Lips Like Promises 💋✨

Chapter Twenty-Four - Borrowed Things

By Monday, the weekend haze had worn off, replaced by the buzz of reality. Tasia was due in the studio; Taraji had press obligations.

But even before she left the apartment, Tasia noticed the shift.

Taraji was quieter than usual, her phone practically glued to her hand, and when it buzzed, she always flipped it over before Tasia could see.

"Everything good?" Tasia asked, sliding on her shades by the door.

"Yeah," Taraji answered too quickly. Then she leaned over, kissed her cheek, and whispered, "Don't overthink it."

That was the thing—Tasia was overthinking it. Every glance, every pause, every half-smile that didn't quite reach Taraji's eyes.

By the time she hit the studio, she was a mess. And it didn't help that her phone lit up with a notification before she'd even unpacked her bag.

A headline.

"Alicia Speaks: 'Some Women Like Borrowed Things'"

Her blood ran cold.

The article wasn't long—just a few cryptic lines from Alicia in a red carpet interview, smiling sharp as she tossed out comments about "people playing house with what isn't theirs."

It didn't name names, but it didn't have to.

Within minutes, the blogs were eating it up. Side-by-side photos of Alicia and Taraji at past events. Screenshots of Tasia and Taraji leaving restaurants together. Comment sections lit with speculation.

Her chest tightened as she scrolled.

She wants me to see this, Tasia thought bitterly. She wants to get in my head.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was Taraji.

Taraji: Don't read that mess. Come to me after the studio.

Tasia stared at the message, her hands trembling slightly.

For the rest of the session, her voice cracked more than once. She couldn't focus, couldn't drown it out. Because the truth was, Alicia's words had already done what she intended—they'd found the crack in her confidence and wedged themselves deep.

Later that night, when she finally showed up at Taraji's, she didn't even make it past the entryway before blurting:

"She's trying to make me feel like you're not mine."

Taraji froze, then crossed the room in three strides, cupping Tasia's face in her hands. "Listen to me," she said firmly. "I'm not hers. I don't care what history we had, I don't care what stories she tells. I'm yours."

Tasia wanted to believe her. God, she did. But Alicia's shadow still lingered, whispering in the back of her mind.

She swallowed hard. "Then prove it. Not to me. To her. To everyone."

Taraji's eyes searched hers, something unspoken flickering there. Finally, she nodded once. "Say less."

And Tasia knew in that moment—the next move wouldn't be subtle.

It would be bold.

To be continued...