Page 90 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

Crazy.

Four years with Vaughn St. Clair just to get replaced by a damn interior designer with a soft voice, a tummy tuck, and “good morals.”

I poured more tequila in my glass and kept scrolling.

Black excellence. Real estate king. Good man. Boss.

I laughed hard as hell.

These people ain’t know that nigga.

Didn’t know what he looked like after being up for three days straight.

Didn’t know how many women he needed around him just to keep his mind busy.

They damn sure ain’t know how obsessed he got once something settled in his head.

I looked at the live button on Instagram for a second before clicking it.

Fuck it.

People started joining immediately.

The comments moved fast.

Where you been? You still with V Saint? You look pretty.

I leaned back on the couch with my drink in my hand and smiled at the camera.

“I know y’all probably confused why I’m on here,” I said casually. “I’m just bored, though.”

The comments kept moving.

One person asked if I was going to Vaughn’s birthday party at Club Gemini.

I laughed.

“That man don’t even like birthdays. Y’all celebrating somebody that probably wanna be left alone right now.”

That got people talking immediately.

I took another sip of tequila.

“Ain’t it funny how people make rich niggas seem healed just because they got money?”

More comments.

What happened? You being messy.

“I’m not being messy. I’m being honest. Everybody keep posting this polished businessman version of Vaughn. Y’all don’t know the infamous street nigga, V-Saint.”

I looked down at my nails before speaking again.

“That nigga used to do lines in his father’s penthouse bathrooms before meetings and go discuss business for hours.”

Comments exploded immediately.

She lying. No way. Coke??? Screen record this.