Page 219 of Invisible Bars
I looked at Tyla—really looked at her.
Karma.
Funny how it always circled back. Not on our time, but always right on schedule. I used to pray for moments like this—to see the ones who hurt me down bad. And now here she was, frizzed-up and damn near unrecognizable, begging for scraps of my kindness. But I didn’t feel joy or feel peace; I just felt... nothing. No sympathy. No satisfaction—just confirmation thatthe universe heard every sob I choked down alone, that the pain I wore like a second skin backstage wasn’t forgotten and that every tic, every tremor and every cruel whisper from people like her was logged, documented and answered.
“Naji, I’m sorry,” Tyla whispered, eyes pleading.
“Sorry won’t heal what you broke. S-Sorry won’t erase the nights I shook in my own skin because of you. Sorry is just a band-aid on a wound you carved with intention.Chopstick soul—karma, karma, karma!”
Before Tyla could respond, I felt the warmth of Imanio’s presence behind me. He leaned close, his voice low, a whisper meant for my ear alone.
“Let’s wrap this shit up, baby. Don’t forget who you are.”
His words snapped me back. Right—who I wasnow.
Not the girl they once mocked, not the broken model, but a wife… someone’s protected woman… someone with a new name and a new life.
I knew damn well the blogs were waiting—hungry. Paparazzi didn’t care about truth; they cared about clicks. One wrong move, one photo of me snapping in public, and the next day’s headline would read:“Imanio Kors’ wife caught spazzing in the streets.”They didn’t need context; they needed chaos. And Tyla? She wasn’t worth feeding them. I wasn’t about to hand them my crown just to let her play victim. She could keep her pity… I’d keep my peace.
I was about to walk away until she blurted, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Ambria.”
That name alone nearly brought tears to my eyes, slamming into me like a punch I wasn’t ready for.
Ambria. My friend. My sister in the industry. The girl who’d laughed through the pain while quietly killing herself to stay on top.
“It’s crazy to know she was doing all that to her body and suffering in silence,” Tyla murmured, shaking her head like she suddenly found compassion.
I swallowed hard, but my voice cut sharp. “We all suffered in silence in our own way. The difference is, you judged people for the same s-shit you were doing behind closed doors. You pointed fingers at me while hiding your own c-c-cracks. Don’t pretend her death made you righteous now. Don’t come n-near me again.”
With nothing else to say, I turned my back and walked to the car with my husband, leaving her looking dumbfounded. I didn’t look back… not even once.
As I slid in the passenger seat, I shut the door a little harder than I meant to. Imanio’s eyes were already on me, his jaw locked like he was still debating whether or not to get out and handle her himself.
He leaned slightly, voice low. “Who was she?”
I buckled my seatbelt and stared out the window for a moment before answering.
“Some model I used to work with. Back when I thought f-fashion week meant sisterhood—chicken nugget nipples!”
He cocked his head, waiting.
“She’s the o-one who stole my meds that day. She knew I had Tourette’s… knew I needed them to function!”
His face darkened instantly. “And that bitch just walked up like she forgot all that?”
I nodded. “Yup.”
“You want me to handle her? You know I will. Just say the word.”
I let out a small chuckle at his thoughtfulness, shaking my head.
“No, b-babe. It looks like life has already dragged her. And when God humbles somebody, you don’t interfere; you just step aside and let the lesson finish teaching.”
Sometimes I wanna mirror people’s disrespect—throw it right back at them—but then I see how life already treats them, and honestly? That’s punishment enough. I didn’t need revenge or to stand around and watch Tyla unravel. I had peace. I had him. I had a name again. And that was more than enough.
The car pulled up slowly, a quiet hum beneath the thick layer of luxury.
Outside, the red carpet shimmered under the bright spotlights, casting warm glows on the jubilant faces of guests. Photographers—eager and loud—shouted names and captured every moment, their camera bulbs flashing in rapid bursts like miniature fireworks. It was a sea of black ties, high dresses, flashing cameras, and envy—all wrapped up in luxurious satin and high-end fashion.
