The Neighbor

A Psychological Thriller

TANISHA STEWART

The Neighbor: A Psychological Thriller

Copyright © 2025 Tanisha Stewart

All rights reserved.

The Neighbor: A Psychological Thriller is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locations, or persons living or dead is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the author, Tanisha Stewart.

Books may be purchased in quantity and for special sales by contacting the publisher, Tanisha Stewart, at tanishastewart.author@gmail.com.

First Edition

Published in the United States of America

by Tanisha Stewart

Table of Contents

Shout Outs

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Shout Outs

I have three special shout outs for this read:

The first is for author Toni Larue, one of the co-founders of the Black Women Who Read Thriller/Horror/Suspense Books group on Facebook.

Toni is not just a co-founder of the group; she is also one of my thriller besties! Toni was the inspiration behind the title of the Red Series. Check out her books – but don’t blame me if you get addicted :)

Secondly, I would like to thank author J.R. Mason for her continuous threats and valuable feedback as I crafted this story. Check out her books and get lost in the Stolen Pieces series. Trust me; you won’t regret it!

Lastly, but certainly not least, I would like to thank author Anna J, who came through at the buzzer to give me much needed feedback on this story. Check out her books – especially The Hunt, her debut thriller. Thank me later!

The Neighbor

Chapter 1

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the quiet suburban neighborhood in hues of gold and amber. Trey pulls his car up to the curb, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. His first home. After living with his mother all his life, he’s finally stepping out on his own. He parks, cutting the engine, and steps out onto the sidewalk.

The house stands before him—a charming two-bedroom with a fresh coat of pale blue paint, white shutters, and a neatly trimmed lawn. A modest, welcoming place, perfect for a fresh start. Trey takes a deep breath, hands on his hips, and lets the moment sink in.

Kids ride their bikes up and down the street, their laughter filling the air. A man mows his lawn a few houses down, waving briefly in Trey’s direction. It’s a good neighborhood, Trey thinks. Safe. Quiet. The kind of place where he might actually put down roots.

Still standing on the curb, Trey finds himself transfixed by the sight of his new home. He imagines the furniture he’ll buy, the meals he’ll cook in the small kitchen, and the guest room he’ll finally have for friends or family. His only debt now is his mortgage, and the thought fills him with cautious pride.

“Are you lost?”

The voice breaks his reverie like a needle scratching across a record. Trey turns, startled, to see an older Caucasian woman standing a few feet away, staring at him with a look of thinly veiled disdain. She’s dressed in beige slacks and a floral blouse, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a tight pink line.

Trey blinks, caught off guard. “Uh, no, ma’am,” he says, his voice polite but uncertain. “I just bought this house.” He gestures toward the home.

The woman’s expression hardens. “There aren’t any rental properties on this street,” she says, her tone sharp.

Trey feels a flicker of annoyance but keeps his composure. “I know,” he answers. “I bought the house.”

The woman’s eyes narrow as she looks him up and down, her gaze lingering on his sneakers and jeans as if assessing his worth. “With what money?” she asks, her voice dripping with incredulity.

Trey is stunned. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he searches for the right response. He’s about to say something—anything—when another voice cuts through the tension.

“Kathy, leave this young man alone.”

Both Trey and the woman, Kathy, turn toward the sound. Another woman is approaching them, her stride confident, her tone firm but tinged with amusement. She’s older too, judging by the streaks of grey in her short pixie-cut hair, but she carries herself with a vibrancy that makes her seem timeless. Her features are striking—high cheekbones, full lips, and an elegance that reminds Trey of Vanessa Williams, minus the blue eyes.

The newcomer stops beside Trey, placing herself squarely between him and Kathy. She folds her arms across her chest, her gaze locking onto Kathy’s with calm authority.

“He said he bought the house,” the woman says, her voice level but pointed. “What business is it of yours?”

Kathy bristles, her face flushing. “We can’t just have anyone living in the neighborhood,” she snaps.

The other woman raises an eyebrow. “And he’s not just anyone. Like he said, he’s a homeowner. Unlike you, who only comes here to act like a busybody and meddle with people you don’t think belong.”

Kathy reels as if she’s been slapped. “Well, I never...” she sputters.

“Neither have I,” the woman cuts in smoothly, her tone unwavering. She turns to Trey, her expression softening. “And for the record, Kathy doesn’t even live on this street. She comes here to visit her daughter, Doris, who lives in that house.” She points to a house diagonal from Trey’s.

Trey glances at Kathy, whose face has gone crimson. Kathy opens her mouth as if to retort but thinks better of it. With a huff, she spins on her heel and marches off toward her daughter’s house, muttering under her breath the whole way.

Trey exhales, the tension in his chest loosening. “Thank you, Miss…”

“Mrs. Pearl,” the woman says, cutting him off. She extends a hand, her smile warm and genuine. “You’re welcome, young man.”

Trey shakes her hand, surprised by the strength and warmth in her touch. Her presence is magnetic, and for a moment, he forgets the awkwardness of the encounter with Kathy.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pearl,” he says.

“Likewise,” she replies, her smile lingering as she releases his hand.

Mrs. Pearl turns and walks toward the house next door to his, her stride graceful and unhurried. Trey watches her go, noticing the way she carries herself with an air of quiet confidence. She reaches her front door and slips inside without a backward glance.

Trey stands there for a moment, trying to process everything. The encounter was surreal, to say the least.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he mutters to himself, glancing once more at the house he now owns. He exhales again, shaking his head with a faint smile.

As he climbs back into his car, he can’t help but wonder what he’s gotten himself into.

***

Trey grunts as he hoists a box labeled Kitchen Stuff out of the back of the U-Haul, sweat glistening on his forehead under the relentless afternoon sun. His arms ache, but it’s the good kind of ache—the kind that comes with accomplishment.

“Man, I think this is the last one,” Dante says, trailing behind him with a suspiciously light box. His grin is wide, clearly pleased with himself for avoiding the heavier loads.

Trey smirks, setting the box down on the porch of his modest, freshly painted home. “You’ve been saying that for the last three trips.”

Dante leans against the doorframe dramatically, wiping non-existent sweat from his forehead. “That’s because I’m building morale, bro. You know, keeping the team spirit alive.”

“Right,” Trey says, rolling his eyes. “Real inspiring, bro.”

They head back toward the U-Haul truck to double-check for any lingering boxes, their banter weaving through the quiet suburban street. The neighborhood is peaceful—too peaceful, really. The kind of place where everyone’s lawn is perfectly trimmed, and the most exciting thing probably involves a missing cat or a bake sale.

“You know,” Dante says, glancing at the house and then at Trey, “your momma really set you up, man. Like, damn. Is it too late for me to be your adopted brother? I’ll even call her ‘Mom.’”

Trey laughs, shaking his head. “She wouldn’t adopt you. She’d make you get a job first.”

Another playful look crosses Dante’s eyes, but Trey quickly shoots him down.

“You better not even think about it,” he says. “Besides, my momma ain’t no cougar, nigga. She don’t fuck with no young bloods.”

“Fair,” Dante says with a grin. “But for real, though. No student loans, no credit card debt, and you’re moving into your own house at twenty-four? That’s some Black excellence right there.” He claps Trey on the shoulder. “Your mom’s a legend.”

Trey smiles, pride flickering across his face. “Yeah, she made sure I was set. Taught me how to save, invest, all that. I owe her a lot.”

They reach the U-Haul, and Trey begins scanning the back for anything they might’ve missed. He’s about to close the hatch when Dante nudges him. “Yo.”

Trey looks up, following Dante’s gaze. An older woman stands about ten feet away, hands clasped in front of her. It’s Mrs. Pearl – the woman who defended him the other day. She wasn’t standing there before—he’s sure of it. Her sudden appearance is so silent, so precise, it feels almost unnatural.

Trey takes in her features, her petite, yet toned body, her neat salt-and-pepper hair and a form-fitting dress that flutters lightly in the breeze. She’s giving them a serene smile, but something about her stillness makes Trey’s skin prickle.

“Are you moving in here too?” she asks Dante, her voice smooth but edged with something Trey can’t quite place. Her eyes flick briefly to Trey before locking onto Dante, sharp and unblinking.

Trey and Dante exchange a glance, the kind that says, The fuck? Clearing his throat, Dante steps forward, offering a polite smile. “No, ma’am. Just helping my friend.”

For a moment, she doesn’t respond, just studies him like she’s trying to read his mind. Then her lips curve into a smile—not a wide one, but enough to reveal faint dimples. “Nice to meet you, Dante,” she says. “I’m Mrs. Pearl.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Dante says, looking kind of nervous.

Trey studies his friend, then he catches it – Dante is attracted to this woman. A smirk of amusement curves on his lips and he gets it – Mrs. Pearl is a knockout.

Dante clears his throat, his tone more relaxed. “Which house do you live in, Mrs. Pearl?”

Mrs. Pearl smiles, then points to the house next door. “Right over there.”

They share another moment of eye contact before Mrs. Pearl focuses her attention on Trey. Her smile lingers as her eyes scan him, slow and deliberate, like she’s appraising something she likes.

“Well, Trey,” she says finally, her voice lilting. “It’s nice to have you here. I do hope we’ll be seeing more of each other.” She glances at the house and then back at him. “If you need anything—anything at all—you just let me know.”

“Uh, thank you, ma’am,” Trey says, scratching the back of his neck. “I appreciate that.”

Mrs. Pearl offers a small nod, then turns to leave. But as she walks away, something changes. Her steps slow, and her hips sway in an exaggerated, almost playful switch. The dress shifts with each deliberate movement, and she tosses a glance over her shoulder before heading up the walkway to the house next door.

Dante freezes, wide-eyed. Then a grin splits his face. “Yo. Did she just—?” He pauses, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bro, she wants you.”

Trey groans, closing the U-Haul hatch. “Man, stop. That old ass woman ain’t thinking about me.”

Dante cocks his head to the side, not ready to stop the banter. He licks his lips. “I mean, momma kind of a’ight though. I wouldn’t call her a cougar. More like a panther.”

Trey, distracted by mentally calculating his next move for the house, halts his thoughts, scrunching his face. “A panther? The hell you talking about, Dante?”

Dante grins. “You know what they say. The older the berry, the sweeter the juice.”

“Man, it’s the blacker the berry…” Trey stops short as he realizes he’s fallen into his best friend’s trap.

“Fuck you, man,” Trey says, as Dante chuckles. He’s thankful Mrs. Pearl is out of earshot of his friend’s suggestive jokes.

“I’m just saying,” Dante continues. “Mrs. Pearl over here trying to be Mrs. Carter.” He winks and starts laughing again.

Trey shakes his head, already regretting inviting Dante to help. “You’re ridiculous. She’s just being nice.”

Dante doesn’t miss a beat. “I bet she can cook too.” He stares at her house. “Shit, I might see if she’ll let me hit it.”

“Nigga! Chill!” Trey says with embarrassment, though he can’t help the faint laugh that escapes. He glances toward Mrs. Pearl’s house. She’s already inside, the door shut behind her, but something about the encounter still lingers.

“Alright, alright,” Dante says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But don’t get mad when she shows up with a pie tomorrow. You’re gonna be her special project, I can feel it.”

Trey chuckles, shaking his head as they head back to the house. But as they walk up the driveway, he glances once more at Mrs. Pearl’s door. The back of his neck prickles again, like he’s still being watched.

***

The afternoon sun streams through the windows as Trey and Dante work together, unpacking boxes in Trey’s new living room. The space is still mostly empty—just a couch, a coffee table, and a few scattered pieces of furniture—but it already feels like home.

Dante tosses some crumpled packing paper into a trash bag and stretches his arms. “Man, I’m proud of you,” he says. “This is a big step. No more living with your mom.”

Trey grins, wiping his brow. “Yeah, it was time. I just hope I can handle it.”

“You got this,” Dante says, clapping him on the back. “But I gotta head out. My mom needs help with something.”

“Ah, you’re a good son,” Trey teases.

“You know it.” Dante grabs his keys from the counter. “You need anything before I go?”

“Nah, I’m good. I gotta run to the store anyway. Forgot a few things.”

The two men dap each other up, a quick handshake that transitions into a shoulder bump. “Alright, bro. Call me if you need anything,” Dante says as he heads out the door.

“Will do. Thanks for the help.”

Dante walks to his car, and Trey locks the door behind him. He grabs his keys and wallet, checking his mental list of what he needs: lightbulbs, cleaning supplies, maybe a snack or two.

***

When Trey returns a little while later, the sun is lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neighborhood. He pulls into his driveway, a couple of plastic bags in one hand as he steps out of the car.

As he approaches his house, he notices someone standing on his porch. It’s Mrs. Pearl, her short pixie-cut hair perfectly styled, her lips curving into that winning smile. She’s holding something in her hands, and as Trey gets closer, he sees what it is: a welcome mat.

The mat is simple but tasteful, with a warm design that matches the color of his house perfectly.

“Hey!” Trey calls out, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Hi, Trey,” Mrs. Pearl replies, her voice warm and inviting. She gives him a shy smile, holding the mat out in front of her as if presenting a gift. “I bought this for you.”

Trey stops at the bottom of the steps, taken aback by her kind gesture. “Wow, thank you,” he says, his voice full of genuine appreciation. He sets his bags down on the porch and takes the mat from her hands.

For a brief moment, their eyes meet, and Trey swears he sees something flash in her gaze—something that looks like attraction. The thought catches him off guard. This woman is older, way older, and yet… there’s something about her smile, her confidence, her presence, that stirs something faint and fleeting inside him. He shakes the thought away almost as quickly as it comes.

“Don’t mention it,” Mrs. Pearl says, her smile widening. “I wanted to do something nice for you after that spectacle Kathy made the other day.”

Trey chuckles, grateful for the change of subject. “Oh, I definitely appreciate it, ma’am. That was… something else.”

Her gaze lingers on him for a moment before she tilts her head slightly. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Trey blinks, startled by the sudden question.

“A girlfriend,” Mrs. Pearl repeats, her tone casual but her eyes sharp, as though she’s asking more than one question at once.

“Y-yes, ma’am, I do,” Trey stammers.

Her smile falters slightly, just for a second, but she recovers with a gracious nod. “Oh, that’s nice,” she says softly.

Trey, feeling the need to lighten the mood, grins and asks, “And what about Mr. Pearl?”

Mrs. Pearl waves a hand with a wistful look crossing her face. “Oh, my husband passed long ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Trey says sincerely.

Mrs. Pearl shrugs, her smile returning. “Thank you, but it was a long time ago. Life goes on.”

There’s a pause, and before Trey can stop himself, the words slip out: “How old are you?”

Mrs. Pearl gasps, putting a hand on her hip. “Now, Trey! I’m sure your momma taught you to never ask a woman her age!”

Trey’s face flushes with embarrassment. “Oh man, I—”

“But,” she cuts him off with a playful smirk, “if you must know, I’m 64. But don’t let my age fool you. I can still run with the best of them.”

Trey believes her. He finds himself subtly admiring her petite yet curvy frame, the way she carries herself with such confidence. Feeling himself drift, he snaps back to focus, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you can. Well, I have to get this stuff into the house. Thank you for the gift, Mrs. Pearl.”

Mrs. Pearl is already stepping off the porch, waving a hand dismissively. “Mm hm, have a nice day!” she calls over her shoulder as she heads back to her house next door.

Trey watches her go, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. There’s something about her—something he can’t quite put his finger on.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulls it out to see a text from Simone: “Be there soon!”

He straightens up, grabbing his bags and hurrying to unlock his door. Inside, he texts her back: “Okay babe. See you when you get here.”

As he unpacks his bags, he glances out the window toward Mrs. Pearl’s house. She’s nowhere in sight, but her presence lingers in his mind. He shakes it off, focusing on the task at hand.

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” he mutters to himself, wondering once again what he’s gotten himself into. 

Chapter 2

A couple hours later, the kitchen is a mess of half-unpacked boxes, bubble wrap, and stray packing tape, but Simone moves through it like a whirlwind, her excitement filling the small space. She holds up a stack of placemats in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling furiously through Pinterest.

“Trey, I’m telling you, navy blue and cream would pop against these cabinets,” she says, gesturing at the kitchen with her free hand. “And look at this throw pillow I found—oh my God, it ties everything together perfectly. You have to see this.”

Trey, slouched at the kitchen table with a beer in hand, stares blankly at the table surface. His head nods lazily, but his brain checked out five minutes ago. He’s tired—his body aches from moving boxes all day, and all he wants is to relax. Simone, on the other hand, is still going at full speed, her enthusiasm showing no signs of slowing.

“Babe, are you even looking? Look at this,” she insists, shoving her phone toward him. “See how the couch has that subtle geometric pattern? It’s modern but cozy. And if we get these curtains—oh, wait, swipe left, swipe left—there! You see what I mean?”

Trey shifts in his chair, fingers tightening around the beer bottle. He tries to muster some energy, but the hum of Simone’s voice lulls him into a daze. He leans back, eyes glazing over.

“Trey!”

Simone’s sharp tone snaps him upright, his body jerking as if he’s been caught sleeping in class. “Huh, babe?”

Simone stands in the middle of the kitchen, one hand on her hip, the other still clutching her phone. She narrows her eyes at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Did you hear a word I just said? I just gave you the entire blueprint for your living room setup, and you’re over there zoning out like I’m speaking another language.”

Trey swallows, his mouth dry as he scrambles for a response. “Uh—yeah, of course, I heard you, babe. I was just…” He pauses, searching for something—anything. Then, he sits up straighter, his expression softening. “I was just lost for a second in the beauty of your eyes.”

Simone stares at him, her face unreadable. The silence stretches between them. Then, as if on cue, they both burst into laughter.

“You know good and damn well…” Simone says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Men.”

Trey chuckles, taking another sip of his beer and leaning back again. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”

Before Simone can respond, the doorbell rings. She freezes, her brow furrowing. “Who’s that?”

Trey grins sheepishly, setting his beer down. “Probably the pizza.”

Simone’s jaw drops, and she swats him with a dish towel. “Trey! I thought you were looking up the patterns I mentioned!” she whines, her voice full of mock indignation. “You were ordering a pizza?”

Trey’s grin widens as he stands, leaning down to kiss her lips softly. “Can’t work on an empty stomach, baby.”

Simone huffs, rolling her eyes again, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Trey crosses the room and heads toward the front door, his hand on the knob. “Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder. But as he opens the door, his grin falters, replaced by confusion.

It’s not the pizza man.

Standing on his porch is Mrs. Pearl, dressed far more formally than earlier. She’s in a fitted black dress, her hair pressed to perfection and her makeup flawless. A faint scent of lavender wafts through the air as she smiles coyly, cradling a pie dish in her hands.

An image of Dante’s prior comment about Mrs. Pearl bringing him a pie flashes through his mind, but Trey shakes it off. “Uh… Mrs. Pearl?” Trey says, his voice uncertain. His hand stays on the doorknob as he takes in the sight of her. “What are you doing here?”

Mrs. Pearl tilts her head, her eyes scanning him slowly. Her lips curve into a deliberate smile before she licks them, her movements slow and purposeful. “I came to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Her voice is honeyed and smooth. She holds up the dish. “I brought you something homemade—an apple pie. I thought that might make you feel at home.”

Trey blinks, his brain scrambling to process the situation. She already “welcomed him to the neighborhood” earlier with the welcome mat. Why did she need to come back again? “Oh… uh… that’s really nice, but you didn’t have to—”

Before he can finish, Simone appears at his side, her curious expression shifting to surprise as her eyes land on Mrs. Pearl. She stops short, her hand instinctively brushing Trey’s arm.

“Who is this?” Simone asks, her tone polite but guarded as her gaze flicks between Trey and the older woman.

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes remain fixed on Trey, her smile never wavering. “I’m Mrs. Pearl,” she says smoothly, her tone dripping with sweetness. “I live next door.”

Simone nods slowly, her hand still resting lightly on Trey’s arm. “Oh. I’m Simone,” she says. Her voice is friendly, but there’s an edge to it now, a subtle shift in her stance. “Trey’s girlfriend.”

Mrs. Pearl’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly, but she recovers quickly. “How lovely,” she says, her tone light and airy. “It’s always nice to see young couples starting out together.”

Trey clears his throat, his discomfort growing. “Uh, thanks again for the… uh…” He gestures vaguely toward the pie.

Mrs. Pearl finally tears her gaze away from Trey to glance at the dish. “Oh, it’s just a little apple pie,” she says, holding it out to him. “Family recipe. I thought you might appreciate something sweet.”

Simone reaches for it before Trey can react, taking the dish with a polite smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Mrs. Pearl.”

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes flick to Simone briefly, almost dismissively, before returning to Trey. “Well,” she says, her voice softening, “I won’t keep you. Enjoy the pie, Trey.”

Before he can respond, she turns and walks away, her movements deliberate, her hips swaying in that same exaggerated switch as earlier.

Simone watches her leave, then slowly closes the door. She turns to Trey, her brow raised. “Okay… what was that?”

Trey shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “I have no idea.”

Simone smirks, setting the pie on the counter. “Well, one thing’s for sure—your neighbor definitely knows how to make an entrance.”

Trey doesn’t respond, his mind still replaying the strange encounter. Something about Mrs. Pearl’s presence lingers, like a faint chill in the air. 

Chapter 3

Simone sets the pie on the counter, pulling off the foil cover to reveal a perfectly golden-brown lattice crust. The smell of warm apples and cinnamon fills the kitchen, and Trey raises an eyebrow as he leans against the counter, arms crossed.

“Alright,” Simone says, grabbing a knife from the drawer. “Let’s see if this pie is as good as her entrance.”

Trey chuckles, his unease from earlier fading slightly. “You sure it’s okay to eat something from a stranger? I mean, you don’t know what she put in there.”

Simone gives him a look, setting plates on the counter. “Relax, Trey. She’s your neighbor, not a witch.” She cuts into the pie, the crust flaking perfectly under the knife. “Besides, this smells amazing. I mean, if this is poisoned, at least we’ll go out happy.”

Trey snorts, watching her plate a slice for each of them. He grabs two forks from a drawer and brings them to the table, his earlier tension giving way to curiosity. Simone sets the plates down, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Alright, moment of truth,” she says, picking up her fork and spearing a bite. She pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly as her eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

Trey watches her carefully. “Good or bad?”

“Good,” she says, her voice muffled as she waves her fork in the air. “Like, dangerously good.”

Trey hesitates for a moment before taking a bite himself. The pie is warm and sweet, the apples soft but not mushy, coated in a perfect blend of cinnamon and brown sugar. The crust practically melts in his mouth.

“Damn,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair. “This is good.”

“Told you.” Simone grins, taking another bite. “Man, if this is how she’s cooking, you might have to be nice to her.”

Trey chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, I don’t think she likes you very much.”

Simone pauses mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air. “What do you mean?”

Trey shrugs, trying to sound casual. “I don’t know. She barely looked at you. It’s like you weren’t even there.”

Simone smirks, setting her fork down. “Oh, please. She’s just being neighborly.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Unless… are you saying she’s got a little crush on you?”

Trey groans, covering his face with one hand. “Don’t start with this, Simone.”

Simone laughs, reaching over to tap his hand. “I’m kidding, babe. Relax. She was probably just nervous or something. Older ladies love me.”

He glances at her skeptically, but before he can respond, Simone takes another bite, her eyes lighting up again. “Seriously, though. This pie? I’d forgive her for anything.”

Trey takes another bite too, the warmth of the flavors soothing him. But as he chews, something faint niggles at the back of his mind—a strange metallic aftertaste that lingers for just a moment before disappearing. He frowns, swallowing hard and taking a sip of beer to wash it down.

“You good?” Simone asks, noticing his expression.

“Yeah,” Trey says slowly, glancing at his plate. “Just thought I tasted something weird for a second.”

Simone shrugs, already cutting into her second slice. “Probably just your imagination. Or maybe it’s the beer mixing with it.” She points her fork at him. “You’ve got no palate, babe.”

Trey forces a laugh, but the unease creeps back in. He stares at the pie for a moment longer before taking another bite. This time, it tastes fine—sweet, rich, and buttery, like before.

Simone finishes her slice with a satisfied sigh, leaning back in her chair. “Tell your neighbor she’s officially forgiven for being weird earlier. If she has more pies like this, I’ll send her a Christmas card.”

Trey doesn’t respond, but he does begin to appreciate Mrs. Pearl’s kind gesture a bit more.

Simone stands, stretching. “Alright, I’m gonna unpack the bedroom boxes while you finish in here. And no,” she adds, pointing a finger at him, “you’re not allowed to slack off and zone out again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Trey says with a faint smile, watching as she disappears into the hallway.

He sits alone at the table, staring at the half-eaten pie. The smell of cinnamon and apples still fills the kitchen, but now it feels cloying, almost suffocating. Trey picks up his beer, draining the rest of the bottle in one long sip, but the unease doesn’t go away.

He glances toward the window above the sink. Through the blinds, he can just make out Mrs. Pearl’s house next door, the curtains drawn tight. For a moment, he feels the same prickling sensation from earlier, as if someone’s watching him. Then he sees a movement, behind her curtains, but it happens too fast, like he must have imagined it.

Shaking his head, Trey stands and grabs the plates, stacking them in the sink. He’s overthinking it—Mrs. Pearl is just an eccentric neighbor, and the pie is just a pie. 

Chapter 4

The living room is finally set up—well, mostly. The couch is in place, the coffee table is centered, and the TV sits perfectly on its stand. A few stray boxes linger in the corners, but for now, it’s good enough. Trey and Simone stand in the middle of the room, surveying their work like two artists admiring a nearly finished masterpiece.

“Not bad,” Trey says, flopping onto the couch with a groan. He leans his head back, letting out a deep sigh.

“Not bad?” Simone repeats, hands on her hips. “Boy, this place looks amazing. You better give me credit for the vision!”

Trey smirks, eyes still closed. “Fine. You get credit for the vision. I get credit for the heavy lifting.”

Simone rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she plops down next to him, her body sinking into the cushions. She lets out a long yawn, her head tilting back as her eyes flutter shut. “Man, I feel so funky after all this work. I need a shower bad.”

Trey glances at her, his lips curling into a slow, playful grin. “Wanna take a shower together?”

Simone turns her head to look at him, one eyebrow arching. “A shower together?” Her voice is laced with mock incredulity. “Boy, I know you are not trying to have sex with me smelling like ten men.”

Trey’s nose wrinkles at the imagery, and he laughs, shaking his head. “Damn, babe. Why you gotta put it like that?” He pauses, then leans in closer, his grin turning flirtatious. “For the record, I said nothing about sex, so get your mind out of the gutter, woman. I simply suggested a shower. You know, to get all that sweat off you.”

Simone narrows her eyes at him, her lips twitching as she fights a smile. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.”

They stare at each other, the air between them thickening as Trey’s tone and gaze heat up the space. Simone’s lips part slightly, and she tilts her head. “I have nothing to wear after my shower,” she says, her voice teasing.

Trey’s grin deepens, his eyes dancing with mischief. “All that can be arranged.”

Simone shakes her head, laughing softly as he reaches for her hand. “Trey, you’re a mess.” But she lets him pull her to her feet.

“And yet, you’re still here.” Trey leads her down the hallway toward the bathroom.

The bathroom is small but cozy, the white tiles gleaming under the soft overhead light. Trey turns on the shower, testing the water with his hand until it’s just the right temperature. Steam begins to rise, curling around them like a warm, invisible blanket.

Simone watches him, leaning against the sink with her arms crossed. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

Trey straightens up, turning to face her with a crooked grin. “What can I say? I’m a man of my word.”

Simone laughs, shaking her head as she steps forward. “Alright, fine. But you better not touch me.” Her tone lets him know that she definitely wants him to touch her, and more.

“Scout’s honor,” Trey says, holding up three fingers.

Simone gives him a skeptical look but smiles as she reaches for the hem of her shirt. Trey’s eyes flicker, his grin widening as he watches her.

“What?” Simone pauses.

“Nothing,” Trey says, his voice low. “Just admiring the view.”

Simone rolls her eyes, but her smile softens. She tosses her shirt onto the floor, stepping closer to Trey as they begin shedding the day’s grime—and maybe a little more—as the water continues to run, filling the room with warmth and the sound of rushing water.

***

Trey and Simone lay tangled in each other’s arms, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm light over the room. The sheets cling lazily around their bodies, their skin still warm and damp from their shared shower. Trey’s fingers move gently through Simone’s curls, his other hand resting on the curve of her waist.

“Isn’t this nice?” he murmurs, his voice low and content.

Simone tilts her head up to look at him, her lips curving into a sleepy smile. “It sure is.”

For a moment, everything feels perfect. No more sneaking around or waiting for his mother to leave for work so they can have the house to themselves. No more Simone texting Trey when her roommates are finally gone so he can come over. Now, they have their own space—Trey’s space—and all the privacy they can ask for.

Simone closes her eyes, resting her head back on his chest. “This is what we’ve been waiting for,” she says softly.

Trey smiles, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah. No interruptions, no stress. Just us.”

They lay in a dreamy silence, the weight of the day’s work fading from their bodies. But as Simone’s thoughts drift, she can’t help but think about how easy this transition seems for Trey. She sighs, breaking the quiet.

“Still can’t believe you’re finally out of your momma’s house.” Her tone is light and teasing. “Bet she’s missing her baby boy already.”

Trey’s hand freezes mid-stroke in her hair. His smile fades.

Simone doesn’t notice at first, still curled against him. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” she adds quickly, sensing the shift in his energy. “I mean, it’s great that you’re finally, you know, on your own.”

Trey’s jaw tightens as he stares at the ceiling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Simone blinks, sitting up slightly to look at him. “What? Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Trey says, his voice quieter now, but sharp.

Simone frowns, propping herself up on one elbow. “Trey, come on. I wasn’t trying to offend you. I was just saying it’s… nice, you know? That you’re out on your own now.”

Trey shifts, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the sheet up around his waist. “I have been on my own,” he says defensively. “Just because I lived at home doesn’t mean I wasn’t independent.”

Simone sighs, running a hand through her hair. “That’s not what I meant, babe. You know that.”

Trey doesn’t look at her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Sure doesn’t sound like it.”

Simone sits up fully now, frustration creeping into her voice. “Trey, I said I didn’t mean it like that. I was just making a comment, okay? You’re the one taking it personally.”

“Because you made it personal,” Trey snaps, finally looking at her.

Simone’s mouth opens, then closes. She inhales, trying to steady herself. “Okay,” she says carefully. “I’m sorry if it came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.”

Trey nods stiffly but doesn't say anything.

Simone hesitates, then adds, “It’s just that… well, not everyone had life handed to them like you, babe.”

That comment hits Trey like a punch to the gut. He turns to her, his eyes narrowing. “Handed to me?”

Simone realizes her mistake immediately, but it’s too late. “Trey, I didn’t mean—”

“No, go ahead,” Trey interrupts, his voice rising. “Say what you really mean. You think my life was perfect? You think everything was just handed to me like I didn’t have to deal with anything?”

Simone shakes her head quickly. “No, that’s not what I—”

“The only reason my mom was able to do so much for me,” Trey cuts her off, his voice quieter now but still heavy with emotion, “was because my dad left us money when he died. That’s it. She made sure I didn’t have to worry about anything because she didn’t want me to struggle the way she did after he was gone.”

Simone’s expression softens. “Trey, I… I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well,” Trey mutters, looking away. “Now you do.”

They sit in tense silence for a moment, the weight of the argument settling over them. Simone reaches for his hand, but he doesn’t move.

“I wasn’t trying to downplay what you’ve been through,” she says softly. “I was just… speaking from my own experience. You know my mom kicked me out when I turned eighteen. Told me I was grown and could figure it out on my own. No help with school, no safety net. I’ve been busting my ass ever since, working full-time and taking out loans just to get my degree.”

Trey finally looks at her, his expression softening slightly.

“I wasn’t trying to compare,” Simone continues, her voice trembling now. “But sometimes it’s hard not to… you know, see the difference.”

Trey sighs, his shoulders relaxing a little. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But it’s not like I haven’t had my own struggles. Losing my dad, watching my mom work herself to the bone to make sure I wouldn’t have to… it wasn’t easy.”

Simone nods, her eyes glistening. “I know. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Trey shakes his head. “And I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

They sit there for a moment, the tension still lingering but less sharp now. Simone leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I hate when we fight,” she whispers.

“Me too,” Trey says, wrapping an arm around her.

They lay back down together, but the argument still hangs in the air. Neither of them says anything more, and eventually, their exhaustion takes over.

As Simone’s breathing slows and her body relaxes against his, Trey stares at the ceiling, his mind still racing.

Chapter 5

Trey wakes to the soft golden light of morning streaming through his bedroom window. The first thing he notices is the empty space beside him, the spot Simone had occupied the night before now cool and undisturbed. He frowns slightly but notices a folded piece of paper on the pillow where her head had rested.

Reaching for it, he unfolds the note, her familiar handwriting scrawled neatly across the page:

Got called in for a shift this morning. I’ll call you later. Love you.

Trey sighs, resting the note on his chest as he leans back against the headboard. Simone’s job with the state keeps her busy—working in homes with disabled individuals isn’t easy, but it pays her bills and gives her the chance to pick up overtime whenever she needs it. And Simone always needs it.

She’s determined to finish her bachelor’s degree, even if it means working herself to the bone. After that, she already has her sights set on a master’s program, though she often talks about how she’s hoping for tuition remission so she won’t have to shoulder the financial burden of grad school herself. With tuition remission, Simone will go to grad school for free and possibly even get a paid assistantship or fellowship at the school.

Trey’s thoughts drift to the argument they’d had the night before. He knew Simone hadn’t meant to offend him, but her words had struck a nerve. Still, he couldn’t ignore the truth behind them—her life was harder than his. She’d been forced to navigate adulthood with little support, while he’d been cushioned from the harsh realities she faced daily.

It’s not either of their faults, but the imbalance still gnaws at him. He wishes there was something he could do to ease her load, to help his woman the way his mother always helped him.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. He picks it up, squinting at the screen. It’s a text from Dante.

"Wyd?"

Trey smirks, typing back: "Finishing unpacking, since my girl left me high and dry."

Dante’s response is almost immediate: "Was that your way of asking me to help you?"

Trey chuckles, shaking his head as he types: "If you wouldn’t mind helping a brother out."

"Say less," Dante replies. "I’m on my way."

Trey sets his phone down, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s excited to spend time with Dante. But as he thinks about his best friend, a pang of guilt creeps in.

Dante’s life hasn’t been easy either. Sure, his mom hadn’t kicked him out at eighteen, and she even helped him with student loans during college. But Dante stepped up in ways Trey never had to. He worked long hours in high school and college to help support his younger siblings, making sure they had what they needed while still balancing his own responsibilities.

Dante never complained, but Trey knew the struggle weighed on him. He thought back to the joke Dante made yesterday about wishing he could be Trey’s adopted brother. Trey laughed it off at the time, but now it’s leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Trey makes a mental note to always stay humble and grateful for what he’s been given. He’s been blessed with a debt-free life, a home as soon as he graduated, and a mother who matched his car payments to help him pay it off early. Now, the only debt he owes is his mortgage—a burden most people his age would kill to have as their only financial worry.

He shakes off the weight of his feelings and steps outside, the bright sunny day calling to him. When he opens the front door, a warm breeze greets him. He steps onto the porch, taking in the quiet beauty of his new neighborhood.

The houses are neat and well-kept, their lawns manicured and blooming with summer flowers. The street is peaceful, the kind of place where people wave to each other and kids ride bikes without a care in the world.

Trey stands there for a few moments, his arms crossed as he basks in the sunlight, until movement next door catches his eye.

Mrs. Pearl is exiting her house, a large tote bag slung over her shoulder. She’s dressed for the day in a tailored white blouse and a flowing navy skirt, her hair perfectly styled and her makeup flawless. She looks like she’s heading somewhere important.

When she notices Trey, her face lights up with a friendly smile. “Hey!” she calls, her voice carrying easily across the short distance between them.

Trey smiles back, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey, Mrs. Pearl.”

She pauses at the end of her walkway, adjusting her bag as she looks him over. “You’re up early. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Trey says, leaning against the porch railing. “Everything’s starting to feel like home.”

Mrs. Pearl’s smile widens. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She hesitates for a moment, then adds, “If you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to ask, alright? I’m just next door.”

Trey nods politely. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

Trey thinks she’s about to leave, but instead, she lingers, seemingly debating something. Then, in a much lower tone, she says, “I saw that girl leave here early this morning.”

Trey blinks, thrown for a loop by the sudden statement. “Huh?”

Mrs. Pearl tilts her head slightly, her voice still soft but now laced with something that feels almost accusatory. “The one you had here last night.”

Trey straightens, caught off guard by the shift in her demeanor. “You mean… my girlfriend?”

Mrs. Pearl nods, but her expression betrays her disapproval. Her lips press together tightly, and her eyes hold a sharpness that makes Trey uncomfortable. “Mmm-hmm,” she says, her tone clipped. “She’s fast, that one. Loose. Nothing like the women in my day.”

Trey’s jaw clenches as the words sink in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mrs. Pearl’s expression softens instantly, her disapproving look replaced by an innocent smile. “Oh, nothing, honey,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just making conversation, that’s all.”

Trey opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get another word out, Mrs. Pearl turns on her heel, her tote bag swinging as she walks briskly toward her car. “You have a good day now, Trey!” she calls over her shoulder, her tone cheerful and sweet as if she hadn’t just insulted his girlfriend.

Trey stands there, stunned, watching as she climbs into her car and drives off. Her words replay in his mind, the disapproval in her tone, the way she’d called Simone fast and loose.

Before he can dwell on it further, the sound of a car engine pulls his attention. Dante’s car rolls up to the curb, his best friend leaning out the window with a wide grin. “Yo!” Dante throws up a hand in greeting.

Trey forces a smile, shaking off the lingering unease from his conversation with Mrs. Pearl. He’ll deal with that later. Right now, he needs to focus.

“Come on in, man.” Trey waves Dante over as he steps back inside. “I’ve got plenty of boxes left with your name on them.”

Dante laughs, climbing out of his car. “Of course you do.” He grabs his backpack from the passenger seat. “You’re lucky I like you, bro.”

The men enter the house, ready to break down more boxes and finish the work Trey and Simone started yesterday.

Chapter 6

Two weeks later…

The late afternoon sun filters through the clouds as Trey parks his car in the Walmart lot, the bass from his music thumping softly as he turns the engine off. Two weeks have passed since he moved in, and tonight is the night—his housewarming party. He’s been looking forward to it all week, even if Simone wasn’t completely on board.

“You can’t have people coming here with your house looking a mess!” she had whined the other day, crossing her arms as she surveyed the still sparsely furnished living room.

Trey had laughed. “It looks fine, babe. Plus, nobody cares how the house looks anyway. We're tryna party!”

Simone had rolled her eyes so hard Trey thought they might get stuck. “Men!” she huffed, but eventually, she let him have his way.

Now, standing in the beer aisle at Walmart, Trey feels a surge of excitement. His friends from high school and college are coming, and he can’t wait to see everyone. More than that, he’s ready to flex a little. He’s the first one out of his crew to own a house, and he knows they’ll be impressed.

He grabs a case of beer from the shelf, adding it to the two already in his cart. His mind is already on the playlist for the night when a familiar voice chirps behind him.

“Hi, Trey!”

He turns, slightly startled, to see Mrs. Pearl standing a few feet away, a shopping cart in front of her filled with groceries. She’s dressed casually in a pair of fitted jeans and a simple pink blouse, but her smile is as dazzling as ever.

“Hi, Mrs. Pearl,” Trey says, giving her a polite nod.

Her eyes drift to the case of beer in his hands, then to the two already in his cart. Her brow arches slightly. “What’s all this?” she asks, her tone light but curious.

Trey sets the case into his cart. “Oh, I’m having a housewarming party tonight,” he explains.

“A housewarming party?” she repeats, pushing her cart a little closer. “So soon?”

Something about the way she says it makes Trey feel like a kid being scolded for not doing his homework. He shrugs, trying to keep his tone casual. “Yeah, just a few family and friends. Nothing crazy.”

Mrs. Pearl flashes a smile, her teeth white and perfect. “Room for one more?”

Trey freezes, caught off guard by the question. He stammers, trying to think of a way to politely decline. Though Mrs. Pearl is cool, he doesn’t want her at his party. He already scheduled it for later in the evening so his mom wouldn’t show up and cramp his style. The last thing he needs is another older woman killing the vibe.

“Oh… it’s just a bunch of young people,” he says awkwardly, hoping she’ll catch the hint.

Mrs. Pearl’s smile falters, just for a second, but then it’s back, as radiant as ever. “Oh. Okay!” she says brightly. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

Without another word, she backs her cart out of the aisle and walks off, her head held high. Trey watches her go, feeling a twinge of guilt for turning her down like that. But he shakes it off quickly—this is his night, after all.

He turns back to the shelf, grabbing one more case of beer for good measure. Tonight is going to be perfect.

***

The house buzzes with the sound of conversation and laughter, the bass from the music vibrating through the walls. Trey’s living room is packed with friends from high school and college, the housewarming party in full swing. The smell of food—Simone’s famous sliders and the wings Dante insisted on bringing—mingles with the faint scent of cologne and perfume.

Trey stands by the kitchen, laughing at one of Dante’s jokes as he sips his beer. Across the room, Simone chats with a group of friends, her laugh cutting through the noise and drawing Trey’s gaze like a magnet. He smiles to himself, feeling a rare sense of contentment. For the first time, the house truly feels like a home.

Then, the front door opens.

Trey frowns, glancing toward the entrance. He isn’t expecting anyone else. Most of his guests have already arrived.

The door swings wider, and Mrs. Pearl steps inside.

Heads turn as she makes her entrance, a slow sway in her hips matching the rhythm of the music thumping through the house. She’s dressed to impress—a fitted emerald-green dress that hugs her curves, paired with gold earrings that sway as she moves. In her hand, she carries a glass of amber liquid catching the light as she raises it to her lips for a sip.

“Now this is what I call a party!” she announces, her voice cutting through the chatter.

Trey is speechless for a moment until he catches Dante’s grin. Before he can say anything, Dante steps forward, his eyes low from marijuana consumption, coupled with several shots of liquor. “Wait a minute, Mrs. Pearl… What you got in that cup? Apple juice?” He chuckles, and Mrs. Pearl matches his playful energy.

She shakes her head and takes another sip, her voice slurring slightly as she answers his question. “Oh no honey, this is Hennessey.” She reaches inside her purse and pulls out a large bottle that’s half empty.

Dante’s eyes widen. “Aw shit! Okay, Mrs. Pearl - you alright with me!” He steps back holding his hands up for emphasis, then Mrs. Pearl steps forward, still swaying to the music like she wants to dance with him.

For a moment, Trey remains frozen, caught completely off guard. Mrs. Pearl is the last person he expects to see here, yet here she is, standing in the middle of his living room as though she belongs.

The room falls quiet for a beat, the music still thumping in the background as people exchange curious glances. Simone’s brows knit together as she looks from Trey to the older woman.

“Uh… Mrs. Pearl?” Trey says, keeping his tone light and casual for his guests.

She turns to him with a bright, confident smile while still swaying with Dante. “Trey, baby! I couldn’t let you have a party without a proper welcome from your neighbor.” She holds up her glass, as if to toast him. “Congratulations on the new house!”

Trey’s lips twitch into a strained smile. “Thanks… but I didn’t think you—”

“Nonsense,” she interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. “I told you, if you need anything, I’m right next door. And what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t show up to help you celebrate?”

Trey opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Mrs. Pearl turns her attention to the crowd.

“Y’all don’t mind if I join in, do you?” she asks, her tone sweet but leaving little room for refusal.

A few people murmur awkwardly, some shrugging while others exchange bemused looks.

Simone makes her way to Trey’s side, her expression a mixture of confusion and irritation. Leaning closer, she whispers, “What is she doing here?”

Trey shakes his head slightly. “I have no idea.”

Mrs. Pearl, meanwhile, is already making her rounds, introducing herself to Trey’s guests like she’s the guest of honor. “Oh, hi there, sweetie,” she says to one of Simone’s friends. “I’m Mrs. Pearl. I live next door to Trey. Isn’t he just the most charming young man?”

Simone’s jaw tightens, and Trey places a calming hand on her arm, silently pleading with her to let it go.

“Mrs. Pearl,” Trey says, stepping forward to intercept her before she can corner anyone else. “I appreciate you stopping by, but—”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” she says, cutting him off again. She takes another sip of her Hennessy, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at him. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. Just wanted to see how my favorite neighbor was doing.”

Trey forces another polite smile, although his patience is wearing thin. “Well, we’re doing fine. But this is really more of a private—”

“Oh, Trey,” she says, her voice dripping with mock offense. “You wouldn’t turn away an old lady, would you?”

Simone folds her arms, stepping closer. “Mrs. Pearl, I’m sure Trey appreciates the gesture, but this is a housewarming party for our friends.”

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes flick to Simone, her smile tightening. “Oh, I see,” she says, her tone taking on a sharper edge. “Well, I won’t stay long. Just wanted to make sure everything’s alright next door. Don’t want the wrong kind of people coming around, you know?”

Trey’s stomach sinks at the implication in her words, but before he can respond, Mrs. Pearl drains the rest of her drink and sets the empty glass on a nearby table.

“Well, y’all enjoy,” she says, her sugary tone returning. “I’ll be right next door if you need anything.”

She gives Trey one last lingering look before sauntering out the way she came, leaving behind a room full of awkward silence.

Dante is the first to break it, walking over to Trey with a bemused grin. “Yo… why you kick my old lady out? She was just tryna catch a vibe.”

Trey sighs, running a hand over his face. “Stop playing, Dante.”

Dante shakes his head, laughing. “I’m saying though. She was moving that body like she still got it. Part of me wanted to see where tonight could lead.”

Trey rolls his eyes, but can’t help but to grin back at Dante’s joke. “Whatever man, she’s all yours. Maybe you can bring her glass back to her house.” He gestures to the table where she left it.

Dante’s eyes glint with amusement. “I would, but I think she would rather have you bring her the glass instead of me.”

Simone’s eyes dance between the two men. “What are y’all talking about?”

“Nothing,” Trey cuts in, before Dante can continue. “Let’s just enjoy the party.”

Chapter 7

The sound of pounding rattles Trey out of his sleep. For a moment, he’s disoriented, the morning light streaming through the blinds making him squint as he sits up in bed. Another round of relentless knocking booms through the house, and he groans, rubbing his temples. His head is still foggy from the housewarming party the night before.

He throws on a T-shirt and some sweatpants, muttering under his breath as he stumbles to the door. Whoever is responsible for this rude awakening is about to get an earful.

When he swings the door open, there she is—Mrs. Pearl, standing on his porch in a bright yellow dress and matching headscarf, holding her large purse in one hand. The morning sun glints off her gold earrings.

Trey’s face hardens immediately. “Mrs. Pearl,” he says, his voice sharper than he intends. “What the hell are you—”

“Wait!” she says, holding up a hand to stop him. Her face is a mixture of embarrassment and urgency. “Wait, Trey. Just hear me out.”

He folds his arms across his chest, biting back the words he really wants to say.

“I came to apologize,” she blurts out. “I—Lord, I am so embarrassed about last night. I don’t know what got into me, crashing your party like that. Thinking I could just… hang with the young folk.” She shakes her head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what I was doing. It was foolish.”

Trey blinks, his irritation softening just a bit. “Well, you definitely made an impression,” he says, his tone still guarded.

“I know, I know,” she says quickly, her voice earnest. “And I’m sorry if I ruined the vibe. I really am. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” She pauses, clutching the strap of her purse tighter. “I guess…” She looks down at her feet for a moment, then back up at him, her eyes glistening slightly. “I guess I just miss my son.”

That catches Trey off guard. He tilts his head slightly. “Your son?”

“Richie,” she says, her voice softer now. “He’s my only child. Always such a social butterfly. Loves to travel, loves to party with his friends. He’s got a good career—always on the move. But…” She trails off, her lips pressing into a thin line before she continues. “It means I don’t see him much anymore. And when I do, it’s like… I don’t know, like he doesn’t need me the way he used to. I know it’s just how kids are when they grow up, but…” She shrugs, her expression wistful.

Trey leans against the doorframe, his frustration ebbing away.

“I think last night…” Mrs. Pearl continues, “…it just reminded me of when Richie used to have his friends over. The house was always full of noise, laughter, music. Now it’s just me and the quiet.” She smiles weakly. “I guess I got ahead of myself, thinking I could connect with you young people like I used to with him.”

Trey lets out a small sigh, the last of his anger dissipating. Mrs. Pearl doesn’t seem like the nosy neighbor he thought she was yesterday. Right now, she looks like a lonely woman trying to fill a void.

“I get it,” he says finally, his tone softer.

Mrs. Pearl’s smile brightens slightly, though her eyes are still tinged with regret. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Trey. And to make it up to you, I’d like to invite you over for dinner. You know, a proper apology. No Hennessy this time, I promise.” She chuckles lightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Trey hesitates. “Dinner?”

“Yes,” she says quickly. “I make a mean pot roast. And I’d like to show you I’m not just some crazy old lady next door.”

He smirks faintly. “Well, I don’t have any plans tonight…” He trails off, remembering Simone mentioned she’d be working a double shift.

Mrs. Pearl clasps her hands together, clearly relieved. “Oh, wonderful! Just come by around six. I’ll have everything ready.”

Trey nods, stepping back into the doorway. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

Her smile widens, and she seems genuinely grateful. “Thank you, Trey. I’ll see you tonight.”

As she walks away, Trey watches her go, feeling a twinge of sympathy he didn’t expect. Maybe Mrs. Pearl isn’t as bad as he thought.

Shaking his head, he closes the door. Tonight should be interesting, at the very least.

Chapter 8

Trey stands on Mrs. Pearl’s doorstep, smoothing his shirt and taking a deep breath before knocking. Almost immediately, the door swings open, and Mrs. Pearl greets him with a wide, warm smile. She’s dressed in a floral apron over a deep purple dress, her gold earrings catching the light from the porch lamp.

“Trey, baby! Come on in,” she says, stepping aside and motioning him into the house.

As soon as he enters, Trey is hit by the mouthwatering aroma of pot roast, seasoned to perfection. His stomach growls involuntarily, and Mrs. Pearl laughs.

“Sounds like you’re ready to eat.” She closes the door behind him.

The house is cozy, filled with old-fashioned furniture and knickknacks that give it a lived-in charm. Trey’s eyes drift to the fireplace mantle, where several photos are arranged in neat rows. He steps closer, drawn to the images.

In most of the pictures, a young boy grins at the camera—bright eyes and a toothy smile. Trey assumes this must be Richie. There’s also a man in many of the photos, tall and broad-shouldered, with a kind face and an arm slung protectively around the boy.

“My boy was such a cutie, wasn’t he?” Mrs. Pearl says from behind him, her voice tinged with nervous laughter.

Trey nods politely. “Yeah, he looks like a happy kid.”

He squints, searching for a more recent photo of Richie, but every image seems to be from his childhood. Before he can ask, Mrs. Pearl steps forward and redirects his attention.

“And my late husband Albert,” she says, her voice softer now. “God rest his soul.” She gestures to a black-and-white wedding photo in an ornate silver frame. In it, a young Mrs. Pearl beams in a lace gown, clutching a bouquet, while Albert stands tall beside her in a crisp suit.

Trey turns to her, his voice sincere. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Pearl smiles faintly, patting him lightly on the arm. “Thank you, Trey. He was a good man. A real good man.” She pauses for a moment, her eyes distant. Then, with a shake of her head, she brightens again. “But come on now, let’s get to the kitchen before this pot roast gets cold!”

Trey follows her through the house, taking in the cozy clutter of framed photos, flowered curtains, and shelves crowded with ceramic figurines. The kitchen is warm and inviting, the table already set with plates, silverware, and a steaming casserole dish in the center.

“Sit, sit,” Mrs. Pearl urges, pulling out a chair for him.

Trey takes a seat, the savory smell of the pot roast making his mouth water. Mrs. Pearl brings over bowls of mashed potatoes and green beans, humming to herself as she works.

“This all looks amazing,” Trey says as she sets the last dish on the table.

“Well, I had to make sure it was just right for my guest,” she replies, sitting down across from him.

They begin eating, and Trey can’t help but groan in appreciation. The pot roast is tender and perfectly seasoned, the mashed potatoes creamy and rich.

“This is incredible, Mrs. Pearl,” he says between bites.

She beams, clearly pleased. “Now, tell me about your family, Trey. You’ve got such good manners—your mama must’ve raised you right.”

Trey swallows his bite and nods. “Yeah, my mom’s amazing. She’s always been my rock, especially after my dad passed. She made sure I had everything I needed, taught me how to take care of myself, how to plan for the future. She’s the reason I’ve been able to build the life I’ve got now.”

Mrs. Pearl listens intently, nodding along. “She sounds like a wonderful woman. You’re lucky to have her.”

“I am,” Trey agrees.

Mrs. Pearl smiles wistfully. “Albert was my rock, too. Oh, we had our ups and downs, but he loved me like no one else ever could. Losing him was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.”

Trey looks at her, his expression softening. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.”

“It was,” she says simply. Then, with a small smile, she continues, “But I still have Richie. That boy keeps me going. He’s always traveling—says he wants to see the world while he can. I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but he calls me every day. Always makes sure I know he’s thinking about me.”

“That’s good,” Trey says, taking another bite. “It’s important to stay close, even if you’re far apart.”

Mrs. Pearl nods, her eyes shining. “You’re right about that.”

As the conversation continues, Mrs. Pearl pours Trey a glass of wine. He takes it hesitantly, not wanting to be rude. She keeps topping off his glass, and though he tries to decline, she waves off his protests with a cheerful laugh.

“Come on now, Trey. You’re young! Enjoy yourself!”

He sips slowly, but the wine is strong, and after a while, he starts to feel it. His head grows heavy, and the warmth of the kitchen seems to wrap around him like a blanket.

Mrs. Pearl’s voice becomes a soothing hum in the background as she talks about her late husband’s sense of humor and Richie’s adventurous spirit. Trey tries to focus, but the room starts to spin slightly, and his eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment.

“I… I think I…” Trey mumbles, his words slurring as he sets his glass down.

Mrs. Pearl leans forward, her expression unreadable. “You feeling okay, Trey?”

“I’m just… tired,” he manages to say before his head dips forward.

The last thing he hears is Mrs. Pearl’s voice, soft and almost soothing. “Oh, bless your heart. You just rest, baby.”

The room fades to black as Trey slumps forward, his head resting on the dinner table.

Chapter 9

Trey wakes with a start, his head pounding and his body heavy. The room is dim, the curtains drawn tight, and for a moment, he has no idea where he is. This isn’t his bed. The quilt covering him is floral, and the faint smell of lavender and something powdery hangs in the air.

He turns his head to the side, and his heart nearly stops. Mrs. Pearl is lying next to him, snoring softly.

His breath catches in his throat as panic sets in. He’s shirtless, his pants nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Pearl—oh God, Mrs. Pearl—is wearing what can only be described as lingerie. A silky black nightgown clings to her, the fabric thin enough to leave little to the imagination.

Trey bolts upright, the quilt falling off him as he scrambles to make sense of the situation. “Mrs. Pearl!” he blurts, his voice cracking.

She stirs, groaning softly before opening her eyes. A sleepy, groggy smile spreads across her face. “Oh, Trey, baby, you’re up,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.

Trey’s heart is racing now. “What the hell is going on?” He gestures wildly to himself, then to her. “Why am I in your bed? Where are my clothes? Did you—did you drug me? What did we do last night?”

Mrs. Pearl blinks at him, her smile fading. She sits up slowly, pulling the quilt to her chest as her expression morphs into one of exaggerated shock and offense. “Excuse me?” she says, her tone sharp. “What on earth are you insinuating?”

Trey waves a hand toward her. “You’re wearing—what is that, lingerie? And I’m—” He looks down at himself, his voice rising. “I’m not even wearing a shirt!”

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes narrow, and she reaches for the robe draped over the bedpost. She slips it on quickly, tying it tight around her waist. “This is what I sleep in, Trey,” she says, her voice clipped. “I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing. I invited you for dinner, and this is the thanks I get?”

Trey’s mouth opens and closes, his anger mixing with confusion. “I don’t—this doesn’t make sense! I passed out, and now I’m—”

She cuts him off, holding up a hand. “Trey, you had too much to drink last night. I told you to slow down, but you wouldn’t listen.” She sighs dramatically, shaking her head. “You passed out at the table, and I couldn’t just leave you there. What if you’d gotten sick? I was watching over you to make sure you were okay, but I must’ve dozed off beside you.”

Her words hit him like a wave, and for a moment, Trey feels doubt creep in. Did he really drink that much? He remembers the wine, but… no, something doesn’t feel right.

“Mrs. Pearl,” he says carefully, his voice low, “I don’t remember drinking that much.”

She raises an eyebrow and folds her arms. “Well, you certainly did. You should be thanking me for taking care of you, not accusing me of… whatever nonsense you’re thinking.”

Trey stares at her, his instincts screaming that something is off. But the way she looks at him—offended, almost hurt—makes him hesitate.

“Where are my clothes?” he asks finally, his voice flat.

Mrs. Pearl gestures toward a chair in the corner of the room. His shirt, pants, and even his socks and shoes are neatly folded on the seat.

Trey slides out of bed cautiously, keeping his eyes on her as he grabs his clothes. He pulls on his shirt and pants quickly, his mind racing. “What time is it?”

Mrs. Pearl glances at the clock on the wall. “A little after one,” she says casually.

“One in the afternoon?” Trey repeats, his voice rising. “How the hell did I sleep that long?”

Mrs. Pearl shrugs. “You were out cold, baby. I didn’t want to wake you—you looked like you needed the rest.”

Trey opens his mouth to press her further, but something stops him. Her calm demeanor, the way she’s spinning the situation, has him second-guessing himself. Did he actually drink too much? Could he be misremembering?

Mrs. Pearl smiles sweetly as she stands, tying her robe tighter around herself. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. You should head on home and get some more rest. You’ve had a long night.”

Trey hesitates, his instincts still screaming at him, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He grabs his shoes, slipping them on quickly.

Mrs. Pearl follows him to the door, her tone cheery. “Thank you for coming over, Trey. It was so nice to have company. You’re welcome here anytime.”

He turns to her, his face carefully blank. “Thanks… for dinner,” he says stiffly.

She beams at him. “You’re such a sweet boy. Take care now, baby.”

Trey steps outside, the afternoon sun blinding him for a moment. As he walks back to his house, his thoughts churn. Something about the whole situation feels off, but he can’t put his finger on it.

His mind replays the events of the night before—the wine, the sudden wave of exhaustion, waking up in her bed. He clenches his jaw, a deep unease settling in his chest.

By the time he reaches his front door, Trey knows one thing for certain: he needs to keep his distance from Mrs. Pearl.

Chapter 10

Trey sits on his couch, staring blankly at the TV, but he isn’t watching. His mind is stuck on the events of the night before. Every time he tries to shake the memory, it comes rushing back—Mrs. Pearl’s lingerie, her calm demeanor, the folded clothes, her sugary, almost maternal tone.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “No… no way.” But the doubt lingers, gnawing at him. He hopes to God nothing happened, but the truth is, he isn’t entirely sure.

The sound of a knock on the door jolts him from his thoughts. His stomach tightens. For a split second, he thinks it might be Mrs. Pearl again.

He exhales, steeling himself as he gets up and opens the door. Relief washes over him when he sees Simone—but her expression is anything but comforting.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demands, her voice tinged with worry and accusation.

Trey blinks, confused. “What do you mean? I’ve been home.”

Simone steps closer, her hands on her hips. “I’ve been blowing up your phone, Trey. You didn’t answer a single call or text. I thought something happened to you!”

Trey instinctively pats his pockets, only to realize his phone isn’t there. “I… I don’t have it,” he mutters, his brow furrowing.

Before he can process this, another voice cuts in.

“Here you go, baby.”

Trey’s head snaps toward the sound, and his heart sinks. Mrs. Pearl is standing at the edge of his porch, holding out his phone. She’s wearing a floral dress and her ever-present gold earrings, her smile warm and inviting as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

“You must’ve left this at my house,” she says sweetly, handing him the phone.

Trey stares at her, completely speechless. He doesn’t even reach for the phone at first, but Mrs. Pearl places it gently in his hand. Then, with a little wave, she sashays away, humming to herself as she disappears into her yard.

Simone stands frozen, her mouth slightly agape. Once Mrs. Pearl is out of earshot, she turns to Trey, her voice sharp and incredulous. “At her house?”

Trey’s eyes widen, and he starts fumbling for words. “Simone, I—”

“You went to that woman’s house?” she cuts him off. “For what?”

“I—she invited me for dinner,” Trey stammers.

Simone’s eyes narrow, her tone dripping with suspicion. “And what else?”

“What do you mean, ‘what else’?” Trey asks, utterly confused.

Simone crosses her arms and points at him. “There’s lipstick on your neck.”

“What?” Trey blinks, his hand flying to his neck.

“You heard me,” Simone snaps.

Without another word, Trey rushes to the bathroom, nearly tripping over himself. He flips on the light and leans over the sink, angling his head to look in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s a faint smudge of red lipstick on the side of his neck.

“The fuck?” he mutters, his stomach twisting into knots.

When he turns around, he nearly jumps out of his skin. Simone is standing in the doorway, her arms still crossed, her expression as sharp as a blade.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on with you and your neighbor?” she asks coolly, but there’s fire in her eyes.

Trey feels like the walls are closing in. “I… Simone…” he stammers, his mind racing for an explanation.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Mrs. Pearl invited me for dinner last night,” he begins.

Simone doesn’t say anything, but her eyes narrow further.

Trey explains everything—how Mrs. Pearl insisted on dinner, how she poured him wine, how he passed out, and how he woke up confused and disoriented. He even mentions the folded clothes and her claim that she was “watching over him.”

But the more he talks, the more he can see the disbelief growing on Simone’s face.

When he finishes, she shakes her head slowly. “Yeah, whatever, nigga.” Her words are sharp, cutting deep, and Trey feels a pang of panic.

“Simone! Baby, what…” He steps toward her, his hands raised defensively. “You don’t believe me?”

She turns to face him fully, her posture rigid, her voice laced with attitude. “You really expect me to believe that bullshit story? I heard how you and Dante were joking about her, Trey!”

Trey’s jaw drops. “What? That was nothing! We were just messing around!”

“Yeah?” Simone snaps, her voice rising. “Well, it doesn’t look like nothing to me. What’s crazy is you staying at some old woman’s house until one o’clock in the afternoon! What’s crazy is her leaving hickeys on your neck!”

“It’s not a hickey!” Trey shouts, his frustration boiling over.

“Oh, really?” Simone fires back. “Then what is it, Trey? Huh?”

Trey opens his mouth, but no words come out. His mind is spinning, and the look on Simone’s face tells him she’s already made up her mind.

“Simone,” he pleads, his voice softer now. “Baby, please. You gotta believe me. Nothing happened. That woman is old enough to be my grandmother.”

But Simone shakes her head, her expression a mix of anger and hurt. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation.”

She turns on her heel and storms out of the bathroom. Trey follows her, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Simone, wait!” he calls after her.

She grabs her bag and heads for the door. “I don’t have time for this, Trey,” she says coldly. “Figure your shit out.”

The door slams shut behind her, leaving Trey standing in the middle of his living room, dumbfounded and alone.

He stares at the closed door, his mind replaying the last twenty-four hours like a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The lipstick on his neck, Mrs. Pearl’s lingerie, Simone’s disbelief—it all swirls together in his head, leaving him with one overwhelming thought:

What the hell is going on?

Chapter 11

Trey sits on his couch, absently flipping through his phone, though he isn’t really paying attention to anything on the screen. His mind is stuck on the argument with Simone—the disbelief in her voice, the look on her face when she stormed out. He tells himself it’s just her temper, that she’ll calm down soon and realize how ridiculous it is to think he would cheat on her, especially with Mrs. Pearl.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts.

When he opens it, he finds his mother standing there, smiling warmly, a pie dish in her hands. She’s always bringing something whenever she visits—cookies, casseroles, pies.

“Hey, baby,” she says, stepping inside and giving him a quick hug. “Brought you a sweet potato pie. You know I can’t let you go too long without a home-cooked treat.”

Trey forces a smile. “Thanks, Ma. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course, I did,” she says, walking into the kitchen and setting the pie down on the counter. “Just because you’re grown and have your own house now doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop spoiling you.” She turns back to him with a teasing smile. “Honestly, I have half a mind to kidnap you and bring you back home. I miss you already!”

Trey chuckles weakly, but his heart isn’t in it.

His mother studies him for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay, Trey? You seem… distracted.”

He shakes his head quickly, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Ma. Just a lot on my mind, you know? Moving, getting settled.”

She nods, though she doesn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, I stopped by earlier in the week, and everything looked good then. But I thought I’d check in again. You know me—I can’t leave you alone too long.”

Trey tries to laugh again, but his thoughts drift back to Simone. He wants to reach out to her, but he knows how she gets when she’s upset. Her temper can take over, and sometimes she just needs space to cool off. Still, the waiting is killing him.

“Trey?” his mother’s voice jars him from his thoughts.

“Hmm?” He looks up at her, realizing too late that she’s asked him something.

“I said, when are you going back to work?” she repeats, looking concerned now.

“Oh… uh, next Monday,” he answers quickly, though it’s clear he wasn’t paying attention.

His mother tilts her head slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, her voice softer now. “You seem… off.”

Trey hesitates. He doesn’t want to get into it with her, doesn’t want to explain the mess with Simone or the strange events with Mrs. Pearl. “I’m good, Ma. Just tired, I guess.”

Before she can press further, his phone buzzes on the coffee table. Then it buzzes again. And again.

Trey glances at the screen, trying to ignore it, but the notifications light up with Simone’s name. He can’t help but glance at the preview text:

“Trey, I can’t do this anymore…”

His stomach drops. He barely registers his mother’s concerned expression as he stares at the screen, the notifications piling up.

“Trey?” she asks, stepping closer. “What is it?”

He snaps back to reality, quickly picking up his phone and locking the screen. “Nothing, Ma,” he says, his voice tight. “Look, I—I think I need some time to myself, okay?”

She frowns, clearly hurt. “Oh… I didn’t mean to overstay, baby. I just wanted to check on you.”

Trey runs a hand over his face, his guilt mounting. “I know, Ma. I’m sorry. I just… I need to handle something right now. Can we talk later?”

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she nods. “Alright, Trey. I’ll let you be.” She picks up her purse and heads for the door, glancing at him one last time. “You know I’m here if you need anything, right?”

“I know,” Trey says softly. “Thanks, Ma.”

He follows her outside, watching as she gets into her car. She starts the engine, but Trey can tell from the way she lingers that she’s still worried about him. When she finally drives off, he exhales heavily, feeling like a jerk for brushing her off.

As he turns to head back inside, something catches his eye. He glances toward Mrs. Pearl’s house and sees the curtains in her front window shift ever so slightly, as if someone is peeking out.

Trey freezes, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he considers going over there, but he shakes his head. He has bigger problems right now.

He steps back inside, closing the door behind him, and unlocks his phone. His heart sinks as he reads Simone’s messages.

“Trey, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t accept your lie about going to Mrs. Pearl’s house just for dinner. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Plus, I’m spread so thin with work and school. I don’t have the energy for this.”

“I need some time away. Please don’t call or text me.”

Trey stares at the screen, his chest tightening. Without thinking, he dials her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries again, and this time, the call doesn’t even connect.

“Damn it!” he mutters, realizing she’s already blocked him.

The sting of it hits him hard. He tosses his phone onto the couch and grabs his keys. If she won’t answer his calls, he’ll go see her in person.

He drives to her apartment, his mind racing the entire way. When he gets there, he pounds on the door, but one of her roommates answers instead.

“Simone’s not here,” the girl says, her tone curt.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Trey asks, desperation creeping into his voice.

“No,” the roommate replies, crossing her arms. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, Trey. Just… give her some space.”

Trey stares at her, at a loss for words. Finally, he nods and steps back, his shoulders slumping as the door shuts in his face.

He walks back to his car, sitting in the driver’s seat for a long moment before starting the engine. His mind is spinning, his chest feels hollow, and he can’t shake the disbelief. Simone—his girlfriend, the woman he thought he’d marry someday—just broke up with him, and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Chapter 12

Trey drives through the city streets, the faint hum of his car engine filling the silence. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his mind still reeling from everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours. Simone’s words echo in his head, and each time he replays them, the sting deepens.

The ring of his phone jolts him from his thoughts. His car’s Bluetooth picks up the call, and Dante’s name flashes on the dashboard. Trey lets out a sigh and presses the button to answer.

“What’s good, my guy?” Dante’s voice comes through the speakers, his tone light and playful. “You back at the crib yet, or you still out here living that bachelor life?”

Trey doesn’t respond, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“Yo, Trey?” Dante says after a beat. “Damn, bro, did Simone finally slap you upside the head or something? You know she don’t play.”

He laughs at his own joke, but Trey doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Nah, man, I’m here,” Trey says finally, his voice flat.

Dante’s laughter fades. “Yo, you good? You sound off.”

Trey sighs heavily, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Nah, man. Simone broke up with me.”

“What?” Dante’s voice is sharp with surprise. “What happened?”

Trey hesitates before telling him everything—the argument with Simone, the lipstick on his neck, and her accusation that he slept with Mrs. Pearl.

Dante is silent for a moment, clearly trying to take it all in. “Man… wait, hold up. Did you say Mrs. Pearl drugged you?”

“I don’t know, man,” Trey says, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I passed out after dinner, woke up in her bed, and now Simone thinks I’m messing with her.”

“Shit,” Dante mutters. “My bad, man. I feel like this is my fault.”

Trey frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I kept fucking with you about Mrs. Pearl,” Dante says, his tone apologetic. “You know, all those jokes at the party? Simone must’ve taken that shit seriously.”

Trey shakes his head, though Dante can’t see him. “Nah, man, you’re good. This wasn’t about you.”

But as the words leave his mouth, Trey finds himself thinking back on Simone’s behavior. This wasn’t the first time she’d jumped to conclusions or let her temper get the best of her. He remembers the way she made that comment about him “finally moving out of his mother’s house.”

Could that be it? Was Simone jealous? Did she see him moving into his own place as some kind of threat? Maybe she was just looking for an excuse to blow up.

The thought lingers, but Trey shakes it off. No, Simone isn’t like that. She’s stressed, juggling work and school, and it’s probably just all too much for her right now. She must genuinely believe he slept with Mrs. Pearl.

The very thought makes his stomach turn. He presses his lips into a thin line and grips the wheel tighter, forcing the image out of his head. He’ll get her back. Simone just needs time to calm down. She’ll unblock him in a couple of days, and then they’ll talk.

“Trey?” Dante’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

“Huh?” Trey says, realizing he hasn’t been paying attention.

“I just asked if you want me to come through,” Dante says. “We can have some drinks, catch the game. Take your mind off all this shit.”

Trey pulls into his driveway, parking the car. For the first time all day, he feels a flicker of relief. “Oh, yeah. That’s cool. Come through.”

“Bet,” Dante says. “I’ll grab some beers and be there in, like, twenty.”

“Alright,” Trey says.

They hang up, and Trey steps out of his car, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. As he walks to his front door, he glances toward Mrs. Pearl’s house. The curtains in her front window shift ever so slightly, as if someone is peeking out.

Trey freezes, his eyes narrowing. But just as quickly as the movement happens, the curtains settle back into place.

He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “Not tonight.”

Pushing the thought aside, he unlocks his door and steps inside. For the first time since Simone left, he feels a shred of confidence returning. He’ll figure this out. He always does.

Chapter 13

Trey sits on the couch, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, trying to act like everything’s fine. The basketball game is already on, the volume low as he scrolls through his notifications. No messages from Simone. His chest tightens as he wonders if she really means it—if she’s really done with him.

He hates how much it’s eating at him. This isn’t like Simone. They’ve had fights before, but it’s never escalated to her blocking him or breaking things off this quickly. The more he thinks about it, the more it feels out of character. Why would she throw everything away so fast?

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. Trey pockets his phone quickly, standing up and plastering on a grin as he opens it. Dante stands there, a six-pack of beer in one hand and a wide smile on his face.

“What’s good, my guy?” Dante says, stepping inside and giving Trey a quick handshake-turned-hug. “You ready to watch these bums lose?”

Trey laughs, shutting the door behind him. “Man, you already know my team’s taking the W tonight. You’re just here to witness greatness.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” Dante says, dropping the beer on the counter.

The doorbell rings, and Trey grabs the food he ordered. Soon, the two of them are settled on the couch, beers cracked open and plates of wings and fries in front of them. Trey sneaks a glance at his phone a couple of times but tries to keep it subtle. He doesn’t want Dante picking up on how distracted he is.

As the game heats up, Trey starts to relax. His team is ahead, and Dante is screaming at the screen, cursing every time the opposing team misses a shot. “You clowns can’t hit a layup? Come on!”

Trey laughs, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Man, y’all are trash. Just admit it now and save yourself the pain.”

Dante glares at him, pointing a wing in his direction. “Don’t start with me, Trey. It ain’t over yet.”

But when Trey’s team scores again, Dante throws his hands up in frustration. “This is bullshit!”

“Uh-huh,” Trey taunts, leaning back on the couch with a smug grin.

Then Dante’s team starts to rally, and the energy in the room shifts. Dante jumps out of his seat when they hit a three-pointer, shouting, “Let’s go! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Trey groans, sitting up straighter. “Man, sit your ass down. It’s still a long game.”

The two of them shout at the screen as the teams battle it out, point for point. The game goes into overtime, and Trey feels his heart racing as the final seconds tick down. Then, with a buzzer-beater shot, Trey’s team wins by two points.

“Yessir!” Trey shouts, jumping to his feet and pointing at Dante. “What’d I tell you, huh? What’d I say?”

Dante throws a napkin at him. “Whatever, bro. The refs basically handed y’all the game.”

“Bullshit,” Trey says, laughing. “You weren’t saying that when your team was winning.”

They keep bantering as the game wraps up, the tension from earlier in the day momentarily forgotten. Trey feels lighter, more like himself, as they finish their beers and talk about upcoming games.

Then Trey’s phone buzzes on the table, and he snatches it up quickly, his heart skipping a beat. He checks the screen, only to see a spam text. Irritated, he deletes it.

Dante smirks. “Who dat? Mrs. Pearl?”

Trey shoots him a dark look. “Shut the hell up, Dante.”

Dante laughs. “All I wanna know is, was the pussy good?”

Trey freezes for a second, caught off guard, before shoving Dante roughly. “Come on, man, don’t joke like that! Ain’t nobody fucking that old ass woman!”

Dante doubles over, laughing uncontrollably. “Hey man, all I’m saying is you said you woke up practically butt naked. Something must have happened. She must have put it on you!”

Trey scrunches his face, a mix of disgust and annoyance, but he lets Dante have his fun. “You wait until you go through some bullshit,” he warns. “I’m coming for you, and I’m not gonna let up either.”

Dante finally wipes his eyes, his laughter dying down. “A’ight, man, let me stop fucking with you.” He leans back on the couch and yawns. “But for real though: Simone will come around. You two are solid.”

Trey nods, feeling those words settle inside him like a small flame of hope. “Thanks, man.”

Dante stands and stretches. “Alright, I gotta head out. Early shift tomorrow.”

Trey gets up and walks him to the door. They open it, and both of them jump slightly when they see Mrs. Pearl standing there, a sweet smile on her face and a plate of cookies in her hands.

“Well, hello there, boys,” she says, her voice sugary and pleasant. “I thought I’d bring over some treats. You’ve both been laughing so much tonight—you’re just a delight to listen to.”

Dante stiffens slightly, his smile faltering. “Uh, thanks, ma’am.”

Mrs. Pearl steps closer, holding the plate out to Trey. “Here you go, dear.” Then she glances at Dante, her eyes twinkling. “Do you own your home too, like Trey?”

Trey feels his stomach churn as Dante lets out an awkward laugh. “Uh, no, ma’am, I don’t.”

Mrs. Pearl tilts her head, her smile never wavering. “Aw, that’s too bad. One day you will. Take notes from your buddy here.”

Dante glances at Trey, clearly uncomfortable. “A’ight, man. I’m out. Thanks for the beer.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Trey says quickly, ushering Dante out the door and shutting it behind him.

Still standing at his front door, Trey hears Mrs. Pearl call out, “Drive safe now! You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen on your way home.”

Trey tenses, wondering why she said some weird shit like that? He mutters to himself, “Yo, what the hell is up with this lady?”

Chapter 14

Trey sits on his couch, the TV still on but muted, casting flickering light across the room. He’s scrolling absently on his phone when Dante’s name pops up on the screen. Without hesitation, he answers.

“Yo,” Trey says, leaning back against the cushions.

Dante’s voice is serious, no trace of his usual playfulness. “Yo, what the hell is up with that lady, bro? Did you hear what she said to me when I was leaving?”

Trey’s brow furrows. “Yeah, man, I caught it. That was crazy.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Trey can hear the faint hum of Dante’s car in the background and the rhythmic clicking of a turn signal.

“Watch your back around that old broad, man,” Dante finally says, his tone low and cautious.

“Why you say that?” Trey asks, sitting up a little straighter.

“I don’t know. Something don’t seem right about her,” Dante says, exhaling audibly. “At first, I was just messing around, but now I’m wondering if she really is crazy.”

Trey lets out a rough chuckle, trying to keep things light. “You think?” Then, unable to resist, he throws in a joke. “Don’t tell me Big Momma got you shook.”

Dante chuckles, the tension breaking. “Fuck you, man. You were the one acting paranoid at first.”

Trey grins, leaning back into the couch. “You gonna sleep with your night light tonight?”

That sets them both off, their laughter echoing through the phone. For a few moments, the unease fades, replaced by the easy camaraderie only close friends can share.

But as Trey’s laughter dies down, he thinks about how silly it is to be afraid of Mrs. Pearl. Sure, she’s eccentric and a little creepy at times, but she’s harmless. Just a lonely old woman trying to stay connected to the world around her.

Dante interrupts his thoughts. “A’ight, man, I’m pulling up to my place. But for real, make sure your doors are locked tonight.”

“Man, you better make sure your doors are locked,” Trey shoots back, grinning.

“Whatever, bro. I’m serious though—watch yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Trey says, shaking his head. “Goodnight, man.”

“Goodnight.”

They hang up, and Trey sets the phone down, staring at the muted TV for a moment. He feels the pull of exhaustion but doesn’t move right away. Instead, he picks up his phone one more time and opens his messages.

Still nothing from Simone.

His chest tightens slightly, but he pushes the feeling away. She’ll come around. She just needs time.

With a sigh, Trey turns off the TV and heads to his room. As he lays down in bed, he checks his phone one last time before setting it on the nightstand. No messages.

He exhales deeply, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, his eyes drift shut, thoughts of Simone swirling as sleep takes over.

Chapter 15

Trey stirs awake, the morning light filtering through his bedroom blinds. His phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling him the rest of the way out of sleep. Groggy, he reaches for it, and when he sees the notification, his heart leaps.

“Finally!” he says, relief flooding his veins.

He unlocks his phone, already imagining it’s a message from Simone, maybe saying she’s ready to talk. But when the screen loads, his excitement fizzles. It’s not Simone. It’s Dante.

Frowning, Trey sits up in bed and reads the message.

“Yo, bro, had to leave town for a family emergency. I’ll explain later.”

Trey feels a prickle of unease as he stares at the text. Dante didn’t mention anything about leaving town yesterday. Trey immediately hits the call button, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“What the hell?” Trey mutters.

A few minutes later, his phone rings. It’s Dante. Trey answers on the first ring.

“Yo,” Trey says, trying to keep the urgency out of his tone. “You good?”

Dante’s voice comes through the line, slightly unsettled but composed. “Yeah, I’m good, man. My mom asked me to drive her down to see about my Auntie Phyllis.”

Trey relaxes a little at the mention of Dante’s aunt. Auntie Phyllis is almost 100 years old and has had her share of health issues over the years. “Is she okay?”

Dante chuckles softly. “Yeah, man, she’s good. You know how she is. Stubborn as hell. Always trying to do everything herself, but she took a nasty fall and broke her hip. My mom’s thinking about forcing her to come back with us. You know, so she can keep an eye on her.”

“Damn,” Trey says, rubbing his face. “That’s rough. But yeah, it’s probably for the best. Keep me updated, man.”

There’s a pause on the line, and Trey notices Dante’s silence. “Yo, you good?”

“Yeah,” Dante says finally, though his tone is quieter. “I gotchu. It’s just… the service out here is bad, so I might not be able to call too much. I’ll text when I can.”

“Bet,” Trey says, nodding even though Dante can’t see him. “Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Will do,” Dante replies, and after another brief pause, he adds, “Be easy, bro.”

“You too,” Trey says.

They hang up, and Trey sets his phone down on the nightstand, staring at it for a moment. A faint sense of emptiness settles over him. First Simone, now Dante.

He knows Dante can’t help his situation—Auntie Phyllis is old, and family comes first—but Trey can’t help feeling a little bitter about Simone. Why is she dragging this out? If she’s really done, why not just say it outright? Why leave him in limbo?

Trey sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. It’s been two days since she walked out, and the silence is starting to gnaw at him. The spark of hope he felt last night after Dante’s words now feels dim and distant.

He glances at his phone again, almost willing it to buzz with a text from Simone. Nothing.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Trey gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen to make coffee. As he waits for the machine to brew, he starts thinking about how to spend the last few days of his vacation. Maybe he could hit the gym, catch up on some shows, or go for a drive to clear his head. Anything to quiet the noise in his mind.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Trey leans against the counter and stares out the window.

“Gotta figure something out,” he mutters to himself.

The house feels too quiet, too empty. Simone’s absence hangs over him, and now, with Dante gone too, it’s like the walls are starting to close in.

Chapter 16

When Trey hangs up with Dante, Mrs. Pearl lowers the gun from Dante’s temple, her lips curving into a slow, sinister smile. “That’s a good boy,” she says, patting his head like he’s a misbehaving dog who finally listened.

Dante jerks his head away from her hand, his wrists straining against the ropes that dig into his skin. “You’re fucking crazy! You think you’re gonna get away with this?”

Mrs. Pearl straightens, her head tilting as she regards him with mock indignation. “Get away with what?” Her voice is sickly sweet, full of taunting amusement. “You’re my guest. Both of you.”

Dante’s eyes dart to Simone, who’s strapped to her own chair a few feet away. Her head hangs slightly, her hair a tangled mess, her face bruised with a swollen black eye. The duct tape over her mouth muffles her soft cries, and when she lifts her tear-streaked face to meet Dante’s gaze, his stomach churns.

“You can’t keep us here forever,” Dante growls, his voice low but filled with venom. “You need to let us go.”

Mrs. Pearl giggles, a high-pitched, grating sound that sends a chill down his spine. She taps the gun against her cheek, as if contemplating his words. “Actually…” She draws the word out, her eyes sparkling with twisted joy. “No, I don’t think I will.”

She turns abruptly, walking to the corner of the dim basement where an ancient television sits atop a rickety stand. The TV is old, complete with a boxy back and a built-in VHS player. Mrs. Pearl pulls a tape from a dusty shelf, slides it into the player, and turns on the TV.

Dante watches in disbelief as the screen flickers to life, and the familiar opening of The Land Before Time starts to play. The cheerful music feels warped in the grim setting, like it doesn’t belong.

“What the hell is this?” Dante says, his voice sharp with anger and confusion.

Mrs. Pearl doesn’t answer immediately. She hums along to the opening theme as she moves toward the stairs leading out of the basement.

“Help!” Dante yells, his voice thundering through the room. “Somebody help us!”

Mrs. Pearl stops halfway to the stairs, turning to face him with a delighted grin. Simone’s muffled sobs grow louder, but Mrs. Pearl only giggles.

“Stop all that hollering, boy!” she says, wagging a finger at him like a scolding parent. “Isn’t this your favorite movie?”

Dante freezes, his jaw tightening. The way she says it, so casual yet so knowing, twists something deep in his gut.

“Wha…” He stares at her, his voice faltering. “How would you know that?”

Mrs. Pearl smirks, her head tilting slightly as if she’s savoring his reaction. “I know everything about you,” she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. Then she looks at Simone, her smile widening. “And her.”

Dante still isn’t following, so Mrs. Pearl lays it out for him. “You young people put everything on social media and make it easy for someone to know everything they need to know about you. You really should be more careful. There are dangerous people out there.”

Simone shakes her head, her eyes wide with terror as fresh tears stream down her face.

Mrs. Pearl claps her hands together, the sound echoing through the basement. “Y’all be good now,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll bring you a snack later. Bathroom break is at three, and nap time is at five. Be back later!”

With that, she skips over to the basement door and closes it, locking it behind her, then walks up the stairs, humming the theme song of the movie as she goes. A moment later, they hear the distinct sound of another lock clicking into place.

Dante strains his ears, but he can’t hear anything further. The basement must be soundproof.

The basement falls silent except for the tinny, cheerful sounds of the movie playing on the old TV. Dante looks at Simone, her terrified eyes locked on his, and feels his chest tighten.

They have to get out of here.

He tugs at the ropes binding his wrists, but they’re tied too tight. His wrists burn as the cords dig into his skin, but he doesn’t stop. He glances around the room, searching for anything they can use to cut themselves free.

Simone lets out a muffled sound, drawing his attention. She tilts her head toward the edge of the table near her, where a pair of scissors sits just out of reach.

Dante nods, his mind racing. He needs to figure out a way to knock the scissors closer without drawing Mrs. Pearl’s attention, but first, he has to loosen his restraints enough to move.

“We’re getting out of here,” he whispers, locking eyes with Simone. “I promise.”

Simone blinks hard, as if to steady herself, then nods.

The sound of Littlefoot and his friends laughing fills the room, an eerie contrast to the fear swallowing them whole. Dante grits his teeth and starts working on the ropes again, his determination growing with every second.

They have to escape. And they need to do it before Mrs. Pearl comes back.

Chapter 17

Trey flops onto his couch, staring at the muted TV. It’s been a long, uneventful day, and boredom weighs on him like a heavy blanket. With Dante out of town and Simone still radio silent, the hours have dragged by. He tried working out, flipping through channels, and even cleaning the kitchen—none of it helped.

Desperate for some kind of company, he invited his mother over. She arrived with her usual warmth, a casserole in one hand and a bottle of iced tea in the other.

They ended up having a great time. She talked about her church group, her garden, and the neighbors she still keeps in touch with. More than once, she brought up how much she missed seeing Trey regularly, and though it made him feel a little guilty, it also made his heart soften.

By the time she was leaving, Trey felt lighter, as if her visit had smoothed over some of the rough edges of his day.

As they step outside to say goodbye, his mother pauses when she catches sight of Mrs. Pearl walking down the sidewalk toward her own house.

“Oh, is that your neighbor?” his mother asks, squinting slightly.

“Yeah, that’s her,” Trey says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Mrs. Pearl notices them and brightens immediately, walking over with a wide smile. “Well, hello there!” she says, her tone as sugary as ever. “Trey, you didn’t tell me your mother was visiting!”

His mother smiles politely. “Yes, I just came to spend a little time with my son.”

Mrs. Pearl claps her hands together. “Well, I can see where he gets it from. Trey is such a well-mannered young man. You must have been one hell of a mother to raise him right.”

Trey watches as his mother’s smile grows, her posture straightening slightly. He can tell she’s taken the compliment to heart, and his own chest swells with a quiet pride.

“Well, thank you,” his mother says, glancing at Trey with a warm smile. “I’m glad to hear he’s behaving himself.”

“Oh, he’s a gem,” Mrs. Pearl says, giving Trey a wink.

As his mother heads to her car, Trey walks her to the driver’s side door. “Thanks for coming by, Ma. I needed that.”

She reaches up and pats his cheek. “You’re doing great, baby. Don’t be a stranger.”

Trey watches as she drives away, the warm feeling from her visit still lingering.

Before he can head back inside, Mrs. Pearl approaches again, her smile growing wider. “Guess what?” she says, her voice brimming with excitement, as if she can barely contain herself.

Trey raises an eyebrow, caught off guard by her sudden enthusiasm. “What is it?”

“Richie is coming to visit me!” she exclaims.

Her words take him by surprise. “Your son?”

Mrs. Pearl nods, beaming with pride. “Yes! I can’t wait till he gets here. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.”

Trey offers her a warm smile, sensing how much this means to her. “That’s great, Mrs. Pearl. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

Mrs. Pearl smiles back, her eyes twinkling. She gives him a small nod. “Well, I won’t hold you any longer. Have a good night, Trey.”

“You too, Mrs. Pearl,” Trey replies, watching as she walks back to her house, still smiling.

Once inside, Trey looks around his living room. The visit with his mother and the brief interaction with Mrs. Pearl leave him feeling unexpectedly content. He’s proud of what he’s accomplished—his home, his life. His mother helped him tremendously growing up, but he’s shown a lot of discipline to get here too.

Smiling to himself, Trey shuts off the lights and heads to bed. The day may have started slow, but it ended on a good note.

As he lies in bed, his thoughts drift between Simone and the challenges ahead, but for now, he feels at peace. He closes his eyes, letting sleep take over.

Chapter 18

Trey opens his front door on the way to the gym next morning and sees a box sitting on his porch. He stares at it for a second, then realizes what it is, his stomach twisting. It’s the throw pillows.

Simone picked them out when he first moved in, excited about how they’d add the perfect pop of color to his space. She even joked about how he couldn’t be trusted to decorate on his own. His heart aches as he looks at the unopened package. She was supposed to be here to help arrange them, but just that quickly, she’s gone.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. He needs a distraction. Sitting around thinking about Simone isn’t going to do him any good.

He quickly lifts the box and brings it into his house, sitting it on the living room floor. Then he’s back out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Trey is at the gym, earbuds in, music blasting as he throws himself into a grueling full-body workout. He pushes harder than usual, desperate to burn through the knot of frustration and pain in his chest. Two hours pass before he finally stops, his muscles screaming in protest and his shirt soaked through with sweat.

After showering at the gym, Trey feels slightly more like himself. He stops at a drive-thru on the way home, grabbing a burger and fries. As he drives, he thinks about how much he relies on takeout.

He needs to learn how to cook. His mom always cooked for him when he was younger, and when he started dating Simone two years ago, she sort of took over that role. Now, without either of them, he’s stuck with noodles and Pop-Tarts.

He chuckles at the thought as he pulls into his driveway. “Gotta watch some YouTube videos or something,” he mutters to himself, grabbing his bag of food and heading inside.

The moment Trey steps into the house, something feels… off.

He stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing. The air feels different, though he can’t quite put his finger on why. Slowly, he turns in a circle, scanning the room. Then his eyes land on the sofa.

The throw pillows.

They’re neatly arranged, perfectly aligned as if Simone herself had been there to place them just so.

Trey’s heart leaps into his throat. “What the hell?” he whispers, stepping closer.

He’s certain he didn’t unpack them. He brought the box inside, but he hasn’t touched it since. Did he? He wracks his brain, trying to remember, but he’s sure he didn’t open the package.

Then his heart skips a beat. Simone.

She has a spare key to his house—he gave it to her when he moved in. Could she have come by while he was out? Was this her way of telling him she’s ready to talk?

Fumbling for his phone, Trey swipes his screen and taps Simone’s name to call her. His stomach sinks when the call doesn’t go through. He’s still blocked.

Scrunching his nose in confusion, he pulls up her social media. She hasn’t blocked him there yet, so he shoots her a quick message:

“Thanks for unpacking the pillows. Can you unblock me from your phone now?”

He sets his phone down, staring at it, waiting for her to see the message. Five minutes pass, and it still hasn’t shown as “read.” Trey’s stomach growls, pulling his attention away.

In the kitchen, he stops short again.

The dishes.

They’re washed, dried, and neatly placed in the dish rack. His chest tightens, but this time it isn’t just confusion—it’s warmth. Simone must have come over. She’s coming around, just like he knew she would.

He pulls out his phone and quickly texts Dante:

“Simone stopped by the house,” he types, a giddy smile spreading across his face.

Setting the phone down, Trey eats his meal, feeling lighter than he has in days. After finishing, he cleans up the table and tosses his trash, the thought of Simone working quietly in his home filling him with a sense of hope.

When he checks his phone again, Dante hasn’t responded, but there’s a social media notification. His heart skips.

Simone “liked” his message.

He stops in his tracks, staring at the notification. Why didn’t she just write back?

Confused, Trey tries calling her again, but the call still doesn’t go through. He’s still blocked.

“What’s up with her?” he mutters, pacing the kitchen.

For a moment, frustration flares in his chest, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. She’s probably at work. They aren’t allowed to use their phones during shifts, and maybe she only had time to quickly like his message.

“She’ll write back later,” he says to himself, setting his phone down. “She’ll unblock me, and we’ll talk.”

The thought soothes him as he cleans up the rest of the kitchen and heads to bed.

Hours later, Trey drifts off to sleep, his mind still on Simone and the small signs of hope she’s left behind.

Chapter 19

Mrs. Pearl sits in her floral armchair, the faint sound of classical music playing softly in the background. She scrolls through Trey and Simone’s texts and social media messages on Simone’s phone, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Her eyes linger on a shirtless picture of Trey that he sent to Simone months ago. His toned chest gleams in the bathroom lighting, and she can’t suppress a small, wistful sigh. “What does he see in that girl that he doesn’t see in me?” she murmurs, shaking her head.

She swipes to the next image—one of Simone’s replies. It’s a scantily clad selfie, all pouty lips and cleavage on full display. Mrs. Pearl sucks her teeth in disgust.

“Little hussy,” she seethes, her grip tightening on the phone. “She probably can’t even cook.”

Her mind drifts to the plate of cookies and the apple pie she baked for Trey earlier in the week. Yet, despite her efforts, he hasn’t even hinted at asking her out on a date.

“What is wrong with these men?” she laments, shaking her head.

Setting the phone aside, she stands and walks to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. She smooths her hands down her dress and turns slightly to admire her figure. For a woman her age, she’s kept herself up. Sure, there’s a little gray in her hair, but her curves are still intact, and she knows how to dress to show them off.

“Hmph,” she says, brushing a hand over her dress. Her smile widens as she picks up her phone and dials Richie.

“Hey, Momma,” he answers on the first ring, his voice warm and familiar.

Mrs. Pearl sighs in relief, her heart softening. If there’s one person she can always count on, it’s her baby boy. “Hey, baby,” she says. “Are you still coming to see me?”

“Yes, Momma,” Richie replies, his smile audible through the phone. “Counting down the days.”

“Me too,” she murmurs, glancing at the small monitor on her desk. One camera feed shows Trey, still sleeping soundly in his bedroom. Another shows the basement. Dante and Simone are both still tied to their chairs—or so it seems at first glance.

Mrs. Pearl narrows her eyes, noticing something off. She leans closer to the screen, her heart skipping a beat as she realizes Simone’s chair is tipped over, and Dante’s chair is no longer in its original position.

“What the…” She blinks hard, her body running hot and cold as panic takes hold.

“Richie, baby, let me call you back!” she says abruptly, hanging up before he can respond.

She grabs a flashlight from the desk and rushes downstairs, her slippers slapping against the hardwood as she descends into the dimly lit basement.

When she gets there, her worst fears are confirmed. Simone’s chair is on the floor, and Dante has managed to inch his chair closer to her. His shirt is damp with sweat, his face flushed from exertion.

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes scan the room frantically, and that’s when she spots the pair of scissors lying on the floor just a few inches from Simone’s outstretched fingers.

“You little snakes!” she hisses, her body trembling with fury. She lunges for the scissors, snatching them up before Dante can react.

Without warning, she reels back and slaps Dante across the face. The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoes through the basement.

Dante’s head snaps to the side, and he glares up at her, his chest heaving. “You’re fucking insane!” he spits, his voice hoarse.

Mrs. Pearl’s nostrils flare as she points a trembling finger at him. “I only stopped monitoring you for two hours, and this is how you repay me?” she bellows.

She turns her attention to Simone, who lies slumped sideways in her tipped-over chair. Tears streak Simone’s face as she stares up at Mrs. Pearl, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

“And you,” Mrs. Pearl snarls, stalking toward her. It takes half her strength, but she manages to wrench Simone’s chair upright, grunting with the effort. She steps back, her heart racing from overexertion, and inspects the chair. Thankfully, it’s not broken.

She straightens, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, and glares between the two of them. “Now, I don’t want to see any more funny business, you hear?”

“Let us go!” Dante shouts, his voice filled with rage.

But Mrs. Pearl doesn’t respond. She’s already heading back upstairs, muttering under her breath about how ungrateful they are.

At the top of the stairs, she slams the door shut and locks it, her heart still pounding in her chest.

Chapter 20

Trey wakes with a start, his ears pricking at the faint, rhythmic sound of water. At first, he thinks it’s part of a dream, but as his groggy mind sharpens, he realizes it’s real.

He sits up in bed, heart thudding, and listens closer. The sound is steady—like water rushing, escaping somewhere it shouldn’t.

Trey swings his legs over the side of the bed and grabs his phone, using its flashlight to guide him through the dark hallway. As he approaches the kitchen, the noise grows louder, and when he steps inside, his stomach drops.

The floor glistens under a thin layer of water, and more is spilling out from under the sink, pooling fast.

“Shit!” Trey mutters, flipping the lights on and rushing forward. He crouches down, opens the cabinet, and is met with a spray of cold water from a burst pipe. It soaks his face and shirt as he fumbles around for the shut-off valve. After a few desperate seconds of twisting, the water finally stops, leaving him soaked and panting.

He sits back on his heels, staring at the mess. The water has spread across the kitchen floor, and he can see it creeping toward the living room carpet. He grabs a towel from the counter and tosses it onto the floor, but it barely absorbs anything.

“Okay, okay,” he says to himself, thinking fast. He needs a plumber.

He scrolls through his phone, pulling up the contact his mother gave him a while back—a guy she swore was reliable and quick. Trey dials the number, but his heart sinks when the man’s voicemail chimes in with a cheery, “Sorry, I’m out of town for the week! Call me next Monday!”

Trey hangs up, his hands trembling. It’s late at night, his kitchen is flooded, and he’s not sure who else to call.

As he paces the living room, trying to figure out his next move, a knock at the door makes him freeze. He glances at the clock. It’s nearly midnight.

He hesitates for a moment, then walks to the door and peers through the peephole.

It’s Mrs. Pearl.

When he opens the door, she’s standing there in a pink floral nightgown and fuzzy slippers, her hair wrapped in a neat scarf. Despite being dressed for bed, she looks wide awake.

“Trey, honey, are you okay?” she asks, concern etched across her face.

Trey blinks, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah. I mean, not really. My kitchen’s flooded.”

“Oh no!” Mrs. Pearl gasps, clasping her hands together. “I couldn’t help but notice your lights were on, and you were pacing. I went to my kitchen for a glass of milk—I couldn’t sleep—and I saw you through the window. What happened?”

“A pipe burst,” Trey says, running a hand over his face. “I turned off the water, but now I’m stuck. I called this plumber my mom recommended, but he’s on vacation. I don’t know what to do.”

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes light up with determination. “Well, don’t you worry. I know someone who’s available 24/7. He’s fixed things for me before. Why don’t you come over to my house, and I’ll give him a call for you?”

Trey hesitates, glancing back at the kitchen. He doesn’t really want to leave the mess unattended, but he doesn’t have a better option. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Pearl says, already turning to head back to her house. “Come on now, don’t just stand there!”

Reluctantly, Trey grabs his phone and follows her.

A few minutes later, Trey is sitting on Mrs. Pearl’s floral-patterned couch, his damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Her home smells faintly of lavender and something sweet—probably the cookies she’s always baking.

Mrs. Pearl bustles around the living room, mumbling about where she left the plumber’s contact information. “I know I have his number somewhere,” she says, disappearing into another room.

Trey leans back, trying to relax, but his nerves are still frayed. The thought of water spreading through his house gnaws at him.

When Mrs. Pearl returns, she’s holding a small piece of paper and a glass of water. “Here you go, honey,” she says, handing him both.

“Thanks,” Trey mutters, taking a sip of the water before dialing the number.

The phone rings twice before a gruff voice answers. “Hello?”

Relief floods Trey’s veins as he explains his situation. “Would you be available to come tonight?” He waits with bated breath for the man’s answer.

“Yeah, I can be there in about an hour,” the plumber says after Trey explains the situation.

Relief washes over Trey as he hangs up and sets the phone down. “He’ll be here in an hour.”

Mrs. Pearl beams. “See? I told you I’d take care of it.”

Trey nods, sinking into the couch. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until now. The water in his glass is cool and refreshing, and as he sits there waiting, the exhaustion from the night starts to catch up with him.

His eyelids grow heavy, and before he knows it, he’s drifting off to sleep.

Chapter 21

Trey wakes with a pounding headache, the dull throb making him wince as he blinks against the sunlight streaming through the windows. His mind feels foggy, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s not in his bed.

When he sits up, the floral-print couch beneath him comes into focus. He’s still in Mrs. Pearl’s living room.

“What the hell?” Trey mutters, his heart racing as he swings his legs to the floor and rises to his feet. His body feels heavy, like he hasn’t moved in hours.

Before he can gather his thoughts, Mrs. Pearl rounds the corner into the room, her smile bright and cheerful.

“Good afternoon, dear!” she says, her voice chipper.

Trey blinks at her, confused. “Afternoon?” he echoes. “What time is it?”

“Just past noon,” she replies, clasping her hands in front of her.

Trey stares at her warily, his gut twisting. “What the hell happened?”

Mrs. Pearl tilts her head, her expression puzzled. “What do you mean, what happened?”

“I mean,” Trey says, his voice rising as his unease grows, “you gave me the plumber’s number, I called him, and then I blacked out. What happened after that?”

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes widen in sudden understanding, and she waves a hand dismissively. “Oh! Honey, don’t worry. We got it all taken care of.”

Trey’s stomach sinks further. “What do you mean, it’s all taken care of?”

Her face lights up with pride. “Your kitchen has been fully restored—and thankfully, the flooding didn’t reach any other areas of your house. I double-checked.”

Trey’s ears grow hot, anger bubbling beneath his confusion. “You were in my house?” he snaps. He takes a step toward her, his voice sharp. “What the hell, Mrs. Pearl! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Mrs. Pearl’s smile falters, and she looks slightly taken aback. She wrings her hands nervously, her voice soft and apologetic.

“I tried, Trey, but you were out like a log. You must have been really tired.” Her eyes glisten as tears begin to well. “I’m so sorry. I knew I overstepped my bounds, but I was just trying to help.”

Trey exhales sharply, his frustration mounting, but he doesn’t say another word. Instead, he stalks past her, out of her house, and hurries across the lawn to his own.

His mind races with worst-case scenarios as he unlocks the door and steps inside. He half-expects to find his belongings missing or some other disaster waiting for him.

But as he enters, he stops in his tracks and looks around in awe.

The kitchen gleams. The floor is spotless, the counters are dry, and the faintest scent of pine cleaner lingers in the air. It's as if the flooding never happened.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Trey jumps, his heart lurching in his chest. He hadn’t realized Mrs. Pearl followed him inside. He turns to see her standing in the doorway, her expression smug yet pleased.

He catches another whiff of Pine-Sol and suddenly realizes that Mrs. Pearl must have cleaned his house after the plumber finished.

Trey opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He’s at a loss.

“Thank you,” he finally mutters, the words strange and reluctant on his tongue.

Mrs. Pearl beams, her face lighting up at his gratitude. “Anytime, dear. And don’t worry about the bill.”

“What?” Trey’s head snaps up, alarm flashing across his face.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, waving him off. “Bill’s an old friend. He owed me a favor.” She quickly changes the subject, her tone breezy. “Anyway, Richie’s coming today. Will you stop by?”

Trey is completely thrown off, still struggling to process everything that’s transpired. His head aches, the pounding intensifying as he tries to catch up.

“Trey? Are you listening?” Mrs. Pearl asks, her voice expectant.

He looks around the kitchen again—at how spotless it is, how she’s somehow erased every trace of the chaos from last night. Despite himself, a reluctant sigh escapes him.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll come,” he says, the words heavy with resignation.

Mrs. Pearl doesn’t seem to notice his tension. Her face lights up even more, and she claps her hands together in delight. “Marvelous!” she chirps.

Trey watches her leave, his stomach twisting with unease, but he says nothing.

Chapter 22

Trey sits stiffly on Mrs. Pearl’s floral couch, his arms crossed as The Young and the Restless plays on the TV. Mrs. Pearl is perched on the edge of her armchair, her eyes glued to the screen as she gushes about the characters.

“Oh, Trey, isn’t Victor just something else? I can’t believe he’s still doing Nikki like this after all these years. But I suppose that’s what makes it so exciting—keeps you coming back for more!”

Trey forces a tight smile, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, it’s, uh… wild.”

She doesn’t catch the sarcasm in his tone, which is fine by him. Mrs. Pearl keeps talking, rattling off names and plotlines that Trey barely registers. He fidgets with his phone, sneaking a glance at the screen.

It hits him suddenly—he hasn’t heard from Dante. His text thread with Simone is still blocked, but Dante? That’s unusual. Trey’s stomach tightens as unease creeps in.

He quickly types out a message: You good?

His thumb hovers over the send button as his mind drifts. Simone’s been acting weird lately—distant, evasive. Blocking him was one thing, but ignoring him when they were still trying to work things out wasn’t like her. And Dante’s been radio silent, too. Trey hopes nothing new happened with his Auntie Phyllis.

He sends the text before glancing back up. Mrs. Pearl is staring at him.

“What?” Trey asks, his tone sharper than he intends.

Mrs. Pearl quickly fixes her face, her expression softening into a gentle smile. “Oh, nothing, dear. Just thinking of how much you remind me of my Richie.”

Trey shifts in his seat, the words making his skin crawl. There’s something about the way she says it, the faraway look in her eyes, that sets him on edge.

“How far away is he?” Trey asks, desperate to change the subject. “I really should be going soon.”

Mrs. Pearl stares at him for a beat too long, her smile faltering. “Not too much longer,” she says finally. “The airport’s not that far.”

Trey nods but doesn’t press her further. He looks back at the TV, trying to focus on the soap opera, but it’s all a blur.

Suddenly, the program is interrupted by a loud breaking news signal. Trey's ears perk up as the words "Abandoned Vehicle Found" flash across the screen. The reporter’s voice is calm but urgent.

“The police have discovered an abandoned vehicle near the east side of town. Sources confirm it belongs to Simone Walker, a local woman who friends and family just discovered missing earlier this morning—”

“What the hell?” Trey bolts upright, his heart pounding.

Mrs. Pearl stiffens, her eyes darting to the screen.

“I gotta go!” Trey says, grabbing his phone and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Mrs. Pearl exclaims, scrambling to her feet. She quickly snatches the remote and turns off the TV.

Trey spins around, his face contorted with confusion.

“Where are you going?”

“That was my girlfriend’s car! Simone!” He makes for the door again, his mind racing.

“Trey, wait! What about Richie?” Mrs. Pearl’s voice is frantic now, her usual composure cracking.

“I’m sorry,” Trey says as he throws open the door. “I’ll have to come back later, Mrs. Pearl.”

“No!” The word cuts through the air, sharp and shrill.

Trey freezes mid-step, turning around slowly. His blood runs cold. Mrs. Pearl is standing in the middle of the living room, her hand trembling as she points a gun directly at him.

“Mrs. Pearl,” Trey says cautiously, his voice low and measured. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes are glassy, her expression desperate. “I’m sorry, baby. You can’t leave me.”

“Put the gun down,” Trey says, his voice cracking. His mind races for a way out, his pulse thundering in his ears. “Mrs. Pearl, this isn’t—”

Before he can finish, her finger tightens on the trigger.

“Mrs. Pearl, no—!”

The gun goes off with a deafening pop.

Trey stumbles backward as a sharp, stinging pain blooms in his chest. He gasps, clutching the spot where he’s been hit, expecting blood—but his fingers find nothing.

“What the hell...” he whispers, his knees buckling.

The world tilts as dizziness washes over him. His legs feel like they’re giving out, his vision blurring at the edges. He tries to focus on Mrs. Pearl, but she seems to swim in and out of focus.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her voice muffled like it’s coming from far away.

Trey tries to respond, to ask what she means, but the words won’t come. His body feels heavy, his limbs unresponsive.

The last thing he sees before the darkness takes him is Mrs. Pearl kneeling beside him, her face twisted with panic—and something else.

Chapter 23

Trey’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, a dull ache pounding behind his temples as he slowly comes to. His body is heavy, his limbs sluggish, and for a moment, he can’t remember where he is.

When his vision begins to clear, he blinks against the dim light and tries to focus. The cold, damp air clings to his skin, and the faint hum of an overhead bulb buzzes somewhere above him.

Then he sees them.

“Simone? Dante?” Trey’s voice is groggy, barely above a whisper. His eyes widen as the blurry shapes of his best friend and girlfriend come into focus. They’re sitting across from him, bound to chairs with thick ropes.

Simone looks like she’s been through hell. Her hair is disheveled, her face bruised, and duct tape stretches tightly across her mouth. Her eyes, wide and desperate, meet his. Dante doesn’t look much better. His head hangs low, his shoulders slumped like he’s too drained to hold himself upright.

“What the hell?” Trey says, his voice cracking as he struggles to sit up straighter. “What are you guys doing here?”

Dante lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. “She kidnapped us both!” he says hoarsely.

Trey stares at him, disbelief crashing over him like a wave. “What?” His voice rises as panic sets in. “How? How the hell did she get you? I mean, I could maybe see Simone because—” He stops himself, but the implication is clear. Simone is smaller, a woman. But Dante?

Dante’s jaw tightens, frustration flickering across his face. “She had a gun, man! She’s crazy!”

An eerie chill sweeps through Trey as the realization clicks into place. His heart pounds as his thoughts race. If Simone has been trapped down here—God knows for how long—then who was texting him from her phone?

“Wait,” Trey says, his voice low and tense. He turns to Dante. “You told me you were with your aunt!”

Dante shakes his head, shame and anger flashing across his face. “She made me say that! She had a gun to my head. She told me she’d kill me if I didn’t lie to you.” He looks away, his jaw clenched. “This old bitch is insane, Trey.”

“Shit…” Trey mutters, pulling at his restraints. His wrists are bound tightly to the arms of the chair, and the ropes dig into his skin. It’s then that he notices something strange.

His chair isn’t like theirs.

Simone and Dante are tied to plain wooden chairs—hard, uncomfortable, and stripped down. But Trey? Trey is sitting in what can only be described as a throne. The seat is cushioned, the backrest tall and plush, and the armrests are covered in soft fabric.

The absurdity of it makes his stomach churn.

“What the hell…” he whispers, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. The luxury of it feels more like a mockery than a comfort.

“We gotta get out of here,” Trey says, his voice desperate.

Dante shakes his head, his expression grim. “It’s no use, man. We can’t move, and the basement is soundproof. No one’s gonna hear us.”

Trey’s mind swims, panic mixing with anger. He looks around the room, searching for anything—a window, a vent, a weak spot in the walls. But there’s nothing. Just cold concrete and an overwhelming sense of dread.

“She can’t keep us here forever,” Trey says, more to himself than anyone else. “Why is she doing this?”

“I don’t know,” Dante says, his voice hollow.

Silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. Then Trey remembers something Mrs. Pearl said before all this went to hell.

“She mentioned her son Richie is coming,” Trey says, looking between Simone and Dante. “Maybe we can get him to convince her to let us go.”

Dante snorts bitterly. “Shit. Who says he’ll even know we’re here? If the basement is soundproof, how’s he gonna hear us?”

Trey falls silent, the weight of Dante’s words sinking in.

He looks over at Simone, her eyes pleading as she shifts against her bindings. The duct tape over her mouth muffles her voice, but he can see the desperation in her stare.

“Does she ever let y’all out of your seats?” Trey asks.

Dante swallows hard. “Yeah, for bathroom breaks. But that’s it.”

Trey’s mind races as he latches onto the sliver of hope. “Okay,” he says, his voice steadying. “That’s all we need.”

Dante looks at him like he’s crazy. “What are you talking about? She has a gun, Trey! You think we’re just gonna overpower her?”

Trey’s stomach twists at the memory of Mrs. Pearl pointing the gun at him. She’d shot him without hesitation, and yet… he isn’t dead. He isn’t even bleeding.

“She shot me,” Trey says suddenly, his voice low.

Dante frowns. “What?”

“She shot me before I woke up here, but I’m not dead. I’m not even hurt.” Trey’s eyes narrow as the realization hits him. “It wasn’t a real bullet. It must’ve been a tranquilizer or something.”

Dante’s face darkens. “That’s how she got me, too. She shot me with something, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up down here.”

“Shit!” Trey says, yanking at his restraints again. His mind spins as the full weight of their predicament settles in.

They’re trapped in a soundproof basement, restrained, and at the mercy of a woman who’s clearly lost her grip on reality.

“Shit,” Trey whispers again, his voice cracking as he slumps back in the throne.

Chapter 24

The sound of the basement door creaking open sends a chill down Trey’s spine. He exchanges a glance with Dante, who sits slumped in his chair, and then looks at Simone, who is bound and bruised, her duct-taped mouth trembling as muffled sobs escape.

Mrs. Pearl descends the stairs slowly, humming softly. The melody is light and cheerful, completely at odds with the oppressive atmosphere of the basement. In her hand, she holds the gun—a small, unassuming weapon that now seems impossibly dangerous in her grip.

“Bathroom breaks, my darlings,” she chirps as she reaches the bottom step. Her tone is light, almost motherly.

Trey stiffens as she steps into view. She looks at him first, her face softening. “I’ll take you all one at a time, baby,” she says in a soothing voice, as if this is all perfectly normal. Her eyes flick to Simone and Dante, and her tone hardens. “And don’t either of you try anything stupid. You hear me? There will be trouble if you do.”

Dante nods silently, his face pale. Simone glares at her, tears streaming down her face, but she doesn’t move.

Mrs. Pearl turns back to Trey, her expression softening again. “You’re such a good boy,” she says, almost cooing.

Trey swallows hard, his throat dry. He doesn’t want to ask, but the question forces its way out of him. “Why are you doing this?”

Her serene smile falters for just a moment, but she doesn’t answer.

“Why did you take Simone and Dante?” he presses, his voice trembling.

Mrs. Pearl’s gaze flickers to Simone, her lips tightening with disdain. “Because they’re bad influences,” she says simply.

Trey frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mrs. Pearl’s voice sharpens as she points to Simone. “That one’s a loose hussy, crawling out of your house at all hours of the night. And him—” she gestures toward Dante with the gun, her expression darkening—“he runs his mouth too much.”

Trey’s confusion deepens. His mind races, trying to piece together what she’s saying. “Runs his mouth too much? How would you even know what Dante says?”

For a moment, Mrs. Pearl’s face is unreadable. Then, with a serene smile, she says, “I had to keep you safe, baby. Had to make sure these two weren’t leading you down the wrong path.”

The words hit Trey like a freight train. His stomach churns as the realization dawns. “Were you… watching me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Pearl’s smile doesn’t falter. “Of course. You’re my baby. I had to make sure you were okay.”

Trey’s mind reels. Did she put cameras in his house? Bugs on his phone? He feels like he’s falling into some twisted twilight zone.

Mrs. Pearl turns to Simone, her cheerful demeanor replaced with cold efficiency. “All right, your turn,” she says. She walks around and unties the ropes binding Simone’s chest to the chair, then the ones binding her ankles, but leaves her wrists bound.

“Stand,” Mrs. Pearl commands, gesturing with the gun.

Simone hesitates, her eyes darting between Mrs. Pearl and Trey. Trey can see the fury and desperation in her face.

“Now,” Mrs. Pearl snaps.

Simone pushes herself up, but instead of complying, she shoves Mrs. Pearl to the ground and bolts toward the stairs.

“Simone, no!” Trey shouts, struggling against his restraints.

Simone grips the doorknob at the bottom of the stairs and pulls, but it won’t budge. She lets out a frustrated cry, yanking at it frantically.

Mrs. Pearl scrambles to her feet, her face a mask of rage. Without hesitation, she rushes up behind Simone and swings the butt of her gun. The crack of metal against bone echoes through the basement as Simone crumples to the floor.

“Simone!” Trey and Dante shout in unison.

Mrs. Pearl pants heavily, her hair disheveled and her hands shaking as she drags Simone’s limp body back across the room. A faint trail of urine follows them, and Trey’s stomach twists at the sight.

Mrs. Pearl drops Simone in front of her chair. For a moment, it looks like she’s going to sit her back up in the chair, but instead, she binds her arms and legs hog-style, leaving her unconscious on the cold floor.

Simone stirs, moaning softly as she starts to come to. Her body jerks violently, and she gags, as if she’s about to vomit.

Mrs. Pearl kneels beside her and yanks her by the hair, causing Simone to let out a sharp yelp, then she rips the duct tape from Simone’s mouth in one swift motion. Simone screams, her voice raw and full of pain, after releasing some of her insides onto the basement floor.

“You crazy bitch!” Simone screeches, her voice hoarse.

Mrs. Pearl’s face twists with fury. She kicks Simone hard in the ribs, and Simone lets out a whimper of pain.

Mrs. Pearl straightens and turns to Dante, her expression dark. “You want some too?” she snaps.

Dante shakes his head quickly, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Mrs. Pearl takes a deep breath, smoothing her hair with one hand. Her composure slowly returns. “Now,” she says, her voice calm again, “do you need to use the bathroom?”

Dante nods reluctantly, shame etched across his face.

Trey watches, his mind racing. “Mrs. Pearl,” he says carefully, “why don’t you just let them go? You have me. I’ll stay with you.”

Mrs. Pearl’s face lights up at his words, and for a moment, Trey thinks she might agree. But then her smile fades, and she shakes her head sadly.

“I can’t do that, baby,” she says softly. “They found this one’s car.” She gestures toward Simone with the gun. “She’ll tell.”

Trey opens his mouth to ask what she means—what she plans to do—but stops himself. He can see the precarious edge she’s teetering on, and he doesn’t want to push her any further.

Mrs. Pearl unties Dante and gestures for him to stand. She leads him upstairs, the gun pressed against his back.

When it’s Trey’s turn, he follows her without a word. She allows him privacy in the bathroom, but there’s no window to crawl through, no weapon to grab—nothing but cold tile and his own reflection in the mirror.

Defeated, he trudges back downstairs. Mrs. Pearl lovingly ties him back into his plush throne, humming softly as she works.

Trey’s stomach churns as he watches Simone, still writhing on the floor, and Dante, who stares at the ground in silent despair.

This isn’t just a nightmare. This is their reality.

Chapter 25

Mrs. Pearl stands at the window, her fingers gripping the edge of the blinds as she peeks through the narrow slats. Her eyes dart nervously to the two police officers walking up to Trey’s front door. They move with purpose, their uniforms crisp, their faces unreadable.

She watches them knock, the sound echoing faintly in her mind even though she can’t hear it from here. Trey’s house is dark, the porch light off, and it’s clear there’s no one inside.

“Of course,” she whispers to herself, her voice trembling, “they always suspect the boyfriend.”

Her breathing is shallow, her chest tight as she backs away from the window, her mind racing. There are too many details to keep track of. Too many loose ends.

Her hands shake as she paces the room, muttering under her breath. “I never should have left that girl’s car where it could be found. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She clutches her head, her fingers tangling in her graying hair. “Now they know she’s missing. Of course they know.”

Her eyes dart to the coffee table, where a pile of phones sits neatly stacked. Simone’s phone, Dante’s phone, Trey’s phone—they’re all there, silent and lifeless. She’s already sent dozens of texts from Simone’s phone, telling her friends and family that she was busy working, or staying at a hotel for some special job. But now, she knows that won’t hold up much longer.

She paces faster, her bare feet scuffing against the hardwood floor. “I thought I had it covered,” she mutters. “I thought I was so smart. But, no, no, no. I was careless.”

Her thoughts spiral, her mind a chaotic storm of worry and panic. She stops abruptly and looks toward the kitchen, where her purse sits on the counter. Inside are the keys to the warehouse.

Albert’s warehouse.

She’s been paying the fees for years, keeping the building even though it’s been empty for so long. It’s not just a warehouse—it’s a shrine to her late husband, the last piece of him she can still touch.

Her lips tremble as her eyes grow misty. “Oh, Albert,” she wails, her voice breaking. “This is all your fault!”

She stands still for a moment, her chest heaving as the memories threaten to surface. The dark times. The fights. The arguments that left her hollow and angry. But she shakes her head violently, pushing the thoughts away. Not now. Not today.

The warehouse has been useful, though. Dante’s car is parked there, hidden safely in Albert’s old garage. She was smarter with his car than she was with Simone’s. Trey’s car is there too, tucked away where no one will find it.

She wrings her hands as she peers through the blinds again. The officers are still standing on Trey’s porch, talking amongst themselves. She can’t hear what they’re saying, but she can imagine the conversation.

“He’s not answering.”

“Should we come back later?”

“Let’s check with the neighbors.”

Her stomach churns as she watches them linger, their presence like a dark cloud over her carefully constructed world. Every second they stay feels like an eternity.

Finally, the officers turn and walk back down the porch steps. Mrs. Pearl doesn’t exhale until they’re safely down the street, their patrol car disappearing around the corner.

But her relief is short-lived.

She knows they’ll be back.

Her pacing resumes, her mind spinning with possibilities. She’ll have to do something about the phones soon. Maybe smash them, maybe burn them. Or maybe she could… Could she? She shakes her head, unwilling to let her thoughts go there yet.

Her eyes flick to the basement door. Trey is down there, waiting for her, bound to his throne. He’s the key to all of this. He’s the answer.

She presses her hand to her chest, her heart racing. “I’ll figure it out,” she whispers to herself. “I always do.”

But this time, even she isn’t sure.

Chapter 26

Mrs. Pearl descends the basement stairs with her usual slow, deliberate movements. The gun gleams in her hand—a shiny silver revolver that catches the dim light and sends a shiver down Trey’s spine. It isn’t the tranquilizer gun she used before. This one looks real.

She steps into the room and, as if Simone and Dante don’t even exist, fixes her gaze solely on Trey. “Baby,” she says, her voice lilting and sweet, “would you like to come upstairs and watch my stories with me?”

Trey glances at Simone and Dante, his heart clenching at the sight of them still bound and helpless. Simone’s face is bruised, her eyes puffy from crying. Dante doesn’t even lift his head, his body slumped in exhaustion. Trey’s stomach churns with guilt, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice.

“Sure,” he says reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Pearl beams, her whole face lighting up like he just agreed to a date. “Good boy,” she says, moving to untie him.

She starts with the ropes around his waist, meticulously untying each knot while humming softly to herself. Trey’s eyes flick to the gun in her other hand. It’s so close to his face—he could kick her, knock her off balance, maybe even wrestle the gun away.

The urge to act is almost overwhelming, but he forces himself to stay still. If he’s wrong, if the gun is real, she could shoot him point-blank. He doesn’t dare chance it.

She moves to his ankles next, crouching low to untie the ropes. Trey’s muscles tense. His leg twitches, the desire to lash out bubbling just beneath the surface. But the cold metal of the revolver glints in the corner of his eye, a stark reminder of what’s at stake.

“There we go,” she says brightly as the final rope falls away. She stands and gestures toward the stairs. “Come along now.”

Trey struggles to his feet, his wrists still bound in front of him. She doesn’t loosen the ropes there—of course, she doesn’t.

With the gun pointed casually at his back, she leads him upstairs to the living room. Trey’s mind races with thoughts of escape, but every plan ends the same way—with a bullet in his back.

Mrs. Pearl pats the couch. “Sit, baby.”

He does as he’s told, sinking into the worn cushions. She settles in beside him, tucking the gun into her lap like it’s just another accessory. She grabs the remote, turning on the TV, and immediately starts chattering about the soap opera on the screen.

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” she says, her tone animated. “Now, see, he doesn’t know that she is actually his sister. Isn’t that just wild?”

Trey stares at her, disbelief tightening his chest. How can she act like this? Like she isn’t holding him and his friends hostage in her basement?

The question burns in his mind until he can’t hold it back any longer. “When is Richie coming?”

Mrs. Pearl freezes. Her whole body tenses, her gaze locked on the screen but unfocused.

“What’s that, baby?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

“I thought you said Richie was coming to visit,” Trey says carefully. “When’s he getting here?”

There’s a long pause. Too long. Then, without looking at him, she says, “He couldn’t make it after all.”

Her tone is hollow, drained of the false cheer she usually puts on.

Trey’s heart pounds. Something about her answer feels… wrong. “I thought he was on his way from the airport?”

More silence. The only sound is the droning dialogue from the soap opera. Finally, Mrs. Pearl speaks again, her voice flat and final. “He couldn’t make it.”

Trey wants to push further, to ask where Richie really is, but the tension in the room is suffocating. He knows better than to press her when she’s like this.

Before he can think of what to say next, the TV cuts to breaking news. Simone’s car is on the screen again, a reporter standing beside it as she talks about the ongoing search for Simone.

Mrs. Pearl’s face hardens. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she mutters, grabbing the remote to change the channel. But her hand slips, and the remote tumbles from her fingers, bouncing off the edge of the coffee table before sliding under the couch.

“Oh no, dear,” Mrs. Pearl says, leaning back with a sigh. “Can you grab that for me?”

Trey hesitates, looking down at his bound wrists. “I—”

But he stops himself. He doesn’t want to make her suspicious by refusing. “Sure,” he says instead.

Carefully, he slides off the couch and kneels on the floor. The ropes around his wrists make it awkward, but he manages to angle his body enough to peer under the couch.

The remote is there, just out of reach. But his breath catches when he sees something else beside it.

A letter opener.

It’s small, sleek, and sharp—its silver blade glinting faintly in the dim light. As if sent by God himself, it’s just sitting there, waiting for him.

Trey’s mind races. He has to act fast. Slowly, he stretches his fingers, sliding the remote toward him. As he does, he grips the letter opener with his other hand, curling his fingers around it and hiding it against his palm as best as he can.

With his heart pounding, he inches back up and hands Mrs. Pearl the remote.

“Thank you, baby,” she says, her tone sweet but tinged with something else. Her eyes linger on him for a moment, sharp and calculating, as if she’s testing him.

Then she leans over and plants a kiss on his cheek.

Trey freezes, his skin burning where her lips touched. He forces a tight-lipped smile, praying she doesn’t notice the tension in his body.

Mrs. Pearl settles back on the couch, oblivious. But Trey’s mind is already spinning with possibilities. He shifts slightly, feeling the letter opener hidden against his palm, and for the first time since this nightmare started, he feels a spark of hope.

He has a plan.

Chapter 27

Mrs. Pearl hums a cheerful tune as she leads Trey back down to the basement, the silver revolver still gleaming in her hand. He treads carefully behind her, the letter opener hidden in the waistband of his pants, pressed against his stomach. His wrists are still bound in front of him, but his heart pounds with excitement, hope sparking for the first time in days.

The basement air is heavy, the dim light casting long shadows over Simone and Dante. Trey’s stomach churns at the sight of them—Simone still hog-tied, and Dante slumped in his chair, his head drooping.

Mrs. Pearl gestures for Trey to sit in his throne-like chair, her voice as sweet as ever. “Come, baby. Sit right here while I get started on dinner.”

Trey obeys, lowering himself into the chair. She works quickly, tying the ropes tightly around his ankles and waist once again. Her fingers are deft and practiced, and she hums softly as she works.

“What would you like for dinner, dear?” she asks when she finishes, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Pizza? Or something homemade?”

The question catches Trey off guard. For a moment, he forgets the letter opener tucked against his body, forgets the plan slowly forming in his mind. He stares at her, unsure if this is some sort of test.

“Uh…” He swallows hard. “Homemade, please.”

Mrs. Pearl beams, clapping her hands together like he just gave the right answer on a game show. “Coming right up!”

Her cheerful demeanor shifts as her gaze slides to Simone and Dante. Her expression hardens, her lips curling with disdain.

“I’ll feed you tonight,” she says sharply to Dante, “but this little hussy—” she points at Simone, her voice dripping with venom—“will never taste my cooking again.”

Simone glares at her, her chest heaving. “I don’t want none of your funky ass food anyway!” she snaps, her voice trembling with anger.

Mrs. Pearl stiffens, her smile fading. She stalks toward Simone, her shoes clicking against the concrete floor.

Trey’s breath catches in his throat. “Simone, no,” he whispers under his breath, but it’s too late.

Simone flinches, screeching as Mrs. Pearl looms over her. Bound and defenseless, she tenses as best as she can, her body curling instinctively.

Mrs. Pearl stops short, her lips curling into a wicked smile. Then she giggles, a high-pitched, unsettling sound. “Not so tough now, are you?” she taunts.

Trey knows he has to intervene before things escalate. “Mrs. Pearl,” he says, his voice soft and sweet, like he’s trying to soothe an angry child. “Can I ask you something?”

Mrs. Pearl turns to him, her expression softening immediately. “Of course, baby. What is it?”

Trey forces a smile, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Can you please loosen Simone’s ropes? Just a little? That position can’t be good for her circulation.”

Mrs. Pearl stares at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. Trey holds his breath, his heart racing.

Finally, she nods. “Of course, baby. I’ll do that for you.”

She kneels beside Simone and begins loosening the ropes that hog-tie her. Simone doesn’t dare move, but Trey can see the tension in her body, her shoulders trembling as Mrs. Pearl works.

“There,” Mrs. Pearl says, straightening up. Simone’s now lying on her stomach with her arms behind her back and her legs flat on the floor. Her ankles remain bound. “But if she tries anything else,” she adds, her voice cold and sharp, “it will be worse. Much worse.”

Simone says nothing, her glare fixed on Mrs. Pearl, but Trey can see the faint glimmer of relief in her eyes.

Mrs. Pearl claps her hands together, her cheerful tone returning. “Now, you all sit tight. I’ll be back soon with dinner.”

She turns and ascends the stairs, humming to herself, the basement door creaking shut behind her.

As soon as she’s gone, Trey exhales, his body sagging against the ropes. He glances at Simone and Dante, his heart pounding with urgency. The letter opener presses against his stomach, its sharp edge a reminder of the slim chance they now have.

“Are you okay?” he whispers to Simone.

She nods weakly, her voice hoarse. “Yeah. For now.”

Trey closes his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing. This has to work.

Chapter 28

As soon as the basement door creaks shut and Mrs. Pearl’s humming fades into the distance, Trey leans forward in his chair, his voice low and urgent. “I have a way for us to get out of here.”

Simone and Dante immediately perk up, their tired eyes lighting with a flicker of hope.

“How?” Simone whispers, glancing warily at the stairs.

Dante shifts in his chair, his voice sharp with curiosity. “What happened up there? Did you see her son Richie?”

Trey shakes his head, his excitement dimming for just a moment. “No. She said he’s not coming.”

The room falls silent at those words, the weight of them sinking in like a stone. Trey doesn’t want to dwell on what that might mean.

Dante clears his throat, breaking the silence. “So what’s the plan then?”

Trey smirks, leaning back slightly. “I found something to cut the ropes.”

Both Simone and Dante’s eyes widen, and Trey twists and maneuvers awkwardly, his fingers fumbling as he reaches for the hidden object in his waistband. The ropes around his chest and arms make it difficult, but after a moment of struggling, he pulls out the letter opener and holds it up triumphantly.

Dante’s face lights up with surprise. “How’d you get that?”

Trey grins, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “It was under the couch. Mrs. Pearl dropped the remote, and when I went to grab it, I found this.”

Simone shakes her head, a faint, incredulous smile tugging at her lips. “God really sent that thing to you, huh?”

“Maybe,” Trey says with a chuckle. “But it’s the break we needed.”

Without wasting time, he angles the letter opener toward the ropes binding his wrists and begins sawing at the thick cords. The sharp edge bites into the fibers, but the ropes are tight, and progress is slow.

Dante watches him intently but suddenly shifts in his chair. “Wait,” he says quietly, his tone cautious.

Trey looks up, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“Not yet,” Dante says carefully. “That could take hours, and we don’t know what she’s cooking or how long she’ll be upstairs. If she comes down here and sees you doing that, we’re screwed.”

Trey’s shoulders sag, frustration rippling through him. He doesn’t want to wait—not now, when freedom feels so close he can almost taste it. But Dante’s right. Mrs. Pearl is unpredictable, and if she catches them trying to escape, it could all be over.

Simone nods in agreement, her voice soft but firm. “We wait until tonight, when she’s asleep. Then we’ll have time to break the ropes and figure out how to get out of here.”

Trey exhales slowly, nodding. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Tonight.”

He tucks the letter opener back into his waistband, hiding it as best as he can. The three exchange a look—an unspoken agreement that tonight is their chance.

Sometime later, the basement door creaks open again, and Mrs. Pearl descends the stairs with a tray balanced in her hands. The smell of cooked chicken fills the air, making Trey’s stomach growl involuntarily.

“Dinner time!” Mrs. Pearl announces brightly, setting the tray down on the small table in the corner. She ladles steaming stew chicken onto three plates, humming as she works.

She starts with Trey, gently spooning mouthfuls of food to him like a doting mother feeding her child. The food is surprisingly good, but Trey struggles to enjoy it, his mind racing with thoughts of escape.

Next, Mrs. Pearl moves to Dante, feeding him with the same care. She even feeds each of them a plastic cup filled with bright red Kool-Aid too.

When she’s finished, she picks up the third plate meant for Simone. For a brief moment, it seems like Mrs. Pearl might soften. But instead, she walks right past Simone without a word, carrying the plate back to the tray.

Simone glares at her, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Oh, I see how it is. No chicken for me, huh?”

Mrs. Pearl doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even look at Simone. Her focus is back on Trey as she pats his shoulder affectionately. “Good night, baby,” she says softly.

Trey stiffens at her touch, forcing himself to smile. “Good night, Mrs. Pearl.”

She flashes him a warm smile, then turns and walks toward the stairs. She lingers in the doorway before turning off the basement light, covering them in darkness. The sound of the door locking behind her sends a chill through the room.

For a moment, the three sit in silence and their eyes adjust to the darkness. Then Trey looks at Simone and Dante, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Very soon, it’ll be showtime.”

Simone nods, her expression grim but determined. Dante leans his head back against the chair, exhaling slowly.

The tension in the room thickens as they wait, time crawling by as the weight of their plan looms over them. Tonight is their chance.

Chapter 29

Mrs. Pearl tosses and turns in her bed, her breathing uneven, her mind a swirling storm of nightmares. Images flash through her thoughts—fragments of her past, shadows of her present, and the looming dread of her future.

Albert’s voice echoes in her head, distorted and distant. “You’re not strong enough, Pearl. You’ve never been strong enough.”

Her dreams shift, and suddenly Simone is there, glaring at her with fiery defiance. That little wench—she’s been a thorn in Mrs. Pearl’s side since the moment she arrived. She dreams of Simone shouting, fighting, mocking her. “You’ll never get away with this, you crazy old bitch!” The words pierce through Mrs. Pearl’s subconscious like daggers.

Then the scene changes again. The police are at her door, their faces hard and unyielding. Simone’s car is on their mind—it’s on everyone’s mind. The news report plays over and over in her head. “Authorities are searching for a missing woman, Simone Walker, whose abandoned car was found yesterday evening…”

Her thoughts grow darker. What if they ping her phone? The idea sends a shiver through Mrs. Pearl’s body even in her sleep. Would it lead them straight to her house? Or just the street?

She stirs in bed, her hand gripping the blanket tightly. “If it’s just the street,” she mutters in her sleep, “then I’m probably safe. They’ll think Trey has her phone. But…”

Her dream shifts again, a new dread taking hold. What if they dig deeper? What if they want to search my house?

Her breathing quickens as the nightmare intensifies. Cops in uniform swarm her home, overturning furniture, opening closets, dragging her secrets into the light. Trey, Dante, and Simone are nowhere to be found, but she knows the truth: the police don’t need them. They’ll find something. They always do.

“I can’t let that happen,” she whispers in her dream, her voice trembling. “I can’t let them destroy everything I’ve built.”

Suddenly, the storm in her mind clears. Her eyes snap open, wide with clarity and purpose.

“The warehouse,” she whispers aloud, her voice steady now.

It’s so simple. Albert’s warehouse. All these years, she kept it. Paid the fees. Kept it clean. She thought it was a foolish attachment to a man who didn’t deserve her, but now she sees it for what it really is: a blessing.

“Albert sent me a blessing after all this time,” she mutters, sitting up in bed. “If I can get them to the warehouse and ditch their phones, there’s still a chance. This can still work.”

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the cold floor. Her mind races with possibilities. The warehouse is remote, tucked away in an industrial part of town. No neighbors, no prying eyes. If she can move them there, it’ll buy her time, maybe even throw the police off her trail.

But Simone…

Mrs. Pearl’s lips tighten. That girl is the problem. She’s always been the problem. She’s defiant, stubborn, mouthy. She’ll fight her every step of the way.

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes narrow, her jaw tightening. “She’ll never cooperate,” she mutters. “She’ll ruin everything. For that reason…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence aloud, but the thought is clear in her mind.

Simone has to be silenced. Forever.

The clarity of the decision fills her with a strange sense of calm. She stands, rubbing her eyes and smoothing her hair. There’s no time to waste.

She throws on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, laces up her tennis shoes, and grabs the revolver from its spot on the nightstand. The cold metal feels comforting in her hand.

Her reflection in the mirror catches her attention as she passes. For a moment, she pauses, staring at herself. Her hair is disheveled, her face lined with stress and exhaustion. But her eyes are sharp, filled with purpose.

“You’ve got this, Pearl,” she whispers to herself. “You’ve got this.”

She turns away from the mirror and marches toward the basement door. The revolver gleams in the dim light as she grips it tightly.

The old hinges creak as she opens the door, the sound echoing through the silent house.

She starts down the stairs, her heart steady, her mind focused.

The basement waits below.

Chapter 30

Trey works steadily, his hands trembling as the dull letter opener scrapes against the rope binding his wrists. His muscles ache, his fingers cramping from the awkward angle, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Every fiber of his being screams at him to keep going.

Dante and Simone whisper encouragement, their voices urgent but low, barely audible over the sound of Trey’s labored breathing.

“Almost there, man,” Dante says. “You’re doing it. Just keep going.”

“Come on, Trey,” Simone urges. “You’ve got this. Don’t stop now.”

Trey grits his teeth, willing himself to push through the frustration. Sweat drips down his forehead, stinging his eyes, but he doesn’t pause to wipe it away. Each scrape feels like it’s doing nothing, like the stubborn rope will never give way, but he forces himself to believe otherwise.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. His arms burn, the repetitive motion sapping his strength. He starts to wonder if he’ll ever break free—if this is all just a futile game—but then, suddenly, the tension in the rope changes.

It’s subtle at first, but then the fibers begin to fray. Trey’s breath catches, hope surging through him. He works faster, harder, ignoring the pain in his hands.

Finally, with one last pull, the rope snaps. His wrists are free.

Relief floods his veins, and for a moment, he just sits there, staring at his hands as if he can’t believe it.

“You did it!” Simone whispers, her voice full of hope.

“Keep going,” Dante says urgently. “Get the rest.”

Trey nods, shaking off the momentary daze. He inches the rope around his chest upward, straining with all his might. His shoulders ache as he maneuvers his arms, trying to find the best angle to work at the bindings.

It’s awkward and exhausting. He has to saw at the rope while simultaneously contorting his body, each motion draining his energy. His breaths come in ragged gasps, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

Finally, the rope around his chest loosens, then falls away. Trey exhales sharply, the relief nearly overwhelming, but he doesn’t waste a second. He leans down and quickly works on the ropes binding his ankles.

Once his feet are free, he springs from the chair, adrenaline surging through his veins.

He turns to Simone first, dropping to his knees beside her. “Hold still,” he whispers, his fingers working quickly to untie her bindings.

Her wrists and ankles are free in seconds, and she scrambles to her feet, her movements frantic but determined. Together, they move to Dante, working on his ropes as fast as they can.

Trey’s hands are shaking now, his fingers fumbling with the knots, but Simone picks up the slack. They’re almost there—Dante’s wrists and chest are free, and they’re just about to untie his ankles—when the basement door creaks open at the top of the stairs.

“Shit!” Dante hisses, freezing in place.

Trey and Simone don’t stop. Their hands fly over the remaining knots, working frantically as the sound of footsteps grows louder, slow and deliberate.

The door at the bottom of the stairs swings open.

The light clicks on, flooding the basement with harsh brightness.

Mrs. Pearl stands at the threshold, her hair disheveled, her eyes wide and frazzled. She takes in the scene—Trey and Simone crouched over Dante, the ropes scattered on the floor—and her face twists into a mask of rage and disbelief.

“What the hell?” she spits, her voice trembling with fury.

Before any of them can move, she raises the revolver, pointing it directly at them.

The three freeze, their breaths caught in their throats.

Mrs. Pearl’s hand is steady, her finger hovering over the trigger. The room is silent except for the sound of their breathing, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Chapter 31

Mrs. Pearl keeps the gun leveled at them, her hands steady despite the wild, unhinged look in her eyes. Her chest heaves with every breath, her face twisted with a mixture of fear and rage.

Trey lifts his hands slowly, his voice calm but edged with desperation. “Mrs. Pearl, please. You have to let us go.”

Her eyes snap to him, burning with anger. “Shut the hell up!” she snaps, her voice breaking. “You betrayed me.”

Her body seems to sag under the weight of her emotions, her shoulders slumping as tears spill down her cheeks. The gun doesn’t waver, but her resolve falters for just a moment. “How could you do this to me?” she sobs. “After everything I’ve done for you. I took care of you, and this is how you repay me?”

It’s clear she’s unraveling, her mind fraying at the edges. Trey steps forward slightly, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Mrs. Pearl, I’m so sorry. We all are,” he says gently. “If you just put the gun down, we can talk this out. We can figure something out together.”

Her sobbing stops abruptly, her face hardening. “No,” she bellows, her voice echoing off the basement walls. “No, it’s too late for that. The police are coming. I have to get rid of you.”

Trey’s heart drops at her words, a cold chill running down his spine.

Mrs. Pearl’s gaze sweeps over the three of them, her lips trembling. “I have to get rid of all of you,” she says, her voice hollow but resolute.

“Mrs. Pearl, that’s not necessary,” Trey says quickly, his voice shaking.

Dante chimes in, his tone firm but pleading. “We won’t say anything to the police. I swear.”

Mrs. Pearl’s eyes snap to him, and she takes a step closer, cocking the gun in his direction. “You think I’m stupid?” she spits. “The moment I let you go, you and that hussy are going to go squealing to the cops. I won’t let that happen!”

Simone stiffens at the insult, but Dante shoots her a warning look, silently begging her to stay quiet.

“What about Richie?” Trey blurts, grasping for anything that might reach her. “If you get rid of us and the police find out, they’ll lock you up. How will you see your son then?”

For a moment, there’s silence. The question seems to hang in the air, and Trey holds his breath, hoping against hope that it will be enough to make her reconsider.

But then Mrs. Pearl’s face twists with fury, and she screams, her voice reaching an unnatural, piercing octave. “Shut the hell up!”

Trey flinches at the outburst but forces himself to stay calm. “Mrs. Pearl, your son wouldn’t—”

“My son is dead!” she screams, cutting him off.

The words slam into the room like a physical blow. All three of them freeze, their eyes wide with shock.

“What?” Trey whispers, his voice barely audible. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Mrs. Pearl’s grip on the gun tightens, but her arm begins to tremble. Her rage seems to drain from her body, replaced by a deep, aching sorrow. She looks at Trey, her expression hollow.

“Richie is dead,” she says quietly, her voice breaking. “He’s been gone for twenty-three years.”

The revelation lands like a bomb, the air in the basement growing heavy with the weight of her words. None of them speak, the silence stretching as they try to process what they’ve just heard.

Mrs. Pearl stands there, the gun still in her hand, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Tears stream down her face as she stares at the floor, lost in her grief.

Chapter 32

Twenty-three years ago…

The house is filled with the warm scent of frying chicken and the faint hum of a laptop. A much younger Mrs. Pearl stands in the kitchen, her movements brisk as she stirs a pot of collard greens on the stove. Steam fogs up the small window above the sink, and the faint sound of children playing echoes from the street outside.

“Mommy, can I go outside and play?” Richie’s small voice chimes from the living room.

Mrs. Pearl glances over her shoulder. Richie, just four years old, stands by the couch, clutching his favorite red ball to his chest. His big, hopeful eyes sparkle with excitement.

She hesitates, her focus split between the stove and the open laptop on the counter. The screen glows with a list of her husband Albert’s emails, each one a thread she’s been unraveling for hours. She found out his password just the other day—a mix of their anniversary and his mother’s maiden name. He never thought she’d figure it out.

“Please, Mommy?” Richie pleads, rocking on his heels.

Mrs. Pearl sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Okay, baby, but stay right in the yard where I can see you.”

She moves to the front door and props it open, letting the cool breeze drift inside. The screen door stays closed, and she peers through it to the small front yard. It’s fenced in, the gate latched securely.

“There. Now you can play, but don’t go past the gate, you hear me?” she says, her tone firm.

“Yes, ma’am!” Richie chirps, already darting outside.

Mrs. Pearl watches him for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile as he tosses the ball into the air and catches it with clumsy hands. Then she returns to the kitchen, the scent of the cooking chicken drawing her back to the stove.

But her attention doesn’t linger on the food. The laptop screen beckons her like a siren’s call. She sits on the stool by the counter, her eyes scanning the emails Albert sent to his secretary.

The subject lines alone make her stomach churn:

Let’s Meet Tonight

Can’t Stop Thinking About You

Our Weekend Plans

Her pulse quickens, and she clicks on one of the emails. The words on the screen blur for a moment, but she forces herself to focus.

“I can’t wait to see you tonight. Pearl doesn’t suspect a thing. You’re the only one who understands me. I wish I could leave her already, but you know how she is…”

Her vision swims as she reads the lines over and over. The words cut like a knife, twisting deep into her chest.

Tears sting the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them away, her hand gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself.

“That bastard,” she whispers under her breath, her voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “After everything I’ve done for him…”

She clicks on another email, then another, each one confirming her worst fears. Every message is raw, intimate, and filled with promises Albert has no intention of staying with her.

Her breathing grows shallow, her mind racing. What is she supposed to do now? Confront him? Leave him? How could he do this to her? To their family?

Her thoughts are spiraling when she hears it—a loud, sickening crash from outside.

Her head snaps up, her heart slamming against her ribs.

“Richie?” she calls, her voice sharp with panic.

She bolts from the kitchen, nearly tripping over herself as she rushes to the front door.

Chapter 33

Pearl bursts through the front door, her heart pounding as she sprints onto the porch. Her eyes dart wildly across the yard, searching for Richie.

And then she sees him.

Her son’s small body is crumpled in the street just beyond the gate, his red ball rolling slowly to a stop a few feet away. The world seems to tilt as her gaze locks on the scene.

A man stands on the curb beside a dented car, his hands clutching his face. He’s crying, his voice raw and broken. “I’m sorry! Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see him—I was going too fast—I didn’t see him!”

The words barely register in Pearl’s mind. Her ears ring, drowning out everything except for the phantom echo of the crash—metal colliding, tires screeching, the sickening thud. It plays on a loop in her head, each repetition cutting deeper into her soul.

A neighbor rushes toward her, her voice urgent. “Pearl! I called the police—they’re on their way!” But Pearl doesn’t hear her.

The only thing she hears is the crash.

The only thing she sees is Richie, lying so still in the street, his little arms limp, his legs twisted unnaturally.

Her knees buckle, and she collapses to the ground with a force that jars her entire body. A guttural, animalistic scream tears from her throat, raw and unrelenting. It’s a sound of pure, unfiltered agony—the kind that makes everyone around her freeze, their hearts breaking for her.

Time seems to slow as she crawls toward the gate, her hands shaking so violently she can barely unlatch it. Her vision blurs with tears, but she forces herself forward, dragging herself toward Richie. Her baby.

“Richie!” she cries, her voice cracking. “Richie, baby, wake up! Please, wake up!”

But he doesn’t move.

The sound of sirens cuts through the air, growing louder with each passing second. Neighbors gather on their porches, some crying, others standing in stunned silence. The man who hit Richie is still sobbing, pacing in frantic circles by his car.

Pearl doesn’t notice any of it. She kneels in the street beside Richie, her trembling hands hovering over his tiny body. She doesn’t dare touch him, terrified of what she might feel—of what she already knows.

“Richie,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Please, baby. Please.”

The police arrive first, their cars screeching to a halt. Officers step out cautiously, their faces grim as they take in the scene. An ambulance pulls up moments later, paramedics rushing out with a stretcher.

Pearl doesn’t move. She doesn’t flinch when an officer kneels beside her, his voice gentle as he says, “Ma’am, we need you to step back.”

She doesn’t react when the paramedics begin working on Richie, their movements quick and efficient. She’s frozen, her body locked in place, her mind unable to process what’s happening.

Albert arrives minutes later, his car skidding to a stop at the end of the street. He jumps out, his tie askew, his face pale with panic. “Pearl?” he calls, running toward her. “Pearl, what happened? Where’s Richie?”

When he sees their son lying on the stretcher, his face crumples. “No,” he breathes, shaking his head. “No, no, no.”

Pearl finally snaps out of her trance, her head whipping toward him. Her grief twists into rage as she rises to her feet, trembling with fury.

“This is your fault!” she screams, her voice shrill and broken.

Albert stares at her, stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“This is your fault!” she shrieks again, shoving him with both hands. “If you hadn’t been out screwing your secretary—if you had been here—this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Pearl, stop—” Albert tries to grab her arms, but she pulls away, her sobs shaking her entire body.

“You should have been here!” she cries, her voice cracking. “You should have been here to watch him! I was trying to do everything—everything—and you—” Her words dissolve into incoherent sobs as she collapses against him, pounding weakly on his chest.

Albert holds her, his own tears streaming down his face. But his presence doesn’t comfort her. Nothing can.

As the paramedics load Richie’s lifeless body into the ambulance, Pearl’s world shatters completely. She knows, deep down, that she will never be the same.

Chapter 34

Present Day…

The basement is thick with emotion, Mrs. Pearl’s sobs filling the air as she recounts the devastating story of Richie’s death. Tears streak down her face, and even Trey, Simone, and Dante—despite their fear—feel the weight of her pain. Not a single person in the room is unaffected by her words.

But Trey knows they can’t let her grief trap them here. They have to get out of this basement.

“Mrs. Pearl,” Trey says gently, his voice steady but firm. “What you went through is unimaginable. I can’t even begin to describe how sorry we are to hear this, but this is not right. What you’re doing to us is not right.”

Mrs. Pearl crumbles further, her body shaking with sobs. “I know,” she croaks, her voice raw. “I know… but I have no choice.”

Those words send a chill down Trey’s spine.

“Mrs. Pearl,” Dante begins, taking a cautious step toward her.

Her head snaps up, her tear-streaked face hardening in an instant. The grief is still there, but now it’s joined by cold resolve. She raises the gun, pointing it directly at Dante.

“You. Tie him up,” she commands, nodding toward Trey.

“What?” Dante stammers, his eyes wide. “No, I’m not—”

“Do it, or I’ll shoot each of you right now!” Mrs. Pearl bellows, her voice trembling with fury. “I was going to do this the nice way, but you three have left me no choice. I’ll get rid of you… one by one.”

The gun wavers slightly in her hand, but her grip is firm. Dante glances at Trey, his face filled with regret, then back at the gun. He knows they have no choice.

“Fine,” Dante mutters reluctantly, his voice low.

He moves to Trey, who clenches his jaw but nods, silently telling Dante to do what he has to. Dante takes the ropes, his hands shaking, and begins tying Trey back to the chair. Mrs. Pearl keeps the gun trained on them, her eyes darting between Simone and Trey.

When Dante finishes, Mrs. Pearl’s eyes narrow. “Now tie up the hussy,” she snaps, gesturing toward Simone.

Simone glares at her, disgust etched into her features, but she knows better than to fight back. “Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath as Dante moves toward her.

“I’m sorry,” Dante whispers as he ties her wrists and ankles.

“It’s fine,” Simone replies softly, her voice devoid of emotion.

Once Simone is secured, Mrs. Pearl exhales deeply, her body visibly calming now that two of them are subdued. She lowers the gun slightly and gestures to Dante. “Good. Now I’ll do you.”

She steps forward, the gun steady in her hand as she approaches Dante.

But Dante makes a split-second decision. As soon as she’s close enough, he lunges for the gun.

“Dante, no!” Trey shouts, his voice echoing in the confined space.

Dante and Mrs. Pearl grapple for control of the weapon, their bodies twisting and shoving against each other. The gun goes off with a deafening crack, the bullet ricocheting off the wall and nearly hitting Trey.

“Shit!” Trey yells, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

The struggle intensifies. Mrs. Pearl’s grip is surprisingly strong, her desperation giving her unnatural strength. Dante fights with everything he has, his teeth gritted as he tries to wrench the gun from her hands.

Their scuffle carries them across the basement until Dante trips backward over the chair he had been tied to earlier. He and Mrs. Pearl crash into the wall with a sickening thud, the impact sending cracks spidering through the drywall.

Then, with a loud crunch, the wall gives way, revealing a hidden room.

Everyone freezes for a moment, wide-eyed and breathless. Trey’s heart pounds as he stares at the gaping hole in the wall, shadows spilling out from the secret space.

But Dante doesn’t stop. He wrestles the gun from Mrs. Pearl’s grip, finally ripping it free. He shoves her off him roughly, but it’s not hard to do. She’s no longer fighting. Her face has gone pale, her eyes wide with fear as she stares into the newly revealed room.

Dante scrambles to his feet, aiming the gun at her. He pulls the trigger, but the weapon clicks uselessly. “Damn it!” he curses, realizing it’s jammed.

Without hesitation, he swings the pistol, striking Mrs. Pearl across the temple. She crumples to the floor, unconscious.

“Are you okay?” Trey asks, his voice tight with urgency.

Dante doesn’t answer. He’s already rushing to Simone, untying her as fast as his shaking hands will allow. She jumps up as soon as she’s free, and together they hurry to Trey, undoing his bindings.

“What the hell is that?” Simone asks, her gaze locked on the secret room.

The three of them stand together, staring into the shadowy space. The room is small and dimly lit, but one thing immediately catches their attention: a deep freezer plugged into the wall.

“It’s running,” Simone says, her voice trembling.

She steps forward, her hand hovering over the freezer’s lid.

“Simone, don’t,” Trey warns, but she doesn’t listen.

With a deep breath, she grabs the handle and yanks it open. Cold air billows out, and for a moment, the contents are obscured by frost.

Then she sees it.

Simone lets out a bloodcurdling scream, stumbling back and nearly falling.

Chapter 35

Mrs. Pearl lies motionless on the basement floor, her chest rising and falling faintly with each labored breath. Dante and Trey exchange a nervous glance before creeping toward the deep freezer, drawn by the sheer terror in Simone’s scream.

Dante hesitates, his hand trembling as he lifts the lid just enough to peek inside. Trey stands beside him, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he can barely hear anything else.

When they see what’s inside, both men immediately wish they hadn’t.

The body is wrapped tightly in plastic, the frosted layers clinging to the pale, lifeless flesh. The face is frozen in an unnatural stillness, its blank, staring expression sending a cold rush of dread through them both.

Trey’s stomach flips as recognition sets in. “Oh my God,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “It’s him. It’s Albert.”

Dante jerks his head toward him, confused. “What?”

Trey swallows hard, his throat tight. “That’s Richie’s father. That’s her husband. I saw his photos on the wall upstairs. It’s him.”

Dante stares into the freezer again, his face contorting with disgust and horror. “What the fuck? This is sick!”

Trey can’t hold it in any longer. He doubles over, retching violently onto the basement floor, his body shaking with revulsion.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Simone says, her voice sharp and filled with urgency.

She bolts for the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the confined space. Dante slams the freezer lid shut and grabs Trey by the arm. “Come on, man!”

Trey nods weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as they follow Simone. They don’t spare another glance at Mrs. Pearl, who remains sprawled on the floor, unconscious and oblivious.

Simone reaches the door at the bottom of the stairs first, throwing it open and stepping through. As soon as Trey and Dante are out, she slams the door shut and quickly slides the bolt into place, locking it from the outside.

“Let’s see what the bitch does with that!” she spits, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and adrenaline.

Trey and Dante don’t argue. They race up the stairs behind her, their legs burning as they climb as fast as they can. When they reach the top, Simone slams the door shut behind them and locks it too, twisting the key with a satisfying click.

The three of them stumble into the living room, their breath coming in ragged gasps. On the table, their phones sit untouched.

Simone snatches hers up first, her fingers shaking as she powers it on. Dante and Trey do the same, fumbling with their devices as they wait for them to boot up.

“Hurry,” Trey urges, his voice tight with panic.

The moment Simone’s phone lights up, she dials 911, her thumb pressing the screen so hard it hurts. She paces the room, her free hand clenched into a fist as the line connects.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Simone doesn’t hesitate. “We’ve been kidnapped!” she blurts, her voice trembling. “We’re at 1423 Maplewood Lane—there’s a woman here, she—she tied us up in her basement, and—and there’s a body in the freezer. Please, you have to send someone right now!”

The operator’s voice is calm but firm. “Ma’am, I need you to stay on the line. Are you safe right now?”

Simone glances at the locked basement door, then at Trey and Dante, who are both standing guard near the front door. “Yes, we’re safe for now, but you have to hurry. She’s still in the basement, but she could wake up any second.”

“We’re dispatching officers to your location right now. Stay on the line with me.”

Simone nods, even though the operator can’t see her. “Okay. Okay, thank you.”

The three of them huddle together in the living room, the weight of what they’ve just experienced pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket. Trey glances at the basement door, his heart still racing.

“This is fucking crazy,” Dante repeats, over and over again, as he paces the floor.

Trey remains silent, transfixed by what he saw in the deep freezer.

The sound of distant sirens begins to grow louder, cutting through the tense silence. Relief washes over them all, but none of them dare to relax just yet.

Simone keeps the phone pressed to her ear, her voice steady as she answers the operator’s questions and recounts everything that’s happened.

“Our phones were on the table,” she says, pacing again. “She must’ve left them there after she dragged us down to the basement. I don’t know why, but thank God she did.”

The sirens grow louder still, and Trey moves to the window, peering out through the blinds. Red and blue lights flash in the distance, growing closer with each passing second.

“They’re here,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Simone exhales shakily, tears welling in her eyes as the adrenaline begins to wear off. “Thank God,” she whispers.

Chapter 36

Twenty-three years ago…

The house is cloaked in silence, the kind that feels heavy and suffocating. The curtains are drawn, and the air is thick with the lingering scent of Richie’s absence—his favorite cereal still sitting in the pantry, his toys untouched in the corner. The grief is unbearable, but for Pearl, it’s not the grief that’s breaking her.

It’s Albert.

She sits at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her, the glow of the screen casting shadows on her face. Her eyes are bloodshot from sleepless nights, but they are sharp, locked on the emails filling her husband’s inbox.

Subject: Looking forward to seeing you tonight.

Subject: I miss you.

Subject: She’ll never know.

Her fingers grip the edge of the table. Her mind races, her thoughts fractured and fragmented, teetering on the edge of reason.

Albert’s affair with his secretary had been a secret until Pearl cracked it open like an egg, reading every damning email, every disgusting detail of his betrayal. She had confronted him weeks ago, after Richie’s funeral, spinning a lie about finding lipstick on one of his collars. She had expected him to deny it, but instead, he admitted everything.

“I’ll change,” he had promised, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “I’ll fix this. I’ll be better—for us, for Richie.”

But Richie was gone. And Albert was still lying.

Even now, barely a month after they buried their son, Albert is still seeing his secretary. Still writing her love notes. Still planning their future—without Pearl.

Her eyes scroll over the latest email thread.

“I can’t wait to get away from her. She makes me sick.”

“Just a little longer, and we’ll be together. I’ll file for divorce next week.”

“Start packing, baby. We’ll leave tomorrow night.”

Pearl’s breathing grows shallow, her vision blurring with tears. Her fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard, but she doesn’t type anything. She doesn’t need to. She already knows what she has to do.

Albert is planning to leave her. He’s going to walk out of this house and run off with that woman, leaving Pearl behind to rot in her grief, as if she and Richie never mattered.

But not if Pearl can help it.

***

A few weeks later, the house is dark and silent. Pearl lays in bed, pretending to be asleep as Albert stealthily rises and slowly opens the closet door to grab the suitcase from the back of the closet that he didn’t think she knew he was packing. She continues her heavy breathing pattern so he won’t suspect she’s awake. Pretty soon, he creeps toward their bedroom door then walks down the hallway toward the front door. Dirty bastard. He didn’t even bother to kiss her goodbye.

Albert reaches the front door, setting the suitcase down as he carefully unlocks it.

“Going somewhere?” Pearl’s voice cuts through the darkness like a knife.

Albert freezes, his hand on the doorknob. He turns slowly, his shock-filled features evident even in the dim light. “Pearl,” he says, forcing a smile. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

She stands, the pan heavy in her hand. “You weren’t planning to wake me at all, were you?”

Albert swallows hard, his eyes darting toward the door. “Look, I can explain—”

But Pearl doesn’t let him finish. She steps forward and swings the pan with all her might, the weight of her grief and rage driving it into his head.

The sound is sickening—a dull, wet thud as Albert’s head smacks against the door then he crumples to the floor.

Pearl stares down at him, her chest heaving. Her hands tremble, but the damage is done. She bends down to check his pulse but there is none. From the blood trickling out of his left ear, plus the fact that she doesn’t hear a pulse for five minutes, she knows he’s gone.

For a moment, Pearl just sits there, her breathing ragged, rocking back and forth as the pan slips from her fingers. Her mind is eerily calm, as if the storm inside her has finally quieted.

She knows what she has to do next.

The basement is cold and dimly lit as Pearl drags Albert’s body down the stairs, her muscles screaming with the effort. She doesn’t let herself think about what she’s doing—about the fact that she’s hauling her husband’s lifeless body across the floor like a sack of garbage.

She opens the deep freezer she bought just last week, its pristine interior waiting to hide her secret.

Slowly but surely, she wraps Albert’s body in the plastic then uses all her strength to hoist him into the freezer. His body lands at an unnatural angle with his face pointing upward. She can’t bear to look at him a second longer, so she slams the door shut.

Tomorrow, she will begin building the wall.

Albert is gone now, just like he wanted.

And no one will ever find him.

Chapter 37

Things move at lightning speed for Pearl after Albert’s death. By morning, she’s already rehearsed her story a dozen times in her head, every detail ironed out. Her face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed—partly from lack of sleep, partly from the tears she forces herself to summon.

She calls the police just after sunrise, her voice trembling with carefully constructed fear.

“My husband,” she says, her voice cracking. “He’s gone. He just… he just left. I don’t know where he went.”

The officer on the other end of the line asks her a series of routine questions. When did she last see him? Was there any indication he might leave? Did they have marital problems?

Pearl answers everything calmly, her words flowing like water. She says Albert was distant after Richie’s death but claims she thought they were working through it. She pretends to be shocked when she learns that Albert withdrew a large sum of money before his disappearance. “I didn’t even know,” she whispers, her voice hollow. “I thought we were trying to heal, but—oh God, he must’ve been planning this for a while.”

Over the next few weeks, the police dig into Albert’s life. They find his emails and uncover his affair with the secretary, as well as his plans to leave Pearl. The discovery of a $50,000 transfer to the secretary’s account cements her as the prime suspect.

The secretary denies everything. She insists she didn’t know Albert was transferring the money and claims she thought he was just being generous. There’s no evidence to tie her to foul play, but the police focus their attention on her anyway. Pearl watches it all unfold from the sidelines, carefully maintaining her role as the grieving widow.

Albert’s case eventually goes cold. No body. No evidence. No suspects.

Pearl got away with murder.

But she can’t escape her mind.

***

In the months after Albert’s murder, Pearl begins to unravel. The house feels emptier than ever, the silence pressing down on her like a weight she can’t shake. She spends her days cleaning obsessively, scrubbing the floors until her hands ache, rearranging Richie’s room exactly as it was when he was alive.

One day, while she’s dusting Richie’s bookshelf, she hears it.

“Mommy.”

She freezes, her heart pounding in her chest. The voice is faint, soft, like a whisper carried on the wind. She turns slowly, her eyes scanning the room. There’s no one there.

“Richie?” she whispers, her voice trembling.

There’s no response.

But that night, she dreams of him. He’s standing at the foot of her bed, his small face glowing with the innocence and warmth she remembers so vividly. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with those wide, trusting eyes.

When she wakes up, she feels a strange sense of peace—until she hears his voice again.

“Mommy, I’m here.”

At first, the voice comes only when she’s alone in the house. But then she begins to see him, just out of the corner of her eye. A small brown body darting around a corner. A tiny hand reaching for her as she turns.

Pearl doesn’t tell anyone. She can’t. If she does, they’ll think she’s crazy. Worse, they might try to take Richie from her again.

As the years pass, Richie’s presence becomes a part of her daily life. She doesn’t just hear him anymore—she speaks to him, and in her fractured mind, he speaks back.

“Mommy, I missed you,” he says one evening as she sits alone in the living room.

“I missed you too, baby,” she whispers, tears streaming down her face.

The conversations grow more elaborate. Pearl stops questioning whether Richie is real. She doesn’t want to.

One day, she buys a prepaid phone and programs it with a number she pretends belongs to Richie. She sends text messages to herself, imagining Richie’s responses.

Pearl: I love you, baby.

Richie: I love you too, Mommy.

The texts aren’t enough. Pearl creates an email account for Richie and starts sending messages back and forth to herself. She pours her heart into every word, telling Richie about her day, asking him about his. She reads his imagined replies with a smile, her heart swelling with joy.

And then the phone calls begin.

The first time it happens, she’s sitting in the kitchen, staring at the phone. She dials her own number, waits for her voicemail to pick up, and records a message in a soft, childlike voice.

“Hi, Mommy. I love you.”

She plays it back over and over, tears streaming down her face.

The calls become a regular occurrence. Pearl’s mind splits further, one part of her knowing this isn’t real, the other part clinging desperately to the illusion. She answers the phone every time.

“I love you too, Richie,” she says, her voice filled with tenderness.

For a while, this is enough.

Years pass, and Pearl’s world remains carefully constructed, her secret life with Richie hidden from everyone.

But then Trey moves into the house next door.

At first, Trey’s presence doesn’t bother her. He’s polite, keeps to himself, and it doesn’t hurt that he looks just like her baby. But then Pearl sees her.

The skank.

Pearl watches from her window as the young woman visits Trey’s house. She sees the way the girl laughs, the way she touches Trey’s arm. Something inside Pearl snaps.

“She’s going to take him away too, Mommy,” Richie whispers one night.

Pearl clenches her fists, her eyes narrowing.

“No,” she says aloud, her voice cold and sharp. “She won’t.”

Chapter 38

Present day…

The flashing red and blue lights cast eerie shadows across Mrs. Pearl’s house as Trey, Simone, and Dante anxiously lead the police inside. Trey’s hands are still shaking, his adrenaline barely subsiding, while Simone clutches her phone tightly. Dante keeps glancing back at the basement door, his jaw tight and his eyes darting nervously.

“She kidnapped us,” Trey says, his voice uneven as he speaks to the lead officer. “She tied us up in the basement. We only just got out.”

Simone cuts in, her voice sharp. “She’s insane! She was talking about her son like he was still alive and—God, you have to get her out of here.”

The officer nods, motioning for his team to move. “Where is she now?”

“She’s still down there,” Trey says, pointing toward the basement door. “We locked her in after Dante knocked her out with the gun she was using to threaten us.”

The officer’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Alright. You three, come with me.” He gestures toward the front door. “Let’s get you outside, and the paramedics will check you out. We’ll handle this.”

Trey hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking back to the basement door. “You’re sure? She’s dangerous. She—”

“We’ll take care of it,” the officer assures him.

Reluctantly, Trey follows Simone and Dante out of the house. The cool night air greets them as they step onto the lawn, where ambulances and more officers are waiting. The paramedics immediately usher them toward the back of an ambulance, checking their vitals and offering blankets.

Simone sits on the edge of the ambulance, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else.

Dante paces back and forth, his fists clenched. “She better be in cuffs when they bring her out. After everything she’s done—”

“She will be,” Trey says, though his voice is filled with doubt.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as they wait. The occasional crackle of police radios fills the air, but the basement door remains closed.

“What’s taking so long?” Simone asks, her voice rising with frustration.

Trey shakes his head, glancing nervously at the house. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re being careful? I mean, she could still be armed.”

Dante stops pacing and looks toward the house. “They should’ve brought her out by now.”

Finally, the front door swings open, and two officers emerge. But Mrs. Pearl is not with them.

Trey, Simone, and Dante exchange confused glances, their hearts sinking.

The lead officer approaches them, his expression grim. “She’s not there,” he says bluntly.

Simone bolts to her feet. “What do you mean she’s not there? We locked her in! She was unconscious on the floor!”

“There’s another door,” the officer explains, his tone measured. “A hidden one at the far end of the basement. It blends in so well with the wall, you wouldn’t know it’s there unless you were looking for it. It leads to the woods behind the house.”

Trey’s stomach drops. “What? Are you serious?”

Dante’s voice is sharp with disbelief. “You’re telling me this crazy woman just waltzed out through some secret door?”

The officer nods, his jaw tight. “It looks like it. We’ve started a search in the surrounding area, but she could be anywhere by now.”

Simone throws her hands up in the air, her voice rising with anger. “Unbelievable! She’s out there, and she’s going to hurt someone else! How could you let this happen?”

The officer’s expression hardens. “Ma’am, we’re doing everything we can. I need the three of you to stay calm and cooperate. We’ll need your statements, and we’ll have officers stationed here in case she tries to come back.”

“Come back?” Trey blurts, horrified by the thought. “Why would she come back?”

“From what you shared with us, she’s deeply tied to this house,” the officer explains. “It’s possible she might return. But we’re not taking any chances.”

Simone shakes her head, her voice filled with fear and disbelief. “No. She’s gone—and now she’s out there, God knows where. She could be watching us right now!”

Trey places a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her, though his own fear is written all over his face. He turns back to the officer. “What happens now?”

“We’ll alert the public and widen the search,” the officer replies. “But for now, I suggest you leave this area. Stay somewhere safe.”

Dante clenches his fists, his frustration boiling over. “She’s out there, and you don’t even know where to start looking.”

The officer doesn’t reply, but his silence says enough.

As the police continue their search inside the house and in the surrounding woods, Trey, Simone, and Dante huddle together near the ambulance, their fear etched across their faces.

“She’s gone,” Trey says quietly, his voice hollow. “She got away.”

Chapter 39

The story of Trey, Simone, and Dante’s harrowing ordeal spreads like wildfire. Within days, news outlets across the country are covering the bizarre tale of three young adults kidnapped and held captive by an elderly woman. The headlines are sensational:

“Grandma Gone Mad: The Sinister Secrets of Mrs. Pearl”

“Fit and Frightening: How One Elderly Woman Terrorized Three Victims”

“Survivors Speak Out: The Basement Horror of Maplewood Lane”

Trey and Dante try to avoid the spotlight, but the media doesn’t let up. Their phones ring constantly, and reporters camp outside their homes. Every article paints them in the same humiliating light: grown men overpowered by an older woman.

“She was fit for her age,” one article quips, “but even so, how could two able-bodied men end up tied up in her basement?”

The public is merciless. Social media is flooded with memes mocking Trey and Dante, portraying them as bumbling fools.

Trey throws his phone across the room one night, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I can’t do this,” he mutters to himself. “I can’t be the guy who got kidnapped by a grandma.”

Dante avoids social media altogether, burying himself in work to distract from the shame.

Simone, however, takes a different approach. She steps into the spotlight, giving interviews to every outlet that calls. Her calm demeanor and vivid recounting of their ordeal captivate the public. She becomes a symbol of resilience, her image splashed across TV screens and magazine covers.

“She’s a survivor,” one anchor says during a primetime broadcast. “Simone’s courage in the face of unimaginable terror is an inspiration to women everywhere.”

But the spotlight comes with its own challenges. Simone feels the strain of being the face of their survival while Trey and Dante retreat into the shadows.

“They’re embarrassed,” she admits during an interview. “I get it. But what happened to us wasn’t about strength or weakness. Mrs. Pearl… she wasn’t normal. She was dangerous, and none of us saw it coming.”

Still, the public perception remains divided. Simone is hailed as a heroine, while Trey and Dante are dismissed as weak men with no guts.

***

Meanwhile, the police dig deeper into Mrs. Pearl’s life. The discovery of her tablet, journals, and the prepaid phone she used to “talk” to Richie paints a chilling picture of her fractured mind.

Through her journals, they piece together the story of Albert’s affair with his secretary, Bernadine—and it’s there that they uncover the bombshell revelation: Albert fathered a child with Bernadine. That child grew up to be Simone’s mother.

When the police confront Simone with the truth, she is stunned.

“That… that can’t be right,” she stammers, her voice trembling. “You’re saying Albert was my…”

“Your biological grandfather,” the detective confirms. “Which makes Mrs. Pearl your step-grandmother.”

Simone’s mind reels. The hatred Mrs. Pearl harbored for her suddenly makes sense. She wasn’t just some random young woman Pearl despised—she was a living reminder of Albert’s betrayal.

All the pieces fall into place: Pearl’s obsession with Richie, her only biological son, and her inability to move past his death. Pearl’s hatred for Albert’s affair and the child born from it. Her animosity toward Simone, the granddaughter of the woman Pearl despised most in the world.

Simone sits in stunned silence, her hands trembling as she processes the revelation. “All this time,” she whispers. “She hated me, and I didn’t even know why.”

The discovery sends shockwaves through the group. Dante and Trey are equally shaken when Simone tells them.

“So all of this…” Trey says, his voice low. “It wasn’t random.”

“No,” Simone replies bitterly. “She wanted to punish me for something that happened decades before I was even born.”

“She was out of her mind,” Dante says, shaking his head. “None of this is on you, Simone. Pearl was just… broken.”

Simone nods, but the weight of the revelation lingers.

***

In the months that follow, the three of them begin the long process of recovery.

Trey starts therapy, finally confronting the shame and helplessness he’s felt since their captivity. The memes and public ridicule still sting, but he’s learning to let go of the fear of judgment.

Dante reconnects with his family, finding comfort in their support. He spends more time with his younger siblings, determined to be a stronger, more present role model.

Simone, meanwhile, continues to navigate the aftermath of the media storm. She steps back from public appearances, focusing instead on healing in private. The revelation about her family haunts her, but she channels her emotions into journaling and therapy, determined not to let Pearl’s hatred define her.

The three of them remain close, bonded by their shared trauma. They meet regularly, offering each other support as they try to move forward.

As for Mrs. Pearl, she remains at large. The police continue their search, but her trail grows colder by the day. Some believe she fled the state; others think she’s hiding in plain sight.

Simone dreams of her sometimes—dreams of the basement, of Pearl’s piercing eyes and the eerie way she spoke about Richie. She wakes up in a cold sweat, her heart racing.

But in those moments, she reminds herself of the truth: she survived. They all did.

And no matter where Mrs. Pearl is, Simone refuses to let her win.

Chapter 40

A year has passed, and life is beginning to feel normal again for Simone, Trey, and Dante, even though Mrs. Pearl is still out there somewhere. The fear that once haunted them—the constant glances over their shoulders, the second-guessing of every shadow—has faded. The world assumes Mrs. Pearl has vanished for good.

Simone’s life has transformed the most. The book deal she signed last year became a bestseller, The Basement Nightmare, and the subsequent movie adaptation has made her a household name. She plays a small role in the documentary about Mrs. Pearl’s life, portraying herself in scenes that detail the horrifying captivity. She handles the press with grace, her confidence growing with every interview.

Trey and Dante were offered roles in the documentary too, but they both declined. “I’m not reliving that,” Dante said firmly when producers called. Trey felt the same—he wanted to support Simone from the sidelines, not relive the humiliation of being tied up by a woman.

Dante has thrown himself into work, avoiding the spotlight entirely. He’s climbed the ranks at his job, focused on building a stable future for himself. If anyone asks about Mrs. Pearl, he brushes it off, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

Trey and Simone are still together, but their relationship is not quite the same. The trauma of their shared experience has left invisible scars, creating a distance between them that neither fully understands. They’ve started going to couples therapy, working to rebuild what they had before Mrs. Pearl tore their lives apart.

“She didn’t break us,” Simone says during one session, her voice steady. “She tried, but she didn’t.”

Trey nods, holding her hand. “We’re stronger than that.”

They are optimistic as they slowly find their way back to each other.

***

Mrs. Pearl’s house remains vacant, sitting like a ghost on the quiet street. No one seems to want it, not even after the price was slashed several times. Neighbors still speak of it in hushed tones, pointing it out to newcomers as the house where it happened.

***

One evening, Trey comes home after a long day at work. The late summer sun casts an orange glow over the street as he pulls into his driveway. He grabs the mail from the box, flipping through it on his way inside.

“Junk, junk, more junk,” he mutters, tossing circulars and credit card offers into the trash without a second glance.

Then he sees it: a plain white envelope with no return address.

He pauses, frowning. It’s thin, almost weightless, and there’s nothing written on the back. Figuring it’s just more junk mail, he’s about to toss it when a strange feeling stops him. On a whim, he tears it open.

Inside is a greeting card, its design simple—blue flowers against a white background. He opens it slowly, and his heart stops.

The message inside is handwritten in a neat, looping script:

“Dearest Richie,

Though we can’t be together anymore, you will forever live in my heart. With this letter, I release you to the world.

Love, your Momma, Pearl.”

Trey stares at the card, his breath catching in his throat. The words blur as panic sets in, and for a moment, he can’t move.

“Pearl,” he whispers, the name feeling like poison on his tongue.

He grabs his phone and dials the police, his hands trembling.

The police arrive quickly, taking the card into evidence. They promise to analyze it for fingerprints, DNA, or any clue that might reveal where it came from. Trey paces as they work, his mind racing.

“Why would she send this to me?” he asks one of the officers, his voice tight with fear.

“It’s possible she’s been watching you,” the officer replies. “But without more evidence, it’s hard to say.”

Days later, the results come in: no fingerprints, no DNA, no traceable location. The card is a dead end.

Trey is paranoid for weeks. Every knock at the door makes his heart race, every shadow feels like a threat. He checks the locks on his doors and windows obsessively, hardly able to sleep.

Simone tries to reassure him, but she’s shaken too. “She’s just trying to scare you,” she says one night as they sit on the couch, their hands intertwined. “She’s not coming back.”

Trey nods, but the fear doesn’t leave him.

Another year goes by, and Trey receives no further contact from Mrs. Pearl. The paranoia slowly fades, and life begins to feel normal again. He stops checking over his shoulder. The card becomes a distant memory, filed away in the back of his mind as just another strange chapter in the nightmare Pearl created.

He and Simone grow closer, their bond stronger than ever. Couples therapy helps them heal, and Trey finally feels like they’re back to the way they were before.

One crisp autumn evening, Trey gets down on one knee and asks Simone to marry him.

She laughs through tears as she says, “Yes.”

Their engagement is a bright light after a terrible darkness, and they begin planning their wedding with excitement and hope for the future.

For the first time in a long while, Trey feels like he can breathe again. Pearl is gone. She’s just a bad memory now.

Or so he thinks.

***

The late afternoon sun bathes the patio in a warm, golden glow as Mrs. Pearl sits back in her wicker chair, a glass of deep red wine in hand. The breeze carries the scent of salt from the nearby sea, rustling the lush greenery of her secluded Venezuelan hideaway. She takes a slow sip, savoring the sweetness, her eyes fixed on the untraceable tablet propped up before her.

On the screen, Trey and Simone are radiant, hand in hand, walking down the aisle as husband and wife. The crowd rises to their feet, cheering and tossing flower petals into the air. Simone’s dress glimmers in the sunlight, her smile wide and genuine. Trey looks at her as though she’s the only person in the world, his love evident in every step.

Mrs. Pearl’s lips curl in disgust. She swirls her wine lazily, the glass catching the light. “Fools,” she mutters under her breath.

Young people never learn, she muses. I told them to stop putting everything on social media for the world to see and now they gave me a full viewing of their wedding.

A click of a button, a few keystrokes, and a fake profile allow Mrs. Pearl to keep up with her Richie as much as she needs to. And no one is the wiser.

But now that he’s married that girl…

Mrs. Pearl can’t deny that Simone is beautiful in her white dress, but she’s got nothing on Pearl on her wedding day with Albert all those years ago, nor will she have anything on her in the near future.

The video ends with the happy couple disappearing into a sea of applause. The screen fades to black. Pearl sets her wine glass down and reaches for the tablet, her manicured nails tapping against the edge. With a calm decisiveness, she exits the video, her expression unreadable.

She turns to Bill, who stands nearby, his muscular arms crossed in silent observation. His shirt clings to his lean, toned frame, damp from the humid air. He steps forward as she holds the tablet out toward him.

“Burn it,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t want anything to do with them anymore.”

Bill furrows his brow, giving her a solemn look. “You sure, baby?”

Pearl’s lips part in a sweet, patient smile, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “Yes, honey. I’m sure.”

Bill nods, taking the tablet from her hands. “Whatever you say, love.”

She watches as he turns and walks away, his broad shoulders tense with purpose. Her gaze lingers on him, and a faint smile creeps back onto her face. Bill. Her plumber, her handyman, her confidant… and now, her lover.

It’s funny how life turns out, Pearl thinks, as her beau heads off to do her bidding. Pearl met Bill through his uncle Raymond – the man who helped her build the wall in her basement.

Pearl liked Raymond. He came when she asked, no questions, and not a peep from his lips when she asked where she could purchase a deep freezer. He even helped her carry it downstairs and placed it in the area behind where the wall would be. When time came for him to finish, he didn’t bat an eye at the fact that it was running. Nor did he dare look inside as Pearl watched him from her seated position as he built the wall around the appliance.

When Raymond retired, he passed his handyman business down to his nephew, Bill. When Pearl and Bill caught eyes, both of them knew they had something special. They started slow, but when Pearl realized Bill’s loyalty reached even further than his uncle’s, she knew she met her match. Every time she called, Bill came running… Even the night she flooded Trey’s kitchen. Bill showed up like a knight in shining armor, ready to take care of all her problems. It was he who helped her secure a false identity, helped her have a foolproof plan to get to Venezuela if everything went south. Once the dust settled, he moved out here with her, never breaking his stride.

Her eyes drift to the massive diamond on her left hand, the engagement ring he gave her just a few weeks ago. It sparkles in the sunlight, dazzling as she tilts her hand to admire it. Bill suits her perfectly. Thirty years her junior, yet he never once flinched at her age. Not when she first seduced him with her charm, not when she revealed her darkest secrets, and not as he stood by her through the final stages of her plan to rid herself of Trey and Simone forever.

She leans back in her chair, exhaling a contented sigh. Bill loves her. He completes her. He stood by her as she got Trey out of her system, and now, with that chapter of her life closed, she can finally move forward.

She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bill will keep her secrets. He’s the only man on this earth she trusts. And he will never betray her—not if he knows what’s good for him.

Bill returns sometime later, wiping his hands on a rag. The faint smell of smoke lingers on him as he steps onto the patio. “It’s done,” he says simply.

“Good,” Pearl replies, lifting her glass to her lips once more. She takes a long sip, her eyes glinting with satisfaction as she looks out at the serene ocean beyond their villa.

“Come here,” she says, beckoning him with a playful smile.

Bill grins, crossing the patio to stand beside her. He leans down, pressing a kiss to her cheek, and she tilts her head slightly, her hand resting on his arm.

“This is it,” she says softly, more to herself than to him. “This is all I ever wanted. Just you and me. No more distractions. No more ghosts.”

“No more ghosts,” Bill echoes, his voice low and steady.

Pearl closes her eyes for a moment, basking in the warmth of the moment. For the first time in years, she feels truly free. Trey and Simone are gone, nothing more than distant memories she’s left behind. All that matters now is the life she’s building with Bill.

Pearl smiles as she rests her head against his chest, her heart as light as the breeze that whispers through the villa.

She has everything she needs.

And she knows, deep down, that she will live happily ever after.

The End

I hope you enjoyed The Neighbor. Mrs. Pearl’s character was certainly a lot to unpack and I’m glad you engaged with her story.

What are your thoughts? I would love to hear from you. Share them in your review!

Want to read more from this series? Check out The Trainer: A Psychological Thriller

The enemy of my enemy is my friend...

Until next time,

Tanisha Stewart

Before you go…

If you enjoyed The Neighbor, I would absolutely love to hear your feedback. Please leave a rating or review commenting on your overall thoughts.

In addition, if you would like access to exclusive updates, giveaways, and more, join my email list at tanishastewartauthor.com/contact.

God bless you, and happy reading!

Tanisha Stewart

PS: If you would like to connect with me on social media, here’s where you can find me:

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Every Voice Ain’t From God: A Christian Romance Thriller

A psychological thriller with jaw-dropping twists and turns, and characters whose antics will leave you speechless… A story about love gone right, then wrong.

Zakari has known Nicole was the one since high school. He prays about whether their relationship is meant to be and receives confirmation one night during a church service. Zakari and Nicole are getting married!

Until she breaks up with him the next day.

Zakari plunges into a pit of despair, then Nicole reaches out and tells him they can be friends, maybe rekindle their relationship after college? Elated, Zakari agrees and bides his time until he and Nicole can be together again.

But Nicole gets engaged to another man, and Zakari doesn't understand.

He and Nicole are meant to be - she just needs to see it.

And her fiancé needs to be eliminated.

Every Voice Ain’t From God is a twisted and page-turning tale about a man who will stop at nothing to have his woman’s heart. Including murder.

Check it out here: Every Voice Ain’t From God: A Christian Romance Thriller

Messed With The Wrong One: An Urban Romance Thriller

We all do things we live to regret, but when you harm the wrong ones, you get what you get.

Junior cheated. Marlena is furious. She resolves to teach him a lesson. What starts as a simple act of revenge, however, quickly takes a dangerous turn.

While Marlena was busy getting back at Junior, someone else happened to be planning a revenge of her own against Marlena. The deadly kind.

Marlena finds herself in a race against time to no longer change her man. Now she has to save him. And herself.

Check it out here: Messed With The Wrong One: An Urban Romance Thriller

The Governor’s Wife

He was sent to do one job.

Get rid of the man the Governor's wife was sleeping with.
A single shot was fired, and the mission should have been accomplished.

Instead, he shot the wrong person.

And now there's a bounty on his head.

The Governor's Wife is a fast-paced action thriller about a man who had one mission, but failed, and unbeknownst to him, that failed mission would unfold a whirlwind of conspiracies, secrets, and lies.

Check it out here: The Governor’s Wife

Everybody Ain’t Your Friend: An Urban Romance Thriller

They say you should keep your friends close, and enemies closer, but sometimes reality might be the other way around...

Mia thinks her life is completely normal. She has a loving boyfriend, great and supportive friends, and a close relationship with her mother.

Things take an interesting turn, however, when she is almost run down by a car one day. Then come the messages from an untraceable number. Not to mention the heartbreaking secret that is revealed shortly thereafter.

Suddenly, everything that Mia thought was right in her life goes wrong. She has no idea why, but she needs to find out, before her secret stalker decides her time is up.

Check it out here: Everybody Ain’t Your Friend: An Urban Romance Thriller

Should Have Thought Twice: A Psychological Thriller

They say to always watch the quiet ones, because you never know when they might snap.

Shatina is a young woman with a troubled past and present. She lives in the shadows of her fraternal twin sister, who sucked up all the beauty genes, her best friend, whose seductive charm will sway any boy who listens, and her cousin, who is more than a knockout, but a force to be reckoned with.

Shatina feels like she has nothing going for her but her grades and her full scholarship to a four year institution of her choice… until someone comes along to threaten that.

Shatina has faced threats before, and little does anyone know, she has gained vindication over all of her enemies, one by one. Except this last one might be a bit more of a challenge than she bargained for.

Check it out here: Should Have Thought Twice: A Psychological Thriller

Not What It Seems: A Christian Romance Thriller

Sparks begin to fly between Priscilla and Raheem, but soon they will learn, all is not what it seems.

Priscilla moves across the country to escape a toxic ex who won’t let her go. Her mindset is healing, but within days of her arrival, she’s introduced to the sexiest man she’s ever laid eyes on: Raheem.

When Priscilla and Raheem's eyes meet, the chemistry is immediate. One would think they are a match made in heaven, and everything will go smoothly for them.

Wrong.

Because the closer Priscilla and Raheem get to one another, the more strange things begin to happen.

Sinister things.

What has Priscilla gotten herself into?

She’s locked into Raheem, and he wants her to stay, but as the song goes, jealousy is cruel as the grave… (Song of Solomon 8:6).

Check it out here: Not What It Seems: A Christian Romance Thriller

Clean Up Woman

What happens when dreams turn deadly?

Yana is a workaholic. She has noble aspirations but isn’t taking care of home. Meanwhile, Sasha, her new nanny, is more than ready to step in. Sasha and Yana’s husband, Shawn, get closer, arousing suspicion by Yana.

But there’s more to this nanny than meets the eye. More than what Yana bargained for.

Clean Up Woman is a gripping suspense thriller with jaw-dropping twists and turns you won’t see coming.

Check it out here: Clean Up Woman

Caught Up With The ‘Rona: An Urban Sci Fi Thriller

Cordell's luck could not be any worse. A young black man, a full-time student, doing his best to give back to his community by serving as a substitute teacher, only to receive an email which stated that his job would be suspended for the next three weeks due to the Coronavirus.

Frustrated about the situation, he vents to his lifelong friend, Jerone. Shortly after their conversation begins, they are approached by Markellis, a neighborhood hustler who always tries to sell Cordell and Jerone on his get-rich-quick schemes...

But this one is different. Cordell is pressed for cash, so he convinces Jerone to go along with Markellis' proposal.

No sooner than they say yes, Cordell and Jerone are swept up in an almost unspeakable conspiracy, with less than three weeks to turn it around...

Only it's much more than just Cordell and Jerone's lives that are at stake.

Check it out here: Caught Up With The ‘Rona: An Urban Sci Fi Thriller

December 21st: An Urban Supernatural Suspense

Flick is a regular guy, living a regular life, then the night of Thanksgiving came.

It all started with a conversation he had with his cousin Bru that got a little heated.

Tensions rose, but things calmed down when he went to his mother’s house for the family dinner.

Little did he know, that’s when his life would begin to shift in a direction that he never expected.

December 21st, Saturn and Jupiter aligning, competing belief systems… what did it all mean?
Nothing, Flick thought.
Until the first event.
Then the second.

Follow Flick’s journey in this Urban Supernatural Suspense as he tries to figure out exactly what’s going on.

Is he losing his mind?

Or does everything that is happening have a deeper meaning?

Check it out here: December 21st: An Urban Supernatural Suspense

Where. Is. Haseem?! A Romantic-Suspense Comedy

Ever been ghosted??

Well, Stephanie has, and it doesn't feel good.

After a series of mishaps in the love department, Stephanie meets Haseem. They seem to hit it off and the chemistry between them is steadily building. Until...

Haseem disappears.

Where did he go??
No one seems to know.
But Stephanie is determined to find out.

Follow this story of romance, suspense, and comedy as Stephanie tries to figure out how the man of her dreams could just vanish without a trace.

Check it out here: Where. Is. Haseem?! A Romantic-Suspense Comedy

Tanisha Stewart’s Thrillers

The Quiet Ones Series

Should Have Thought Twice: A Psychological Thriller

Fooled Me Once: A Psychological Thriller

Never Saw Me Coming: A Psychological Thriller

Reap What You Sow: A Psychological Thriller

Surprise Surprise: A Psychological Thriller

The Enemy You Know: A Psychological Thriller

The Love Conquers All Series

A Praying Wife vs A Preying Woman

A Praying Husband Versus A Preying Man

The Red Series

The Deadbeat: A Psychological Thriller

The Student: A Psychological Thriller

The Patient: A Psychological Thriller

The Bridesmaid: A Psychological Thriller

The Hitchhiker: A Psychological Thriller

The Babysitter: A Psychological Thriller

The Neighbor: A Psychological Thriller

The Trainer: A Psychological Thriller

The Dating App Horrors Series

The Perfect Profile, by Toni Larue’

Something About Kera, by Octavia Grant

Wish I Never Met Her, by Tanisha Stewart

Anything for Angel, by Kenya Moss-Dyme

The Deadliest Match, by Keira N. James

The Asylum Series

The Haunting Hour, by Toni Larue’

The Delinquent, by Tanisha Stewart

Mind Games, by Toni Larue’

The Journalist, by Tanisha Stewart

Standalones

Where. Is. Haseem?! A Romantic-Suspense Comedy

Caught Up With The ‘Rona: An Urban Sci-Fi Thriller

December 21st: An Urban Supernatural Suspense

Everybody Ain’t Your Friend: An Urban Romance Thriller

The Maintenance Man: A Twisted Urban Love Triangle Thriller

Not What It Seems: A Christian Romance Thriller

Vengeance Is Mine: A Psychological Thriller

Clean Up Woman

The Governor’s Wife