Page 287 of Invisible Bars
She was dressed in a cinched red satin wrap dress. Paris’s hand was linked with her new ‘lover’, who looked like she was exactly where she belonged.
Paris looked damn near unrecognizable—in the best way. She stood out in that photo like a woman finally breathing free air.
The headline read:"Free at Last—Paris Lattimore Steps Into the Light."
I read Paris’s words.
She talked about freedom, living behinddesigner barsno one else could see—expectations, church folks, and her parents’ image. Paris admitted she’d been lying to herself for years—too scared to claim the love she knew was meant for her. Said she finally stopped asking for permission to exist and that she felt free… and I respected the hell out of it.
I closed the magazine and stared at the ceiling for a second.
Then murmured, just to myself, “I’m proud of you, Paris… for standing in your truth.”
Right then my phone rang and Chi’s name lit up the screen. I leaned back, pinched the bridge of my nose, and answered.
“Yo!”
“Say, bro… remember that slick nigga from the rooftop? The one who came talking about a ‘tiny favor’ like we was his personal genie?”
“Yeah. What about him?”
“Turns out, he wasn’t freelance like we thought. Whole time, he was working with Aaliyah.”
I sat up a little in confusion. “Aaliyah?”
“Yeah. She sent him over that night. That little meeting wasn’t random—it was a setup. She was testing you. See, she wanted him to slide in close enough, ask if you’d take a hit job. Not ’cause she cared about who got murdered, but because if you even entertained it? Boom—she’d have blackmail. Something to hang over yo’ head for leverage.”
I tugged at my beard. “So it wasn’t about business; it was aboutcontrol.”
“Exactly.” Chi’s tone dropped lower. “She wanted a leash on you. If you said yes, she’d hold that shit over yo’ head forever. If you said no, she’d use it to call you disloyal and stir up heat. Either way, she thought she had you boxed.”
I let that sink in, anger simmering slow but hot.
Chi broke the silence. “Crazy thing is, she ain’t even trust him fully. Paid him through a third-party, kept her hands clean. But paper trails don’t lie. I got enough to connect her, and I know for a fact that nigga wasn’t moving on his own.”
I chuckled—dark, humorless. “Aaliyah always thought she was smarter than the room. She should’ve known better than to try to play me with her pawns. But she’s dead now… and that’s the part she never calculated. You can’t play the long game from the grave. All that scheming, all that plotting—gone.
The front door creaked.
“But good looking out, bro. I’ma hit you back, though.”
“Why the Raisin Bran on the steps?!” Naji’s voice rang out, wild and worn. “Ugh, my fingers feel like noodles! No! Elbow macaroni!”
I stood up fast, chuckling as I moved to the door. There she was—arms full of bags, hair tossed, mouth twitching with tics and determination.
Naji looked like a beautiful storm.
Her sister trailed in behind her, already fanning herself with the edge of one of the shopping bags.
“This heat is diabolical—I heard someone say that here. Seriously, the outside feels like Nigeria, the inside of a closed oven,and Satan had a baby… and it’s teething on my forehead! Sis, if I pass out, tell Mama and Baba I died fashionable and pissed off!”
I smirked, watching her carry on like the sun had done her dirty.
“But I really ain’t got no business complaining... Nigeria’s heat is worse! At least here I got AC, a pool nearby, iced coffee, Uber Eats, and cold water that actually comes out cold. Sis, you kind of dodged a bullet being able to live here in the land of luxury the majority of your life.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call i-it that. But yes, to clean water and all of that. So be grateful. Someone always has it worse,” Naji humbly reminded her.
“You’re right. God probably rolled his eyes just now, contemplating shipping me right back to Lagos with no fan and a blackout! I’m about to put on this new swimsuit I just got and get in the pool!”
