Page 285 of Invisible Bars
He glanced over at me, his expression a mix of exhaustion and something more complex, then jerked his chin toward the piles of bags.
“Look at it as an apology package.”
I raised an eyebrow, a mixture of intrigue and concern washing over me.
“From who?”
With a casual gesture, Imanio peeled off his shirt and tossed it over the armrest like it was an afterthought.
“Giselle.”
My throat made an ugly clicking noise of shock.
“I’m sorry… What?" I managed to stammer, disbelief creeping into my tone.
“Pops cleaned her out.”
I rose slowly from my spot on the floor, trying to process his words. I felt like I was caught between a whirlwind of emotions, uncertain if I needed to call Jesus for help or just sit back down and mind my own broke business.
“Cle-cle-cleaned her out how and when?”
“The marriage, the bank accounts, her clothes, her shoes, bags, jewelry—everything.”
I stared flabbergasted.
I knew that his father had filed for divorce, but I hadn’t anticipated the abruptness of its reality—much less the cacophony that accompanied it.
“So w-where is she staying?” I asked, my voice softer now.
“At a hotel,” Imanio replied, his tone detached and methodical, as if he were reading off a mundane to-do list. “And not the kind she used to book when she wanted to ‘get away from the commoners.’ It’s a real humble ass place. No spa, no valet, no imported cucumber water.”
“W-Wow.” My eyes widened in disbelief, then my nerves triggered a tic, loud and sharp.
“Not the Gucci ghost in the hallway!”
Imanio exhaled through his nose like he was trying not to grin.
“Now, all—well, the majority—of that bougie-ass luxury shit she used to flaunt like she was better than you? It’s yours now.”
I turned my gaze back to the bags he had brought. They loomed like treasure chests, and I recognized several of the brands—couture items I’d only ever seen in the glossy pages of fashion magazines or draped casually on her arm at the family dinners.
"W-What will she say if she sees me wearing her stuff?”
A wave of anxiety coursed through me, chasing away any excitement I should have felt in that moment.
Imanio looked at me dead in the eye, jaw tight.
“Let her say something. Matter fact, Ihopeshe does. She spent years throwin’ shade and smirkin’ behind wine glasses. Now she can watch you shine in what used to be hers. Difference is—you didn’t need to belittle anybody to wear it.”
He stepped closer and cupped my chin gently.
“This time… you’re not sitting at the table trying to be accepted, baby; you are the table. And if anyone has a problem with it? I’m here, ready to flip it over.”
Imanio reached into one of the smaller bags, his fingers sifting through the luxurious contents. He finally pulled out a stunning gold bangle and turned it in his hand thoughtfully, like an artist pondering his canvas, then slid it onto my wrist without waiting for my permission.
“This doesn’t even matter to her,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, almost a secret shared between us. “Well… maybe it still does. But it’ll matter to you when you finally realize you deserve everything she thought you didn’t.”
I touched the bracelet lightly, feeling its coolness against my skin, and marveled at how beautiful it was. Yet, beneath that beauty, there was a weight—a different heaviness that settled in my chest. It was a reminder that I was stepping into a new chapter, one fraught with both opportunities and challenges.
