Page 201 of Invisible Bars
Then another post had a tweet pinned to the top:
@SpillItSis:“Y’all… I swear that’s Naji Ali from that old modeling agency.
And below that?—
@TeaTime24/7:“WAIT! Are they MARRIED?!”
My eyes dropped to the comment count. 1,472 in under two hours.
I scrolled.
@glowupqueen:“She’s so pretty, though… always has been.”
@hoodjournalist:“Honestly, she looks like she’s been through it. Poor girl.”
@cityshadeblog:“Not Imanio Kors hiding a whole wife!”
@modelwatcher88:“She used to model, right? I thought she dropped off the radar.”
@streetteaunlocked:“Isn’t she the one with that… condition? Tourette’s or something?”
@slayorbust:“That girl’s face still eats!”
@korsfanclub:“If that’s his wife, he won. She’s gorgeous.”
My jaw was tense, but strangely… my chest was calm.
There was no mockery or slander; just curiosity, a little shock, and some nosy commentary, but no hate. The news was spreading like oil on water—smooth, wide, and fast.
I blew out a long sigh, tossed my phone on the bed, and murmured, “Guess the cat’s out the fucking bag. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Chapter Thirty-One
NAJI
Imade my way to the sunroom, my soft-soled sandals gliding quietly over the polished hardwood floors; my nerves felt loud in comparison.
My outfit was simple—a soft olive-green sundress that gently hugged my curves without being overly revealing. The thin straps rested softly on my shoulders, and the modest neckline framed my collarbone perfectly. I had chosen gold hoop earrings that caught the light with every movement, a few delicate rings that adorned my fingers, and I had pulled my hair into a high bun that somehow looked effortlessly elegant, even though inside I felt anything but. I didn’t want to overdress, but I still wanted to present myself as someone who belonged in that life—next to him.
After that relaxing bath, my skin radiated a warm glow, adding an extra touch of vibrancy.
The real truth?I hated getting out of that tub.
Ms. Shirley had truly outdone herself with that setup; it was pure bliss, and I could have easily spent the entire day relaxing in the warmth and tranquility it provided. Instead, I was now stepping back into reality—nerves twisted up in my stomach like they were tying bows in my intestines.
I’d been tempted to check social media—so tempted. My fingers hovered over the login screen more than once, itching to see what everyone was saying.
When it came to social media, I had a routine: once a month, I’d quietly reactivate all my accounts.
No posts, no likes—just lurking, scrolling, and absorbing the world I once used to be part of.
I kept them live for twenty-four hours, tops, and took screenshots of things that moved me—funny captions, quotes that felt like they knew me, pictures of places I might want to visit. I told myself I’d post them someday—when I was brave enough. That wasn’t the day, though. Still, the curiosity still clawed at me.
However, the second I stepped into the sunroom, though… it eased. The room was bathed in gold—the morning sun flooding through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the backyard in a soft shimmer. The green outside was alive, breezy, and peaceful.
And there he was.
Imanio sat on the sofa, freshly changed into a short-sleeved red button-up, and crisp khaki shorts. He turned when he saw me, eyes scanning me slowly, lips curving.
