Page 41 of Invisible Bars
“T-Ten minutes?!” The words ripped out louder than I meant, half outrage, half disbelief. “I ain’t no microwave burrito!”
And no—that outburst wasn’t Tourette’s related; that was me talking, with a side of attitude.
Imanio smirked faintly, shaking his head. “You right. You need at least thirty. Hell, maybe forty, just to be safe. But we don’t have that type of time this morning. Ms. Shirley has already started cooking, so I’ll give youfifteenminutes.”
Five minutes add on? Oh wow. I take longer than that just staring at the water, thinking about life.
“And Naji—” his added, snapping me out of my thoughts, “—Don’t confuse this grace period with kindness. I’m an impatient man, so don’t push me into reminding you what happens when I wait too long for something.”
With nothing else to say, he was gone, leaving me to sit with my fear, his offer, and my funk.
The moment the door closed behind him, I moved like I was being timed and bolted for the bathroom. My heart was thumping and my nerves were twitching, but Imanio’s semi-threatening words—and my own desperation to feel like myself again—overpowered it.
I had never gone a full day without a shower in my life—not when I was sick… not even when I was hospitalized once fordehydration. Cleanliness was the one thing I had always clung to, even in the messiest of circumstances. So to be sitting in an almost three-day funk, fear, and filth was something I didn’t justhate—I barely recognized myself in it.
I kicked open the bathroom door, closed it behind me, then stripped down in record time and hopped into the shower.
The second that hot water touched my skin, I gasped. It felt like relief… like redemption… like I was washing off the weight of every silent breakdown I’d had since being there.
I stood under hot water, letting it burn the tension out of my bones. The shower was beautiful—marble tile, a rainfall head, and products that smelled like honey and herbs. I exfoliated every inch of my skin like I was shedding the old me. I even moisturized afterward, using the thick shea butter lotion sitting neatly on the counter, like it had been placed there just for me. I wanted to wash my hair. But again—time wasn’t on my side. Fifteen minutes wasn’t nearly enough to get through all of my morning hygiene. Not to mention, I had to do everything abit longer. My hair, though? My hair was about to find out what betrayal felt like.
After stepping out of the shower, I exhaled, steam wrapping around me like a reset button. For the first time since being there, I feltsomewhathuman again. I timed myself the entire time I was in the bathroom. I managed to brush my teeth, wash my face, and get a good scrubbing in—all within ten minutes. Still, a part of me knew that after breakfast, I was probably going to need another shower just to feel complete.
When I reentered the room, I had literally five minutes to be out and sitting at the table next to Imanio. My nerves buzzed as I hurriedly dug through my bag, clothes tumbling out in my rush. Comfort over fashion won this round. I yanked out a matching two-piece lounge set, buttery-soft and deep wine red, and slipped it on as quickly as my shaky hands would allow.
With one minute left to spare, I finally made my way toward the kitchen, heart pounding like I was headed to judgment instead of breakfast. However, as soon as I stepped out, I turned right back around and grabbed another hoodie from my bag. Imanio had the air on full blast—cold enough to hang meat, start a snowstorm, or make me question if he was trying to preserve me like leftovers. I couldn’t deal with that.
When I stepped back out, I realized he’d never actually told me where the kitchen was, so I had to find my own way, following the smell like a cartoon character floating after a pie on a windowsill. One thing Chi hadn’t lied about was Imanio’s house description. The place was massive—ridiculously so. And since I was officially late for my breakfast date, I figured I might as well take the scenic route—call it a quick house tour—and deal with the consequences later.
The night I was brought there, I barely noticed anything past the anxiety buzzing in my ears. But walking through it in the daylight, seeing it without the haze of fear and chaos… was mind-blowing. The floors gleamed like they’d been polished with intention, not just by routine. The air smelled expensive—like lemon zest, soft vanilla, and clean ambition. It was pristine… every surface, every detail. From the crystal chandelier overhead to the sleek molding on the walls, not a speck of dust dared to exist. That kind of clean said somebody got paidvery wellto keep it that way.
I couldn’t help but think:What does one man need with all this space?Or maybe…he’s not single.A man like him? Probably not.
Still, I padded softly into the dining room, nerves creeping up my spine as I turned the corner—and all eyes immediately landed on me. Everybody paused, including Imanio; not out of judgment or confusion… but acknowledgment.
The dining area looked like something out of a luxury home magazine.
Open concept, sky-high ceilings, and a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that let sunlight pour in and drench the room in gold.
The long, obsidian dining table stretched across the space, glistening beneath the natural light. At the head of it all sathim.
Imanio looked like a walking temptation wrapped in simplicity—black joggers that rested just right on his thighs, a fitted white tee hugging his chest like it was custom stitched for that body alone. His skin had that warm, rich tone that somehow looked better in natural light. His legs were spread slightly, arms resting on the table, and when his gaze slowly dragged up from my bare feet to my now-clean curls and moisturized skin—he licked his bottom lip.
I forgot how to breathe. And whatever part of my brain handled impulse control? Yeah… it glitched.
“Dammmmmmmmmn, he’s fine!”
My eyes widened.
What the actual hell?
A few of the staff bit their lips, looked down, kept it professional—but not before I caught their smirks.
Imanio didn’t smile nor smirk; he just tilted his head ever so slightly, expression stoic… except for the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Like a grin was pacing behind his teeth but hadn’t quite been granted permission to spread.
“Was that one of your outbursts you couldn’t control… or something your spirit couldn’t keep to itself?” he finally spoke.
I shuffled awkwardly in place. “Definitely the first one,”
