas finally here. And I had never felt more exposed or more proud.

It was emotional seeing everyone there—Serenity, Averi, Arielle, and all their husbands. Logan was posted near the back with his wife Nikki, Lux and his wife Kylei. Amiri another artist on the label who was featured on my album was floating around in a fitted white jumpsuit and gold hoops bigger than her head, and Heaven, the other songstress on the label was tucked near the bar in a green slip dress and thigh-high boots, sipping a cocktail like the goddess she was; her husband Lorenzo was at her side as he always was.

And then there was Nana. She had come in from Memphis only two days ago, staying at the house with Nas and I. She was standing near the front with her soft silver curls pinned up, eyes bright, smile warm. I hadn't seen her in anything other than Memphis clothes in years, but tonight she showed out, navy satin dress, gold accessories, and a proud twinkle in her eye that made my chest swell.

And of course, Nasseem was glued to my side all night. We were wrapped around each other like gravity couldn’t keep us apart. His hand rested on the small of my back as he whispered encouragement in my ear, smiling when people came up to congratulate me, nodding with that quiet pride that only a man in love could wear so confidently. He looked good too. He had on an all-black suit, his shirt was open at the top, chains glinting under the lights. I don’t know how I managed to keep my hands to myself the entire night.

About halfway through, it was time for my mini-set. I stepped onto the stage with my mic in hand, the crowd cheering loud enough to rattle my ribs.

“Y’all ready to vibe with me real quick?” I smiled into the mic, already buzzing with adrenaline. They screamed in response.

I started withCtrl+Alt+Del—my new single and already a crowd favorite. The beat dropped, moody and dark, and I let it take over my body. Every word came out like a release, my pain layered under the melody, and the crowd sang it back to me like a prayer. After that, I slid right into “Don’t Say Love,” my vocals soaring as the lights dimmed low and the bass thumped deep.

Last, I gave themUnspoken—the bonus track, the secret love song that Nasseem hadn’t even known was about him until I played it for him at home last week, not wanting it to be a surprise when he heard me perform it at the party.

By the time I stepped offstage, I was sweating, smiling, and shaking all over. I found Nas standing just off to the side, arms open and ready to catch me. He pulled me into him without hesitation, pressing his lips to the top of my head.

“You killed that,” he murmured.

“I think I blacked out,” I laughed breathlessly. “Did I sound okay?”

“You sounded like the fuckin' moment.” He kissed me again, longer this time, and we stayed like that for a while—just us in the middle of the noise.

Logan found me not long after with his usual cool energy. “Yo, E,” he called, raising his champagne glass. “We need to talk numbers.”

“Oh lord,” I smirked, dabbing my face with a towel.

“No, for real. The early metrics arecrazy.You’re trending globally. Like,top three in ten countriestype of crazy. Apple’s calling. Spotify wants an interview. And the reviews?” He grinned. “Not a single bad one yet.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

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