Page 61 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

That’s why I understood exactly what Milan was trying to do tonight.

She came over to weaken me.

Bring up old versions of myself. Old habits. Old failures.

My cocaine habit started five years ago, and ended two years ago, but people always made addiction sound simple when it wasn’t.

I wasn’t some strung-out junkie scratching my neck in alleys. I was functioning. Making millions. Getting degrees. Running businesses. Hitting the gym. Smiling in niggas faces while secretly doing lines in luxury bathrooms before meetings because I hadn’t slept in two days.

Success became an addiction before I even realized it.

Money did too.

Every time I hit another goal, the pressure got worse instead of better.

Another building.

Another investment.

Another accomplishment.

Another expectation.

The coke made me feel sharp back then. Untouchable. Like my mind could finally keep up with everything I was carrying.

Until one night it didn’t.

I still remember sitting in my office after finishing my last degree, staring at my reflection in the window at damn near three in the morning. Eyes red. Jaw flexing. Nose burning.

Still not happy.

Still not peaceful.

Still feeling empty after accomplishing everything I said I wanted.

That shit scared me enough to quit cold turkey.

Never touched it again after that night.

Not because I suddenly healed.

Because I realized addiction don’t leave. It just transfers.

Work.

Money.

Women.

Control.

All that shit became replacements.

I rode harder through the city while Milan’s words replayed in my head.

You want whatever version of yourself you think she sees.

I exhaled hard through my nose.