Page 230 of Invisible Bars
I rocked into her like she was home, voice low and tender, but heavy with meaning.
“I’ll kill for your silence and burn this whole damn world down for your peace.”
Naji whimpered in her sleep, soft and instinctive. Her body responded to the sound of my voice… to the weight of my promise.
I slid deeper, moving with purpose—slow, hard, claiming—like I needed her to feel what I couldn’t say loud enough. Every stroke was a vow, and every breath between us was a boundary breaking.
Naji’s breath hitched, back arching ever so slightly beneath me, and I didn’t stop.
I took my time rolling my hips into hers with purpose. Naji’s name slipped out like a curse I couldn’t stop repeating. I devoured her slowly, like she was the only prayer I knew how to whisper.
“F-Fuck—Imanio—wait—” she moaned—loud, broken, already unraveling.
My voice dropped into a growl, dark and low. “Don’t tell me to stop now, Naji.”
“I’m not—I’m just—I can’t?—”
“Oh, youcan,” I growled, slamming into her harder, the bed jerking beneath us like it was trying to hold on. “And youwill.”
I didn’t let up. I gave her everything—deep, brutal, deliberate.
“Take it,” I snarled. “Every fuckin’ inch. You feel that? That’smine.”
Soon, the world outside ceased to matter—no noise, no past, no future. Just skin, breath, sweat, and that dangerous kind of love that makes men ruin kingdoms just to protect what's theirs. We were wrapped in it… and I wasn’t letting go.
Chapter Thirty-Six
GISELLE
Iadjusted my diamond-studded watch as I pulled up to Imanio’s residence.
I typically refrained from unannounced visits to my son, especially considering our recent strained interactions. However, I worried that if I called, he would not answer. Worse? He might’ve picked up only to abruptly end the call. Thus, I decided to make an exception that day.
My primary purpose for visiting was to offer an apology… not just to him, but to that girl too—Naji. The evening had devolved into a chaotic exchange, and I could admit—at least to myself—I’d gone too far.
Naji’s tics, her outbursts, the way Imanio had defended her—it had all spiraled fast. And it left me looking heartless and like the villain in a room full of people who already wanted someone to blame. That portrayal was at odds with the Kors family image, which I prioritized, both in public and private settings.
I took a moment to smooth my perfectly styled hair in the mirror, ensuring every strand was in place. I reminded myself that I was not there to plead for forgiveness; I intended to extend a sincere olive branch.
As I stepped outside, the sound of my custom-made Chanel heels clicking against the pavement projected a sense of authority. The ensemble I wore, carefully tailored to enhance my figure, paired with an exquisite purse nestled comfortably in the crook of my arm, gave me the appearance of someone preparing for a formal event or press conference—an impression I always strived to convey.
Using my key, I entered the home with a sense of purpose.
Yes, I still had a key.
To my surprise, I was greeted—not by my son—but by a young Black woman standing in the living room with a tablet and a folder tucked neatly under her arm.
Her skirt was a little plain. Her smile? A little too ready.
I scanned her quickly, giving her a once-over.
The iPad. The professional look. The calm posture. And the fact that she was comfortably in my son’s home.She had to be the new publicist he mentioned.
“Good afternoon. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here,” I said, maintaining a cordial yet assertive tone. “You must be my son’s new publicist.”
“Hi. Yes. I’m Saroya Evergreen. Pleased to meet you.”
She extended her hand for a firm handshake, her bright smile revealing perfectly aligned teeth.
