Chapter 7: Poolside Heartbreak
The water was cool, a shock against her sun-warmed skin. Anaijiah kept her eyes on the Miami skyline, on the way the last of the sunset bled orange and violet behind the glass towers. Her legs, dangling from the pool’s infinity edge, were a study in stillness. The rest of her vibrated.
Laughter skittered across the water behind her. Nayah’s peal, bright and performative. Kayla’s deeper chuckle. The clink of ice in highball glasses. They were sprawled on plush loungers, a tableau of curated leisure. Nayah was filming a boomerang of her drink against the neon palm glow. Kayla was deep in conversation with a producer from Influencer City, her hands sketching shapes in the humid air.
Anaijiah had tried to join them. She’d lasted ten minutes perched on the edge of a chair, smiling until her cheeks ached, nodding at names and brands that meant nothing to her. The air up here smelled like salt and expensive perfume and ambition, thick enough to choke on. It was nothing like the clean, private silence of the bungalow that morning.
Nevaieh was holding court a few feet away, surrounded by a semicircle of people. A director type with sharp glasses. Two musicians Anaijiah vaguely recognized.Brooklyn.
Brooklyn leaned into Nevaieh’s space, her smile a slash of white in the twilight. She said something, low. Nevaieh’s expression didn’t change, but her shoulders went a fraction tighter under her simple black tank top. Anaijiah watched Brooklyn’s hand land on Nevaieh’s forearm, a gesture that looked casual and felt, from across the heated pool deck, like a claim.
She looked away, focusing on her own reflection in the darkening water. The vibrant roses on her thigh warped beneath the surface. She traced the “305” inked on her wrist, a tiny anchor.It felt distant.
“You look like you’re contemplating a swim with the sharks.”
The voice was light, close. Anaijiah glanced up. Brooklyn had broken away from the group and was standing over her, holding two glasses of pale rosé. She offered one. Her smile was bright, empty.
“Just cooling off,” Anaijiah said, accepting the glass. She didn’t drink.
Brooklyn sat beside her, close enough that their bare shoulders almost touched. She kicked her feet in the water, sighing. “God, this view. Never gets old, right? You get used to it, I guess. But the first time? Magic.” She took a long sip, her eyes scanning Anaijiah. The appraisal was clinical. “Neva’s talked about you, you know.”
The statement was a trap. Anaijiah knew it. “Has she.”
“Mhm. We all share, at the House. It’s like a family.” Brooklyn’s tone was syrup. “She was so… taken.After Miami. We were all like, who is this girl who finally got Nevaieh to pause her scroll?” She laughed, a tinkling sound that didn’t match the flatness in her eyes. “But that’s Nev. Intense flares. Then, you know, the light moves on.”
The words were deft, precise as a surgical knife. Anaijiah felt them slide between her ribs. She kept her face smooth, a skill she’d perfected in a thousand waiting rooms and job interviews. “Sounds like you know her well.”
“Since before the first million followers.” Brooklyn leaned in, conspiratorial. Her perfume was overwhelming, jasmine and something metallic. “Look, you seem sweet. Just… manage your expectations, okay? This world?” She gestured vaguely at the glittering skyline. “It consumes people like her. There’s always a new muse. A new collaboration.”
She patted Anaijiah’s knee, a gesture of pity that burned like acid. Then she stood, her gaze drifting back to Nevaieh. “Gotta circulate. Duty calls.” She took two steps, then paused, turning back as if struck by an afterthought. “Oh, and Dove Carmichael just walked in. You know, the model? She’s been trying to get Nev on her podcast for months. Perfect match, really. Their energies.”
Then she was gone, melting back into the crowd near the bar.
Anaijiah sat perfectly still. The rosé in her hand felt suddenly heavy, dangerously slippery. She set it carefully on the decking. The laughter, the music, the buzz of conversation—it all receded, replaced by a high-pitched hum in her ears. She saw Nevaieh glance her way, a question in her eyes. Anaijiah forced her lips into what she hoped was a reassuring smile and gave a tiny shake of her head.
I’m fine.
She wasn’t fine. Brooklyn’s words coiled in her gut, cold and sure. Intense flares. The light moves on. It echoed the old, buried fear that had whispered to her on the plane. That she was an interlude. A vibrant, messy splash of color on Nevaieh’s meticulously composed canvas, soon to be painted over.
A new figure entered the rooftop space—a tall, willowy woman with a silver-blonde buzz cut and skeletal tattoos crawling up her neck.Dove. Heads turned. A current of new interest rippled through the crowd. Anaijiah watched as Brooklyn glided toward Dove, air-kissing her cheeks, then gesturing with a flourish toward Nevaieh.
Nevaieh’s back was to her. She saw Kayla nudge Nevaieh, nodding toward the new arrival. Saw Nevaieh turn, her profile illuminated by the pulsing neon. She offered Dove a brief, professional smile, extending a hand.It was nothing. A networking moment. Anaijiah knew this. Her brain recited the facts: This is her job. This is what you agreed to. This is not the bungalow.
Her body didn’t believe it. A hollow ache opened up beneath her sternum.
Then it happened. Brooklyn, standing between them, said something with a laugh. She placed a hand on Nevaieh’s back and gave her a light, playful shove in Dove’s direction. The gesture was casual, club-ready. The words, carried on a sudden lull in the music, were crystal clear.
“Go on, Nev. Trade up.”
The world stopped.
The neon palms blurred. The laughter became a distorted echo. Every molecule of air evacuated Anaijiah’s lungs. She stared, frozen, as Nevaieh stiffened, shooting a razor-sharp glance at Brooklyn. But the damage was done. The words hung in the jasmine-scented air, a public verdict.Trade up.
From her.From this. From the roses and the peacock and the 305. From the silent tears in the podcast booth and the breath held on the private jet. She was the downgrade. The temporary fascination. The model was the upgrade.
A hot, swift pressure built behind her eyes. She blinked, furious, trying to command the tears back. They betrayed her. One, then another, streaked down her cheeks, fast and silent. She turned her face swiftly toward the endless drop beyond the pool’s edge, hoping the twilight would hide them.
The glass in Nevaieh’s hand cracked.
It wasn’t a loud sound. A sharp, singular snap that cut through the murmur. Anaijiah’s head whipped around. Nevaieh was staring at the fractured tumbler in her hand, ice and amber liquid seeping between her fingers. Her expression was completely blank, which was more terrifying than any scowl.
“Shit, Nev, you okay?” Kayla was instantly at her side, reaching for the glass.
Nevaieh ignored her. She dropped the broken pieces into a nearby tray with a clatter that made several people jump. She didn’t look at the blood welling from a small cut on her palm. Her gaze, dark and laser-focused, was locked on Anaijiah.
She saw. Of course she saw.
Nevaieh strode across the deck. The crowd around her seemed to sense the tectonic shift, parting silently. She didn’t stop for Dove, for Brooklyn, for anyone. She walked right to the pool’s edge and stood before Anaijiah, a tall, solid silhouette against the city lights.
“Get up.” The words were quiet, flat.
Anaijiah couldn’t move. Humiliation had cemented her to the spot.
Nevaieh bent, gripping her upper arms, and pulled her to her feet. Her hands were wet from the broken glass, leaving damp, chilling prints on Anaijiah’s skin. She didn’t let go. She studied Anaijiah’s face, the tracks of the tears she could no longer hide.
“Hey,” someone called from the loungers. “Everything cool?”
Nevaieh didn’t even glance away. “No.”
She kept one hand firmly on Anaijiah’s arm and turned, leading her—not toward the exit, but toward the darkest, most secluded corner of the rooftop, a service alcove shrouded by a giant, shuddering banana plant. It was away from the music, the lights, the eyes.
When they were shrouded in shadow, Nevaieh stopped. She finally released Anaijiah’s arm, instead cupping her face in both hands, her thumbs roughly smearing the wetness from her cheeks. Her touch was not gentle. It was urgent.
“Look at me.”
Anaijiah forced her eyes up. The humiliation was now a living thing, squirming in her chest. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“Stop.” Nevaieh’s voice was a low strain. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Do you understand me? Nothing.” Her thumbs stilled on Anaijiah’s cheekbones. “That was calculated. That was meant for you to hear. And it worked.”
A fresh tear escaped. Nevaieh caught it with her thumb.
“I am not trading you.” The words were delivered like a vow, stripped of all ornament. “For a model, for a brand deal, for a fucking continent. You are not a stock. You are not a temporary fascination.” She leaned her forehead against Anaijiah’s, her breath warm and quick. “What I feel for you… it scares the shit out of me. It’s inconvenient. It’s messy. It’s not a part of the plan. That’s how I know it’s real.”
Anaijiah’s breath hitched. The hollow ache began to fill, but with something turbulent, overwhelming.
Nevaieh pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. The usual arrogance was gone, burned away. What remained was raw, startlingly open. “I broke a glass in my hand because I heard what she said and I saw your face and I wanted to put my fist through something else. That’s not control. That’s not a ‘flare.’ That’s you. In my system.”
She took Anaijiah’s hand, pressing it against her own chest, over the ink and the frantic beat of her heart. “You feel that? That’s yours. You wrapped your hand around it in a fucking podcast booth and you haven’t let go.”
Anaijiah could feel the strong, rapid rhythm under her palm. She could feel the slight tremor in Nevaieh’s frame. The unshakeable was shaken.
“I don’t do apologies,” Nevaieh continued, her voice gravel. “I think they’re usually bullshit. But I am sorry. I’m sorry I brought you into a space where that could be said to you. I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming and shut it down before it landed. That’s on me. My failure.”
She pressed Anaijiah’s hand harder against her heart. “It won’t happen again. You have my word. And I don’t give that lightly.”
The world beyond the banana leaves—the music, the party, the whole glittering, treacherous city—faded into insignificance. There was only this shadowed corner, the feel of Nevaieh’s heartbeat, and the brutal, beautiful honesty in her eyes.
Anaijiah uncurled the fingers Nevaieh held against her chest and laced them through hers instead. The connection was solid. An anchor.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay?” Nevaieh searched her face.
“Okay.” Anaijiah took a deep, shuddering breath. The tears were done. A strange, solid calm was settling in their place. “Now get me out of here. Before I do something dramatic, like push Brooklyn into the deep end.”
A real smile, stark with relief, touched Nevaieh’s mouth. “Tempting.” She lifted their joined hands and kissed Anaijiah’s knuckles, right over the “305.” It was a seal.A promise.
She didn’t let go as she led her back into the light, past the silent, watching crowd, past Brooklyn’s stunned, narrowed eyes, past Kayla’s concerned frown and Nayah’s dropped phone. They walked, hand in hand, through the thrumming heart of the party, and didn’t stop until the rooftop door hissed shut behind them, leaving the noise and the neon and the poison far below.
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in a sudden, pressurized silence. The only sound was the faint mechanical whir of their descent and Anaijiah’s own heartbeat, a wild drum against her ribs. Nevaieh’s hand was still wrapped tightly around hers, the grip almost painful.
She leaned back against the mirrored wall, pulling Anaijiah with her. “Look at me.” Her voice was softer now, stripped of its earlier fury. Anaijiah met her eyes in the reflection—her own, wide and raw; Nevaieh’s, dark and searching. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m angry,” Anaijiah corrected, her voice surprisingly steady. The hollow hurt was crystallizing into something hotter and sharper. “I’m so fucking angry.”
“Good.” Nevaieh turned her, hands settling on her hips. “Hold onto that. Don’t let it turn back in on you.” She leaned forward, her forehead resting against Anaijiah’s. The kiss she pressed to Anaijiah’s lips wasn’t about passion. It was a firm, lingering seal. A grounding. A silent transmission of strength.
It tasted like salt and tequila and promise.
When she pulled back, she kept her hands firmly on Anaijiah’s face. “My room or yours?”
The question was practical. A choice. Anaijiah inhaled, the clean, cold elevator air clearing the last of the jasmine-scented poison from her lungs. She saw the tiny cut on Nevaieh’s palm, a red line against her skin. She saw her own resolve, solidifying in the glass.
“Neither.” Anaijiah stepped back. The elevator dinged, opening to the hushed, carpeted hallway of their floor. She didn’t move toward the bungalow. “I have to go back up.”
Nevaieh’s eyebrows lifted. A slow, understanding dawned in her eyes, followed by a flicker of protective resistance. “Anaijiah.”
“No.” Anaijiah shook her head, a curl of ginger hair sticking to her damp cheek. “You claimed me. You apologized. You were… perfect.” She reached for Nevaieh’s wounded hand, tracing just beside the cut with her thumb. “But she spoke to me. That ‘trade up’ crack wasn’t for you. It was a bullet meant for me. I need to be the one to hand it back.”
She saw the calculation in Nevaieh’s gaze, the weighing of risk against respect. After a long moment, Nevaieh gave a single, sharp nod. “Okay.” She didn’t offer to come. She understood this was a solo mission.
“Okay,” Anaijiah echoed. She squeezed Nevaieh’s hand once, then turned and stabbed the button for the rooftop. The doors began to close. Through the narrowing gap, Nevaieh stood watching, a tall, tattooed statue of unwavering support.
The ascent felt longer. Anaijiah straightened her spine, wiped any residual moisture from under her eyes. She rolled her shoulders back, feeling the phoenix between her shoulder blades flex. She was not a girl crying by a pool. She was the woman who had quieted a room with a whisper into a microphone. She was the force Nevaieh refused to get out of the way of.
The rooftop door opened, and the wall of sound and light hit her again. She stepped out, the humidity wrapping around her like a challenge. She didn’t slink. She walked with purpose, her gaze scanning the clustered loungers.
Brooklyn was right where she expected her to be, holding court at the center of a rebuilt circle, a fresh drink in hand. She was recounting some story, her laugh too loud. She saw Anaijiah approach and the laugh died in her throat, replaced by a mask of smug curiosity.
“Forgot your phone?” Brooklyn asked, her voice dripping with false sympathy.
The group around her fell quiet. Nayah and Kayla, from their nearby perch, watched with apprehension.
“No,” Anaijiah said, her voice carrying just enough to be heard over the music. She stopped directly in front of Brooklyn, close enough to see the faint layer of powder settling into her fine lines. “I forgot to say something.”
Brooklyn smirked, leaning back. “Oh?”
“You said ‘trade up.’” Anaijiah let the words hang, naked and ugly. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “You looked at Nevaieh, you looked at me, and you assigned value like we’re collectibles. Like this,” she gestured between the space she’d come from and herself, “is a transaction.”
Brooklyn opened her mouth, a retort ready, but Anaijiah didn’t let her speak.
“I need you to understand something.” Anaijiah took one small step closer. Her tone was conversational, almost curious. “You can’t trade what you never had a claim on. You’re standing on a rooftop playing chess with pieces that aren’t yours. It must be exhausting.”
A stunned, prickling silence spread through the immediate group. Brooklyn’s cheeks flushed a mottled pink. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she sputtered, her cool facade cracking.
“I think I do.” Anaijiah smiled then, a small, quiet thing. “You traded genuine connection for a follower count a long time ago. So you assume everyone else does too. It’s the only currency you understand.” She let her eyes sweep over Brooklyn’s perfectly curated outfit, her expensive, vacant smile. “It’s kind of sad.”
She leaned in, just a fraction, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur only Brooklyn could hear. “The next time you feel the need to comment on what’s mine, don’t.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She simply turned and walked away, leaving Brooklyn gaping, speechless and utterly dismantled in front of her peers. The victory wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was the silent, final click of a lock.
Kayla met her eyes as she passed and gave an almost imperceptible nod of respect. Nayah’s jaw was slightly open.
Anaijiah pushed through the rooftop door, back into the quiet hallway. She leaned against the wall for a second, her heart hammering, not from fear but from exhilaration. The elevator doors opened immediately, as if waiting.
Nevaieh was still there, leaning against the opposite wall. She hadn’t moved.
She took in Anaijiah’s face, the new set of her shoulders, the fire banked in her eyes. A slow, proud smile broke across Nevaieh’s face, transforming it completely. “How’d it go?”
Anaijiah stepped into the elevator, the doors closing on the distant thump of bass. “I handed the bullet back.” She reached for Nevaieh’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. “It’s done.”
Nevaieh pulled her close, wrapping her in an embrace that was all solid warmth and safety. She kissed the crown of Anaijiah’s head. “My fierce, fucking beautiful woman,” she murmured into her curls. The elevator descended, carrying them down, together, into the night.
The elevator descended, carrying them down, together, into the night. The polished doors reflected their tangled form, a silent portrait of defiance and exhaustion. Nevaieh’s grip on her hand was the only thing that felt entirely real.
They walked the hall to the bungalow in a wordless bubble. The luxurious corridor, with its abstract art and hushed climate control, felt like a vacuum. Anaijiah’s adrenaline was bleeding away, leaving her limbs heavy and her mind dangerously quiet.
Nevaieh unlocked the door. The familiar, cool air of the room washed over them, a stark contrast to the rooftop’s humid perfume. She guided Anaijiah inside and let the door swing shut with a definitive, satisfying thud.
The altar-like bed was still rumpled from that morning. The memory of sunlight and slow kisses felt like it belonged to another lifetime. Anaijiah stood in the center of the room, suddenly unsure what to do with her body.
Nevaieh didn’t hesitate. She came up behind her, her hands settling on Anaijiah’s shoulders. Her thumbs began to work at the knotted muscles there, pressing deep into the tension. “You leveled her,” Nevaieh said, her voice a low rumble against Anaijiah’s ear.
“I just talked.”
“You eviscerated.” The pride was thick in Nevaieh’s tone. Her hands moved down, sliding Anaijiah’s thin cover-up off her shoulders. It pooled on the floor. “You used her own currency against her. It was a fucking work of art.”
Anaijiah closed her eyes, leaning back into the solid warmth of her. The professional kneading of her shoulders softened, becoming a slow, worshipful slide of palms over the inked roses on her back. “My heart is still racing,” Anaijiah confessed.
“Mine too.” Nevaieh turned her around. Her eyes were dark, intense, but the earlier fury had banked into something warmer. “Seeing you walk back out those doors… Fuck.” She shook her head, a slight, awed gesture. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
She led Anaijiah to the edge of the bed and sat her down. Kneeling on the floor, she began to untie the straps of Anaijiah’s sandals. The act was so simple, so deliberately tender, it made Anaijiah’s throat tight.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Nevaieh placed each sandal aside. Her hands closed around Anaijiah’s bare feet, her thumbs pressing into the arches. “Let me take care of you. After that. Please.”
Anaijiah nodded, mute. She watched the crown of Nevaieh’s head, the dark curls, the专注 focus on this small, intimate task. The care was its own language, louder than any grand declaration on a rooftop.
“She wanted a scene,” Anaijiah said quietly, staring at the tattooed vines on Nevaieh’s forearms as she worked. “Tears, a fight, a messy breakup for the gossip feeds. She was setting the stage.”
“And you rewrote the whole play.” Nevaieh looked up, a wicked grin touching her lips. “‘It must be exhausting.’ Christ. I wish I’d recorded it.” Her expression softened. “You okay, though? Really?”
Anaijiah considered the question, taking inventory. The humiliated ache was gone. In its place was a clean, sharp clarity. “I am,” she said, surprising herself. “I feel… light. Like I put down a bag of rocks I didn’t know I was carrying.”
Nevaieh rose from the floor, the muscles in her legs flexing. She sat beside her, hip to hip. “Good.” She picked up Anaijiah’s hand, examining her own fingers laced through it. “Because I need you to know something else. That ‘trade up’ bullshit? It wouldn’t matter if Dove Carmichael or a damn Nobel laureate walked in here. There is no ‘up’ from you.”
She brought Anaijiah’s knuckles to her lips, kissing each one. “You’re not on some scale I’m weighing. You’re the counterweight. You’re what keeps me from spinning off into this… glossy, fake-ass orbit.”
The words landed deep, healing a fissure Anaijiah hadn’t fully acknowledged. She turned her face into Nevaieh’s neck, breathing her in—salt, clean sweat, the hotel’s sandalwood soap. “I believe you.”
They sat like that for a long moment, the quiet of the room a balm. The distant sounds of the city were a muted rumor. Here, there was only the shared rhythm of their breath, the solid reality of their bodies touching.
“I’m starving,” Nevaieh announced suddenly, her stomach giving a low, audible growl.
A startled laugh burst from Anaijiah. The mundane declaration was a perfect release valve. “You’re always starving.”
“Trauma response. My body needs fuel after emotional warfare.” Nevaieh nudged her with a shoulder, reaching for the room service menu on the nightstand. “What’s your poison? Overpriced club sandwich? Criminally expensive fries?”
“Yes to the fries. All of them.” Anaijiah kicked her legs up onto the bed, lying back against the mountain of pillows. She watched Nevaieh scan the menu, her brow furrowed in serious concentration. The normalcy of it was surreal and utterly perfect.
“And a chocolate milkshake,” Anaijiah added.
Nevaieh glanced over, a smile playing on her lips. “A milkshake. Bold. I like it.” She picked up the phone, ordering with a casual authority that suggested she did this in luxury hotels every day. She added extra bacon, two sides of truffle aioli, and a bottle of sparkling water without asking.
When she hung up, she joined Anaijiah on the bed, lying on her side, propped on an elbow. Her free hand drifted to the peacock on Anaijiah’s thigh, tracing the vibrant feathers through the fabric of her shorts. “Today was a lot.”
“Understatement.”
“But we’re here.” Nevaieh’s finger followed the intricate tail. “You and me. In a stupidly expensive room, about to eat stupidly expensive fries.”
“The best kind of fries.”
“Damn right.” Nevaieh’s touch was contemplative now, soothing. “I meant what I said up there. About you being in my system. It’s not going away.”
Anaijiah covered Nevaieh’s hand with her own, stilling it. She met her gaze, holding it. “I don’t want it to.”
A knock at the door signaled their food. Nevaieh rolled off the bed to answer it, signing the check with a flourish. She wheeled the cart in herself, lifting the silver cloches with a theatrical flair. The smell of fried potatoes and salty meat filled the room.
They ate cross-legged on the bed, the cart between them. They didn’t talk about Brooklyn or podcasts or the future. They argued lightly over the last fry, debated the merits of different brand collaborations Nevaieh was offered, and Nevaieh stole a long sip of the milkshake, leaving a faint chocolate smear on her lip that Anaijiah leaned over to kiss away.
Later, with the cart pushed aside and the city lights twinking beyond the glass, Anaijiah stretched, the day’s weight finally fully dissipated. Nevaieh watched her, a softness in her eyes usually reserved for private moments.
“Come here,” Nevaieh said, her voice husky. She pulled Anaijiah into the cradle of her arms, fitting their bodies together like nested spoons. Her palm settled over Anaijiah’s stomach, warm and heavy. “Sleep.”
“The studio thing tomorrow…” Anaijiah murmured, already halfway there.
“Is just business.” Nevaieh’s lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You’re home.”
Anaijiah let the words sink in, feeling the steady, sure heartbeat against her back. The phoenix between her shoulder blades felt like it was settling its wings for the night. Outside, Los Angeles glittered, infinite and demanding.
But in this room, with the scent of truffle oil and chocolate lingering and Nevaieh’s breath evening out behind her, the only demand was silence. And the only answer was peace.