Hi, I’m Poetic Tate. I used to believe in fairy tales.

It wasn’t the kind of belief born of innocence or naivety, but the kind of faith that came from survival. Growing up on the south side of Atlanta, life had never been kind or easy to me. I’d seen more heartbreak before I turned eighteen than most people endured in a lifetime. My mother worked three jobs just to keep food in the fridge and to keep the lights on. My father disappeared when I was ten, leaving nothing but a fading photograph and a collection of broken promises. I learned early that love wasn’t something to count on, but rather something to chase after, to fight for—if you were lucky enough to find it at all.

Then I met Denim.

He wasn’t the type of man you’d bring home to a strict mother, but he was the type of man who made me feel alive in every sense of the word. Denim was charming, handsome, and full of fire. He had a sharp wit, a killer smile, and a confidence that felt magnetic. 

When I first saw him at a block party, leaning casually against his car with his arms crossed and a sly grin on his face, it was as though the world had tilted on its axis. He was trouble, no doubt about it, but he was the kind of trouble I craved. There was something about his muscular frame that was wrapped in Hershey chocolate skin that made me want to lick him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. The block party was crowded with men vying for my attention and women vying for his. One flash of his smile in my direction, and it was as if everyone disappeared. I didn’t even hear the thump of “Back that Azz Up” by Juvenile until his baritone was singing the words right in my ear.

“Girl you looks good, won’t you back that ass up. You’s a fine muherfucker won’t you back that ass up. Call me big daddy when you back that ass up.”

His body pressed against mine sent a heat rush directly to parts of me that it shouldn’t have. We were standing in the middle of a crowded party, but it didn’t matter. It was me and him, and that’s all. I wound my hips and shook my ass as fast as I could against him. I wasn’t a dancer by any means, but his cologne swirling around me was intoxicating and made me want to be up against him. He seemed to appreciate the effort as he snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. I didn’t think it was possible, but I allowed myself to melt into him even more than I already was. Demin’s lips brushed against my ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

“You got moves, but I bet you got more than that,”

I turned my head just enough to catch his eyes—dark, smoldering, and filled with a heat that made my pulse race.

“Depends on who’s asking,” I shot back, my tone coy but challenging.

I wasn’t one to give in easily, but there was something about the way he looked at me, like I was the only woman in the world. That made me want to forget all the rules.

He chuckled, a deep rich sound that made my stomach do flips, “Denim. And you?”

“Poetic,” I said, my name rolling off my tongue like a melody.

His eyebrows raised, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin, “Poetic? Sounds like trouble..”

I shrugged, letting a teasing smile dance across my lips, “Only if you can’t handle it.”

He stepped closer, his hand still resting firmly on my waist, “Oh, I can handle it. Question is, can you?”

I should’ve been wary, should’ve seen the red flags fluttering like banners in the wind. But the way his body moved against mine; the way his voice made me feel like I was the most desirable woman on the planet—I didn’t care. I wanted to lose myself in the heat of the moment, to forget the struggles and heartbreaks that had shaped me. For once, I wanted to feel wanted.

The song changed, but we didn’t stop moving. Denim’s hands wandered just enough to make my skin tingle; his touch electric. He leaned down, his lips grazing my temple as he whispered, “You wanna get outta here”

My breath hitched, and for a split second, I considered saying no. But the pull of him, the fire he ignited in me, was impossible to resist.

“Where to?” I asked, my voice was steady even though my heart was pounding.

He flashed that devilish smile again, the one that promised danger and delight in equal measure.

“Anywhere you want, Poetic. Anywhere, but here.”

And just like that, I let him take my hand and lead me away from the crowd, away from the music, away from the world. I didn’t know where the night would take us, but I knew one thing for damn sure: Denim was about to change my life, for better or for worse.

That seemed like ages ago even though it was only seven years ago. Seven years since Denim swept into my life like a storm, turning everything upside down and inside out.

Back then, I thought I’d found the kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind that could burn bright enough to chase away all the shadows. For a while, it felt like that—he was the answer to every question my heart had ever asked.

But now? Now, I wasn’t so sure.

​

 

Chapter One: Poetic

It’s been seven years since I first met Denim, and yet the man I see standing before me isn’t the same. He’s still the man who can make my pulse race with just a look, the one whose smile once made me believe in fairytales. But that man—the one who promised me forever, who said he was going to build us something bigger than this—has slowly faded into the shadows of a life I never signed up for.

    Now, we live in a huge house in the suburbs, the kind of place I once dreamed of, but I never thought I’d have. Marble floors, a backyard with a pool, the kind of luxury you see in magazines but never think you’ll own. And yet, every inch of it feels empty without Denim’s presence, without the man I fell in love with.

    When we first got married, it was like a dream. He would come home after his long shifts at the nightclub we owned—The Velvet Room—and we’d spend our evenings together. He’d hold me, kiss me, tell me everything was going to be okay. But that was then. Now, Denim’s late nights have become routine. He’s always at the club, never home when I need him, and I can feel the distance growing between us.

    I tried to ignore it, tried to convince myself that it was just a phase. After all, business was booming at The Velvet Room, and with that came pressure, stress, and long hours. I understood it. But there was something about the way he had been acting that didn’t sit right with me. He was distant, colder than he used to be. His eyes didn’t linger on me the way they once did, and when he did touch me, it felt almost mechanical like he was just going through the motions.    

    I couldn’t help but wonder. Is he cheating on me?

    It’s a thought I’d pushed away time and time again, but the nagging suspicion wouldn’t go away. Denim’s always been charming, a natural flirt, and I’ve seen the way the women at The Velvet Room looked at him. I’ve heard the whispers; the little things people would say when they thought I wasn’t listening. But I never had any concrete proof—just gut feelings and late-night doubts that crawled under my skin, making me second-guess every moment.

    Tonight was no different. Denim was late again, and the silence in our house was deafening. I sat at the kitchen island, nursing a glass of wine and scrolling through my phone, pretending to ignore the emptiness that had settled in the pit of my stomach. I tried not to listen for the sound of his car pulling into the driveway, but every time I heard a noise, I looked up hoping it was him. But it never was.    

    At 2 a.m., I heard the front door creak open. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Denim stepped inside, looking disheveled, his tie hanging loose around his neck, his shirt wrinkled. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a weariness about him that wasn’t there before.

    “Hey,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I stood up, “You’re late.”

    He glanced at me, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before it was quickly masked by that same cool demeanor, “Yeah, sorry. Had to close up the club.”

    I nodded, trying not to let my frustrations show.

    “You’ve been closing up a lot lately. A little too much. Don’t you have people for that?”

    Denim’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he ran a hand over his head and muttered something under his breath. I took a step closer, searching his face for any sign of the man I used to know.

    “You’ve been so distant,” I continued, my voice softer now, but laced with a quiet intensity, “I don’t know if it’s the club or something else, but….I feel like I’m losing you.”

    Denim’s gaze softened for a moment ; his eyes flickered with something that could have been regret but then it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.

    “I’m right here, Poetic,” he said, his voice low but firm, “I’m just dealing with a lot. It’s nothing personal.”

    But I could hear it in his voice—there’s something he wasn’t saying. Something he was hiding. And for the first time in years, I realize that maybe this isn’t just about the club. Maybe it’s something more.

    I’d always known the dangers that came along with being with Denim. I knew what he did, what kind of life he lived, and I accepted it because I loved him. But as the years passed, I started to wonder: Can I really trust him anymore? Or am I just another fool chasing a fairytale that was slipping through my fingers?

    Denim walked past me without saying another word, heading towards the staircase. I watched him as my heart ached in ways that it never used to.

    I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that this was just a phase and that we could get back to where we were before everything became so complicated. But deep down, I knew. I knew that I couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. Something was off, and I wasn’t sure if I could fix it.