Page 280 of Invisible Bars
He raised a brow. “You do… the eight outside located in the garage and the roundabout.”
“Those are yours," I protested, rolling my eyes dramatically. "And t-t-hey smell like your cologne and secrets,” I added, fighting a tic. “What if I had one that screamedme?”
He chuckled low. “What doesyouscream like?”
“Soft pink. Butterfly doors. A twinkle in the paint job. Maybe… a glitter steering wheel.”
Imanio smirked. “A glitter steering wheel, Naji? Really?”
“Yup! And r-r-hinestone cup holders that sparkle in the sunlight, plus a trunk big enough to hide away all my dramatic overreactions,” I said, my imagination running wild.
My fingers twitched in midair—quick, repetitive flicks like I was casting invisible spells. My lips parted before I could stop it.
“Pink makes the world safer! Glitter heals trauma! Don’t be a joy thief!”I declared, eyes wide with exaggerated wisdom.
Imanio tilted his head, looking at me as if I had just spoken some ancient, mystical language.
“Did you just say—glitter heals trauma?”
“Nottechnically, but yes. Write it down! I want my c-car to look like Lisa Frank had a baby with luxury. I already picked the name. Princess Push-Start.”
Imanio burst out laughing. “You know what? I’m afraid… but I’m a lil’ intrigued.” He rested a hand on my thigh. “So you want a cute car, huh?”
I nodded eagerly.
“Fine. But it’s gon’ be bulletproof, trackable, and loud enough to scare any nigga thinking of stepping too close.”
I grinned. “So that’s a yes to Princess Push-Start?”
He sighed like I’d just pulled one over on him. “I hate how much I love yo’ pretty ass.”
“Princess Power!”I blurted with a dramatic clap and a tic that shot my arm sideways.“Butterfly mode—engage!”
I leaned in and kissed him—nastily, with too much tongue and way too much aggression.
“You’re the best!” I sang in a sugary voice, pulling back for just a moment before kissing him again.
He smirked back at me, cockiness radiating from him.
“Always welcome, baby. Just don’t put lashes on the headlights; that shit is ghetto as hell.”
“No promises,” I replied, already daydreaming about pink rims and glittery custom plates.
Chapter Forty-Eight
GISELLE
The morning sun poured gently into my bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across my cream-colored sheets and my sleek, ivory headboard as I stretched in my luxurious silk nightgown, savoring the smooth fabric against my skin.
My face, still youthful and radiant thanks to a carefully curated routine of skincare, injections, and a healthy dose of denial, twisted into a satisfied smile as I scrolled through the lavish homepage of Femme Luxe, eagerly searching for the latest treasures. That was no ordinary shopping site; it was private and invite-only, a sanctuary designed for women like me who appreciated the finer things in life.
And there it was—the highly anticipated new Birkin drop. Crafted from exquisite matte crocodile leather and adorned with striking red stitching—only ten of these masterpieces existed in the entire world. The thrill of exclusivity sent a rush of excitement through me.
I added the coveted bag to my cart, a triumphant smirk spreading across my lips.
“Mine,” I whispered to myself, already envisioning the envious glances I would command at the next board meeting—if I even felt like attending.
With renewed enthusiasm, I tapped through to the checkout, humming a little gloating tune under my breath, reveling in the anticipation of my impending purchase.
