2 Weeks Later

In the weeks that followed, Artist and Morgan continued their charade, their every interaction fraught with unspoken tension. Artist watched Morgan closely, observing her every move, searching for any hint of a chink in her armor. Meanwhile, Morgan remained oblivious to Artist's newfound knowledge, continuing to feed him carefully doctored information and lead him down a path of false leads.

As the stakes continued to rise, Artist's patience and resolve were tested to the limit. He knew that one wrong move could spell disaster, yet he refused to give in to despair. With each passing day, he grew more determined to expose the truth and bring down those who sought to destroy him.

The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and cheap cologne in the cramped back room of the Dallas club. Artist, dressed head-to-toe in designer threads that felt like an armor against the world. Symere and Mizzy, his closest confidantes, a seasoned hustler and a sharp tongued streetwise queen respectively sat across from him, their faces etched with a mixture of anger and concern.

"I... I was wrong." Artist managed, his voice a low rasp. He felt the burn of shame, hot and heavy in his chest. He had dismissed their warnings about Morgan.

"We told you, Artist!" Symere grumbled, her fingers drumming a rhythm against the table.

"Didn't I say she was trouble? She's got her claws in you already, Tizz."

Artist knew they were right. He'd found her phone and stumbled over a series of text messages. They were messages she sent to someone named 'Glock.' He figured that had to be one of her cousins they warned him about.

"Listen," he sighed, his words clipped and determined. "I'm not going to fight her. I'm going to play along."

Mizzy's eyebrows rose in disbelief.
"What do you mean, play along?"

Artist explained his strategy, his voice a tight whisper. He would pretend to be completely smitten with Morgan, to fall head over heels for her. He would allow her to believe she was in control, to think she was winning. He would use this to his advantage, to become closer to her, to gather evidence of her crimes. He would use her own affection against her, feed her ego while he uncovered the truth.

"You're saying you're going to use her own game against her?" Mizzy asked, a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

"Ain't that what I just said?" Artist mugged him.

"We need to find out who this Glock is, what he's running, and how to put a stop to it." Symere suggested.

The three spent the next couple of hours hashing out the details. Mizzy would keep an ear to the ground, gather information from the grapevine. Symere, with her connections in the underworld, would explore potential avenues for exposing Morgan's illicit dealings. Artist, with his newfound understanding of Morgan's weakness, would become her biggest fan, her devoted admirer.

"I gotta go meet India." Symere stood up. "I should probably tell her the truth before it's too late."

The boys nodded watching her walk away. Artist still felt bad about what he said to her back at the house.

"Mizzy, I'm sorry. I mean it. I shouldn't have said what I did." Artist said, his voice a low mumble.

Mizzy sighed, the sound like air escaping a punctured tire. "I know, man. We all have our bad days." He said, his voice as gruff as his features.

A tense silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of music blaring.

"You know, Symere's leaving." Mizzy finally said, his gaze fixed on the distant bartender.

Artist flinched, his eyes widening in alarm. "Leaving? But... where?"

"She didn't say. Something about needing her space. Getting her own place." Mizzy's voice was devoid of emotion, but the tightening of his jaw betrayed his concern.

"Space? What's she talking about? From what? She has one side of the house to herself, I'm confused."

"You." Mizzy said flatly. "And me, and the rest of us. She wants out."

Artist's face blanched. His voice, reduced to a whisper, was laced with guilt and fear. "But... but she's part of the crew. She can't just..."

Mizzy snorted. 'This ain't school, Artist. You can't just quit the crew. But she can leave, and she will. I think we all have been pushing her too hard."

"It's not just me, Mizzy. She's been snapping at everyone."

Artist believed that Symere was being a little dramatic by moving out. What he failed to understand was that she'd been wanting to move out, he just gave her the thirteenth reason why.

"Yeah, well, she said it was partially because of the shit you said the other week. She didn't take your apology too well either."

"I figured." He rolled his eyes.

Artist slumped, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew Symere was a fiery spirit, a woman who wouldn't back down, but she was also fiercely loyal. To have her walk away, to have her lose faith in him, was a blow he wasn't sure he could recover from.

"I never meant to hurt her." He said, his voice barely a murmur. "I didn't realize I was going that far."

Mizzy looked at him, a faint flicker of sympathy in his eyes. He was starting to realize that Symere brung out a different side of Artist. Deep down inside he loved her tough exterior, it intrigued him.

"You know Symere, man. You shouldn't have thrown her situation in her face."

"Why all of sudden you know so much about her? Why did she just become the victim?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Because I talk to her! She's hurting, Tizz. She knows that her father doesn't really approve of her, he wanted a son. That's why she acted the way she did when we came, she wanted to prove something to him. I understand she can be a bitch at times but she just wants genuine love and supportive people around her. After today, she might just lose the one person that accepted her flaws and all."

Artist nodded, his head bowed. There was a long silence between them, a thick, suffocating silence that spoke more eloquently than words ever could.

***

The humid Texas air hung heavy as Symere and India sat at their usual booth in the corner of the diner. The aroma of greasy fries and burgers provided a familiar soundtrack to a friendship that was teetering on the edge of a chasm.

"She's got this weird persona to her." Symere said. "She just met Artist and now she's so called head over heels for him."

India raised an eyebrow, skepticism flashing in her eyes. "So what? It's harmless."

India was truly tired of Morgan being the topic of conversation every time they saw each other.

"Maybe." Symere said, her voice trembling with a frustration she couldn't quite articulate. "But it's not just that. She's hiding shit from you. Why you think she doesn't talk about her family?"

India snorted. "You're being ridiculous, Symere. You're just jealous because I have another friend."

A sharp pain pierced Symere's chest, a familiar tightness she knew all too well. She'd been living with this feeling for months, since India, her closest friend, had started spending more and more time with Morgan.

"I'm not jealous, India." Symere said, her voice firm despite the tremor within. "I'm just... worried. You know how much you mean to me. I just want to make sure you're safe."

Symere was genuine with everything she said. While she was so worried about everyone else, she put herself on the back burner. She was sure that Glock and Gucci wanted her the most. But she was so selfless that she tried to protect those surrounding her.

India pushed her plate away, her face hardening. "Safe? You think Morgan is going to hurt me? She's not some dangerous stranger. We've been friends for two years now, if she wanted to do something by now she would've!"

Symere knew there was no point arguing. It wasn't just about Morgan. India hadn't been the same since she'd met her, withdrawing into a world where Symere couldn't reach her. Something about Morgan made India act... different.

"It's not like that." Symere said, her voice cracking. "I just... I just care about you, okay?"

A tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a glistening trail against the diner's chipped Formica table. India, who had always been so quick with a hug, just stared back at her, her eyes clouded with a strange mix of apathy and irritation.

Symere had always been the strong one, the one who held it together, the one who had learned to bury her emotions deep within. But as the salty tears continued to flow, a dam seemed to break within her. Years of repressed grief and unspoken yearning welled up, flooding her with an emotional rush she couldn't contain.

A long, suffocating silence stretched over the table. The diner's usual chaotic energy felt like a deafening roar, each clinking spoon and clanging pot amplifying the weight of India's silence.

Finally, India pushed herself away from the table, her voice cold as she said, "I've got plans with Morgan."

The words struck Symere like a physical blow. She watched, numbly, as India walked away, leaving her alone in the echoing silence of the diner. When the tears finally subsided, leaving behind a ragged exhaustion, a grim determination took root within her.

Back at the house, she poured herself a glass of water, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat burning in her chest. She reached for her phone, scrolling through her emails until she found the one she had been avoiding. The 'Congratulations' message from the realtor, confirming the purchase of her new place.

The new apartment was in a part of Dallas far from where she grew up, far from India, far from the memories that were now becoming painful reminders of a friendship lost. It was a small studio, but it was hers, a place where she could finally breathe without feeling suffocated by the weight of past hurts.

Later that evening, her father sat across from her at the dinner table. His eyes, usually filled with warmth, were heavy with unspoken worries.

Symere took a deep breath, her gaze fixed on the swirling patterns of her iced tea. "Dad, I'm ready for a change. I'm ready for something new."

"You're moving out?"

Symere nodded, her throat constricted by a wave of guilt. She could see the pain reflected in her father's eyes, the fear that she might be walking away from everything they'd built together.

"I love you, Dad," Symere said, her voice thick with emotion. "But I need to do this for myself. The boys know already, I'll be out first thing in the morning."

Though her heart ached with the weight of her decision, Symere knew she had to be true to herself. It was time to heal, to build a new life, a life where she could finally let go of the pain and embrace the unknown. The future was a blank canvas, and she was finally ready to paint her own story.

***
My damn hands hurt 😂

See yall Monday cause 3 chapters back to back is insane.

Have a good day!! 💕