Page 231 of The Wright Man

"I'm telling y'all right now," Tina said, lifting her hand, "if Angie ever fumbles my brother in law, I will beat her with her own wig."

"Damn," I laughed. "Not the wig."

"And not just any wig," she continued. "That honey blonde curly unit you keep stashed for birthday weekends. I'll snatch it mid-style and whoop you with the lace."

The whole salon cracked up again.

But they weren't wrong. The other day, Maleek walked into Dana's Chair bringing me lunch I'd forgotten—fresh sushi and a coconut water because he "knew my ass would forget to eat"—he didn't even break stride. Just came in, kissed me like it was his house too, and said, "I gotta get back to the gym. Text me when you finally sit the hell down."

The room had gone silent.

Every last woman in there had blinked, turned to stone, and then combusted like a stack of dry kindling. Kia had literally fanned herself with a color chart. Alicia dropped a comb. Miss Reesie whispered, "Mmm. That's a man right there."

I took a long, unnecessary sip of my drink now, reliving it like it was a highlight reel.

"Listen," I said, cocking my head with a grin. "Say what y'all want. But my ex had me stressed, pressed, and depressed. Maleek got me fed, moisturized, and my legs shaking like a newborn deer."

Alicia dropped her tweezers. Tina straight-up howled. Miss Reesie slapped her thigh like she'd just heard a church solo.

I shrugged, unbothered. "Soft life, y'all. I recommend it."

And just like that, the cackling kicked back up again. But underneath the noise, the teasing, and the heat in my cheeks, I couldn't stop thinking it:

This was the happiest I'd ever been.

And then the damn door opened.

He looked out of place the second he stepped in. White and balding. Khakis too stiff. Button-up too wrinkled. Vibe too bland. A man with no real presence but a clipboard and a mission.

"Angelica Reed?"

I paused, blinked. "Yes?"

He held out the envelope like it was just another delivery. "You've been served."

Silence cracked through the room. Just like that.

I took the envelope slowly, fingers cold against the thick paper. My name typed neat and professional on the front. Like it wasn't about to rip open my entire day.

I shut the door gently behind me and sat down at my desk, the thick manila envelope still warm from the hand that delivered it. For a moment, I just stared at it. My heart wasn't racing—it was waiting. Like it already knew. Like my body had clocked the blow before my mind could process the swing.

He could've had this sent to my house. To my dad's. To literally anywhere else. But no—he wanted it dropped here, in my sanctuary, in front of my staff and my clients. He knew exactly what he was doing. That coward was still trying to get under my skin without ever having to face me.

I turned the envelope over in my hands, the edges stiff and sharp. My name was typed in bold, like a punchline. ANGELICA REED. I ran my thumb across it, slowly peeling it open.

I sat at my desk, took a breath, and opened it.

The moment I saw the words petition and ownership, my stomach sank.

Half.

He wanted half ownership of Dana's Chair.

My salon.

When I already didn't want shit from him.

Not the townhouse—he could have it. Not the car—Maleek had already been dropping hints about buying me something newer, something safer. Not even a whisper about alimony. I didn't want a damn thing that tied me to him or reminded me of his voice.