Da Morning After.

Sunlight cut through the blinds in sharp slants, golden and unapologetic. The scent of sweat, bourbon, and yesterday’s mistakes hung in the air like a secret neither of them wanted to name.

Devonté opened his eyes to the all-too-familiar weight beside him. Satin sheets tangled around his waist. Her thigh, still pressed across his hip. Her hair sprawled over his pillow like she never left.

Alease.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Last night felt like something between a dream and a relapse. His body ached in that familiar way like he’d wrestled a demon he still secretly missed.

She stirred beside him.

“You up?” she murmured, voice hoarse and beautiful.

“I am now.”

A beat of silence. Her eyes opened, locking with his.

“You regret it?” she asked flatly.

He didn’t answer right away.

“I regret you breaking in my loft,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling.

She scoffed and rolled onto her back. “Right. But you didn’t regret when I was on top of you, moanin’ like your name was gospel.”

“Alease…”

“What?” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me the cold shoulder after you give me your soul for the night.”

He sighed, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “We can’t keep doing this.”

She pulled the sheet up to her chest, not to be modest but to put up a wall.

“You think I don’t know that?” she said, quieter now. “You think I came here to fall back into this shit? I didn’t. But I saw you. I heard about you. And I got tired of pretending I don’t still feel something when your name comes up.”

“You feel anger. That ain’t love.”

“No, Devonté. I feel both. And you know it.”

He looked at her now, fully. Her eyes weren’t just fire this morning they were tired. Tired of chasing ghosts. Tired of being one.

“You still wearing that ring?” he asked suddenly.

She reached to the nightstand and held it up by the chain.

“Every time I try to throw it away, I end up just… sittin’ there,” she said. “Lookin’ at it. Rememberin’ you sick as hell, down on one knee talkin’ ‘bout forever.”

He swallowed hard.

“We were young,” he said. “I was wild. Too wild for you.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “And I was too loyal for you.”

A heavy silence filled the space between them. Not tension this time just truth.

She stood, wrapping the sheet around her like armor.

“I’ll be gone before your little red bone swings by,” she said coldly, walking toward the bathroom.

He turned, jaw tightening. “Ain’t nobody comin’ over.”

She stopped in the doorway.

“That’s the first lie you told today,” she said, without turning.

Then the door clicked shut behind her, and all that remained was the hum of the city and the weight of everything unsaid.

And that’s when his phone buzzed. Caller I d reading Imani.