Page 71 of Certified Pressure
That’s why I couldn’t shake him. It wasn’t just that we fucked—it was how we fucked, like our bodies already knew we belonged to each other, even if our minds hadn’t caught up yet.
I rolled over and grabbed my pillow, pressing my face into it to muffle the sound of my breathing. I wasn’t about to give this house another reason to talk. The women who had still been friendly toward me would flip quick if they smelled weakness, and the ones who already didn’t like me would enjoy every second of it.
But still, in the back of my mind, I kept replaying the way he’d said it to Pluto. The way his voice dropped just a little when he told her she was going to meet the most important people in his life. It was the meaning underneath that was killing me. He hadn’t said anything like that to me.
As I tried to fight my feelings, another memory slipped in. It was from the second week, when I’d been feeling off and didn’t want to be around anybody. He found me on the balcony staring at the trees. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just draped a blanket over my shoulders and stood next to me, smoking in silence. Every so often, he would glance at me and smirk like he knew I wasn’t as mad at the world as I was pretending to be.
Finally, I sat up and glanced at my open suitcase in the corner. I never fully unpacked, and part of me always kept that just in case option ready. Now I was thinking maybe just in case had turned into right now. If I could get my mind right, I could walk away before I ended up too deep to pull myself out.
But then I remembered the last time he came to my room. We hadn’t said much before he kissed me, pulling me into his lap like I was the only woman left in the world. We didn’t have sex. He just held me like he needed me.
That was the thing about Pressure. He could make me want to leave and want to stay in the same breath.
I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the wall with tears finally sliding down my cheeks. If I stayed, I would have to watch him keep giving pieces of himself to other women, and I wasn’t built for that shit like I thought I was. But if I left, I would spend every second wondering if I’d just walked away from the one man who actually got me.
And right now, neither one of those choices felt like winning.
Eboni Keep in Nzuri Hall
When we finally reached Pressure’s parents’ home, I almost lost my damn breath. The gates alone looked like they belonged to a palace. There were tall and white with intricate gold crests in the middle that I knew had to be the Mensah family emblem. Two security guards stood at each side, suited up and polished like they didn’t blink unless they had to. The driveway curved upward in this slow, dramatic stretch, lined with manicured hedges shaped into crowns and lions, and by the time we made it past the gates, I realized this wasn’t just a mansion—it was its damn own world.
Pressure’s jungle estate was already on a level I’d never seen before, but his parents’ home made it look humble. This place was massive, with marble columns stretching so high theyseemed to touch the clouds, and wide, glass double doors framed in more gold. Balconies wrapped around the second and third floors, and there were fountains everywhere—actual fountains—shooting streams of water into the air like something out of a luxury magazine. I counted at least three different water features before we even made it to the front steps.
Pressure eased the car to a stop in front of a valet team dressed in black and gold uniforms. The moment he stepped out, it was like all eyes were on us. One of the valets rushed to open my door, and I stepped out slow, trying not to look like I’d never been somewhere like this before, even though every single part of me wanted to stare at everything.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand like it was nothing, his palm warm against mine. “You good.”
We walked up the steps, and as soon as those glass doors opened, music and laughter came with it. The smell of something rich and sweet drifted through the air, and everywhere I looked there were people—beautiful people. Celebrities I’d only ever seen on TV or in movies were just casually sipping champagne and talking like it was normal. I caught a glimpse of a famous R&B singer leaning against the bar, and my stomach flipped like I was a kid again.
Pressure moved like he belonged here, dapping up cousins, nodding at uncles, hugging aunties. Renza and Kay’Lo were already posted up near the bar with their parents, all of them dressed like they’d stepped out of a high-fashion spread. Their fathers—Pressure’s uncles—had the same strong presence he did. It was that presence that made you look twice.
Then I saw who I just absolutely knew was Pressure’s mom.
Abeni Mensah, the birthday queen. She was everything I imagined and more—tall, elegant, glowing in a floor-length gold gown that looked like it was sewn out of sunlight. Her hair was perfectly styled, her jewelry sparkling like it had been craftedjust for her. She turned when she saw her son, and that smile told me exactly where Pressure got his presence from.
“Ma,” he greeted, leaning in to kiss her cheek and handing her a black and gold gift bag along with a bouquet of white orchids. “Happy birthday.”
She took them with a gracious smile, her eyes shining. “Thank you, baby boy.” Then her gaze shifted to me.
“This Pluto,” Pressure said smoothly, still holding my hand. “One of the Diamonds.”
I swear my stomach flipped again. My palms felt clammy, but I forced a smile and stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, pulling her into a hug even though I didn’t know if that was too forward.
She hugged me back, her embrace warm but laced with a certain weight, like she was taking my measure in that moment. “Pleasure’s mine,” she replied, her voice calm and regal.
From that moment on, the afternoon blurred into this dreamlike haze. I tasted food I couldn’t even pronounce, each dish more extravagant than the last. I also had lobster with some kind of golden drizzle, little bites of something savory wrapped in delicate pastry, and a dessert table that looked like art. Pressure introduced me to a few more of his family members, and I even had a brief conversation with one of the celebrities I’d admired since high school. Everyone seemed so comfortable, like wealth and power were just the air they breathed.
By the time the sun started dipping lower, the party began winding down, and that’s when Abeni called for Pressure and me to follow her. We ended up in this private lounge tucked away from the main hall, the lights dimmer, the furniture deep brown leather and gold. Kojo Mensah, his father was already there, sitting back with a glass of something dark in his hand, his suit tailored to perfection. He didn’t say a word at first, just watched us with a look that was impossible to read.
Abeni sat gracefully in one of the armchairs and gestured for me to take the seat across from her. “Pluto,” she started, her tone polite but deliberate, “tell me about yourself.”
I kept my voice steady, telling her the basics—where I was from, what I’d been doing before coming here and how much my little sister meant to me. She listened intently, nodding here and there. Then she asked about my thoughts on Pressure, and what I saw in him beyond the obvious. I told her the truth—that I respected him, that I’d seen sides of him others might overlook, and that his loyalty and drive were qualities I valued.
Kojo still hadn’t said a word, but the weight of his gaze made me sit up straighter.
Abeni leaned in slightly. “Family is everything in this house. If my son chooses you, you’ll need to understand what that role truly means. It’s not just about being his wife. It’s about being part of something much bigger.”
Her words were kind, but her eyes told me she meant every syllable. I nodded, answering respectfully, promising I understood, even if deep down I knew I had no idea what stepping into her world would actually take.
