Page 147 of Tangled Hearts
His knuckles hit the wood before he could talk himself out of it.
The door swung open. Chanta’s hair was tied back, face bare, eyes wide not expecting him to be the one knocking. She’d been avoiding Christian knowing he was ready to put a bullet in her for the fight at the park. Noir was sacred to Christian and Chanta hated it.
“You finally home,” Christian muttered, pushing his way in.
“Don’t do that,” she snapped, slamming the door. “Don’t walk in here like you own this shit. Where you been? Huh? Your infant daughter needs you, but you too busy chasing after that bitch to care.”
Christian spun around. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth. You almost pulled a gun out on Noir at the park. You lost your fuckin’ mind?”
Her voice rose, sharp enough to rattle the walls. “You love her so much? Then why you keep ending up between my legs,Christian? Why you call me when you drunk or when you mad at her? Why you always here if she’s all you care about?”
He stepped closer, jaw set, brown eyes darkening. “Don’t confuse me fucking you with me loving you. I should’ve never put you in that position, but you ain’t her. You’ll never be her.”
Her hands shook as she pointed at him. “Say it again!”
“I don’t love you, Chanta. I never did.”
She screamed, shoving him hard. He didn’t move, though. He wasn’t fazed by her licks. His chest hurt like hell but his pride wouldn’t let him show it. He thought about Noir’s smile in Paris again, about her moving on without him. That image haunted him worse than any enemy he ever faced.
Men had a way of breaking homes before they even knew what it meant to build one. They’d love on women they never intended to stay with, ruin them with lies and half-promises, then leave children behind like loose change. And still, they expected those same children to grow up and know what love looked like.
A child’s well-being was always tied to their mother’s peace. When she was hurting, the child carried the ache. When she was happy, the child learned safety. Men rarely thought about that part. They thought about themselves, about their pride, about the next move.
Chanta sat with all of it every day. The bags under her eyes weren’t from sleepless nights. It was from carrying weight she never asked for. She didn’t just raise her baby—she carried the burden of Christian’s double life. Watching him run the streets, chase Noir, and then crawl back when his world fell apart. He wanted loyalty but never gave it. He wanted love but treated it like it was disposable.
“You broke me,” she hissed. “You broke me and still expect me to put the pieces together while you go on acting like you the king of something. You a king with no kingdom, Christian.”
Her words sliced like venom.
His eyes widened, and he gulped because her words felt true. He’d been feeling like that a lot lately. Seeing the mess he made and not knowing how to fix it.
“Watch yo’ mouth,” he said through gritted teeth, the truth too raw for him to feel anything other than anger.
“Nigga fuck you!” She yelled, her baby crying down the hall.
Destiny was still learning the world. She was nine months now and Chanta could count on one hand how much Christian spent time with their daughter. He paid great money for her well-being but the time they should’ve spent bonding, he spent running behind Noir.
Every time Chanta looked at her daughter, she saw innocence tangled in betrayal. The little girl deserved a father who showed up, not one who only came around when his pride needed stroking. That was her rage—it wasn’t just about her. It was about how men like Christian could play god with a woman’s heart and then shrug when everything crumbled.
This was the other end of the knot—the side people never showed. The side people burned off just to make the bow look pretty. The part nobody cared to acknowledge because it wasn’t picture perfect. But Chanta lived on that end every single day. It was why, when she looked at Christian now, she couldn’t see the man she used to love. She could only see the man who taught her daughter what absence felt like.
Christian pushed her up against the wall.
Chanta slapped him, making his bright skin turn red soon after contact.
“You doing too much, got my baby crying,” Christian tried to go down the hall but Chanta jumped on his back.
The gun on his waist thudded to the floor.
“No! You don’t get to see her now! Where were you when she woke up in the middle of the night? When her tooth startedcutting through and she cried herself to sleep just to wake up and cry again?” Chanta fell to the ground when he tossed her off. But she wasn’t done. Wild fists flew everywhere.
“Stop!” Christian tried to grab her hands.
Her licks were getting harder and harder. He didn’t want to have to hit her because he wasn’t that type of man.
“Nooo!” Chanta cried when he pushed her hard enough for her to slide across the floor.
The front door burst open. Her brother stormed in, badge clipped to his belt, gun already drawn. “What the fuck going on in here?”
