Page 45 of River & Crown
"No thanks needed. This is what I'm here for. I'm your strength when you're weak, and your engines roar when it stalls. More than anything, I'm your shelter when the world feels too heavy. Whatever you need, Four, I got you, and I mean that."
On her end of the line, silence struck yet again, but this time it felt heavier. She took a shallow breath, then let her voice waver before her words cut through.
"Crown I... I... I?—"
"Stop," I stated, my voice soft but firm. My heart knew exactly what she wanted to say, and as badly as I wanted to hear it, I couldn't listen to her struggle. She wasn't ready to carry the weight that loving me came with.
"We're good, Four. When you're ready, you'll say it. For now, the love I have for you is enough to see us through."
"Ugh, I don't deserve you," she huffed.
"Nah, you do. Your heart just gotta catch up to your soul."
Pulling up to the gate of the Teixeira estate, I switched from drive to park.
"I'm at my destination. I'll see you at your race, ight?" I told her.
"You promise?"
"Come on, Four, this is me you're talking to. I haven't missed a race yet, and I'm about to start now.”
"Good, because I need my good luck charm sitting next to me, and I have your surprise." Her somber tone changed to the sweet one I couldn't see myself living without.
"Word? Fuck you get me that took almost two weeks to come in?"
"You'll see tonight. Be safe."
"I will. Love you, Four."
Hanging up with her, I rolled the window down and hit the button on the intercom.
"Last name," a familiar voice spoke.
"Gravehart."
"Come in."
The gates creaked open, and I drove forward, parking in front of the mansion the Teixeiras called home. In my opinion, its monolithic form felt less like a home and more like an impenetrable fortress. The blackened exterior gleamed under the sun, its copper accents catching the light and transforming the edges of the massive double doors, the window frames, and the intricate carvings along the eaves into delicate veins of molten gold.
"Damn! Niggas out here in meek ass Ember Hills getting money like this?" Rize quizzed, exiting the car.
I chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. Ember Hills wasn't a borough many spoke about or ventured to and was just as forgotten as Gravehart Grove.
"Niggas get to the money no matter where they live."
Out here, black excellence was woven into all the things that made Ember Hills what it was. The old money, the quiet power, the generational wealth. Outsiders believed Ember Hills was just another forgotten borough, but to those who knew better, Ember Hills was a fucking dynasty in disguise.
Chapter 11
Emersyn Teixeira
Ileaned against the door frame, silently watching my brother throw paint at a canvas. I personally didn't see the vision, but that's what made Killian's talent so special. What I saw as colors mixed, he saw as so much more. What the smudges didn't pull out of me invoked others to pay thousands for his creations. Killian spent hours putting colors on a white foundation since he was seven. He was an emotional child who struggled to find peace outside of crayons and paint.
Each color weighed heavily in emotion... emotions he struggled to convey with words. His art, drawings, and paintings had become his autobiography that only he could decipher. Killian's relationship with colors extended beyond the basic human concept of red, blue, yellow, and green. They whispered the truth and evoked emotion in Killian that no other human could. Colors connected him to the world that seemed to suffocate him. Through research, I learned Killian had a condition known as aura synesthesia. He associated his emotions, the emotions of others, and their energy with colors. Each color he saw carried a meaning.
When he met someone, his face twisted into an intense grimace that most found to be rude. He wouldn't speak andbarely blinked. This was his way of making sense of the array of pigments people seemed to carry with them. Whatever color he saw advised him more than an actual person ever could. Through colors, Killian knew who to trust, kill, or not care enough about to waste his time. Killian saw the world uniquely. Very few related to or understood it, leaving him to live a somewhat lonely life.
"Standing there will only piss me off. You know I hate a looming presence," he voiced, never taking his eyes off his painting.
