In the beginning—back in college, Christian Coleman never thought in a million years that he and Aziza would speak one word to each other or grow to be friends. He came into her life and turned everything upside down with his devastatingly good looks, cocky demeanor, brash attitude, and unfiltered way of speaking. When they first met, it was hate at first sight as he saw women as

nothing but objects for his pleasure. He just wanted sex from her. Fate, however, made their lives intertwine and after one night of passion, he found himself falling hard for Aziza. But that was college…

Since the moment she hit puberty, Aziza King has never been good at choosing the right man. She and love are always in a constant struggle. Being married to rapper Rashaad Wallace, she’s choking on the dust of her relationship that’s burning down around her, dying inside. Tired of her man stomping on her heart, Aziza runs to Christian. Before Aziza knows it, Christian’s years of friendship, honesty, and unconditional support leave her catching feelings that explode into a torrid affair.


The more the two make love, the more they become addicted to the sweet flames

burning between them.

But what happens when addiction morphs into obsession...and obsession turns deadly?

Chapter One 


“Aww yeah! Yeah! Ooooooh yeah!” Aziza heard a woman’s voice moan from the outside of her home as she unlocked her door. 

“Ride that dick!” She then heard her husband, Rashaad Wallace, snap, slapping Mia on the ass to make her go faster. 

“Ahhhhhhhhh,” Mia screamed. “Awwwww fuck! This dick is so fuckin’ good!” 

Aziza stood in the pen doorway, gazing across the room and spotted her husband, Rashaad in all his sexual glory. Frozen stiff, she struggled to breathe. Every limb in her body seemed to be placed on lock. She just never expected what she was viewing. During their three-year relationship, Aziza had gone through every aspect of hell there was. He’d lied, cheated, and disregarded her feelings, but Aziza loved him despite it all. She loved him despite the fact that he’d cheated on her with his ex-girlfriend, Mia, the same Mia who was his high school sweetheart. The same Mia he was fucking right before her tear-filled eyes.

Aziza still couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She’d come home early from seeing her mother to surprise her man and this is what she had come home to. The two entangled deviants didn’t even notice her as Rashaad lay on the living room couch while his baby momma was bouncing up and down on his dick. Rashaad cupped each of her breasts in his hand and pounded her pussy with no remorse. 

Seeing the two of them in this fashion had Aziza locked in a trance. Hearing them moan each other’s names instantly broke her out of it. Her emotions rushed directly to the surface. She stood by Rashaad through everything. 

Before he got serious about being a rapper, even though Complex named him one of “15 Unsigned Rappers Who Should Get a Deal” , he was a member of RBG (Real Block Gangstaz), a violent drug gang. That all came to an end when Rashaad survived being shot ten times. Two shots to the stomach, two to the hand, along with five to the glutes and one shot to the thigh. While recovering, he was signed to Frontier Records.

Since his debut album, he’d produced hit after hit. He’d won numerous American Music, Grammy, and Billboard awards. However, the more fame Rashaad got, the more his cocky, disrespectful, and boastful attitude became more and more out of control. Sure, it garnered him legions of fans, but it made Aziza’s life hell. 

They wouldn’t have the riches they did if it wasn’t for Aziza’s intelligence. Rashaad called himself a rapper, entrepreneur with his own clothing line, a businessman, and an investor all because of her. Rashaad was a self-destructive, irresponsible, selfish, rapper who was riding off his fame. He was a child in a man’s body. 

The more bad publicity he got, the more he resented her, whose career as a model was on the rise. Aziza launched her modeling career after an agent discovered her account on Instagram. The highlights of her career included modeling for Khloe Kardashian’s clothing brand, Good American and collaborated on clothing lines for and PrettyLittleThing. With an Instagram follower count of 11.9 million, things were good for one half of their power couple. Recently, Rashaad’s fuck-ups became her problems and his problems became his excuse to treat her like shit.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” Mia held on to him tight. 

“Me too,” Rashaad groaned, cumming inside of her.

“What the fuck?” Aziza slammed the door so hard that the walls shook. 

“Aziza!” Rashaad jumped, causing spit to fling from his mouth as he lifted Mia off of him. 

“What are you doing here?” He shot up from the couch buck naked. 

“What the fuck you mean what am I doing here? This is my fuckin’ house!” Aziza snapped, ready to kill. “I pay all the bills up in this muthafucka and this place is in my name.”

“Don’t start that silly shit,” Rashaad said sarcastically. “You know exactly why it’s got to be that way.”

“Let me get the fuck out of here.” Mia had quickly got dressed while husband and wife were having words as zipped up his jeans and picked up her jacket. 

“No, wait!” Rashaad reached out for her, which broke Aziza’s heart. 

“Get the fuck off me!” Mia snatched her arm away. “You said that you weren’t with anyone, Rashaad. You said we were starting over.”

“Let me explain,” Rashaad said in a panicked voice. 

“I don’t wanna hear shit!” Mia shot him a warning glance. “Yo.” She turned and looked at Aziza. “My fault. I didn’t know.” Instead of responding, Aziza simply hit Mia with a look that said, “bitch, please,” as she walked out of the door. 

“Mia!” Rashaad screamed, looking like he was about to flip. “Come back,” he begged from the door. 

“You might as well run after her but when you do make sure to take all of your shit wit’ you since y’all are starting over! Fuckin’ dirty dick bastard.” Aziza said playing tough while her heart was in a million pieces.  

She left Rashaad standing there as she walked back to the bedroom while he ran towards Mia’s car. In her bedroom, Aziza slammed a suitcase on the bed and began to throw clothes in it until it was full. When Rashaad walked back into the house, he met Aziza walking past him out the door.

“Aziza!” he called out frantically. “Wait!”

Aziza glanced in his direction, rolling her eyes. This was a waste of time. They’d been here too many times before and she always took him back. There was nothing he could say to remotely make this right. She didn’t have anything to say to him.

“Aziza.” Rashaad rushed toward his wife. “You have to let me explain.”

Aziza grimaced. “Explain what? You want to explain that you foul than a muthafucka?” 

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Of course you are. You’re always sorry!”

“I know what I did was wrong but I love you, Aziza.” Rashaad said, getting desperate. 

“Well now you’ve lost me,” Aziza said firmly, getting in her car and locking the door.

She sped off into the distance in her yellow 2021 Lamborghini Huracan EVO as the sun had just begun to set. While she drove around the city, Aziza had no idea what to do or where to go. Parking by the Spruce Street Harbor, she stared out the water blindly. Aziza began wondering, How did I get here? She thinking long and hard about the past three years of her life.

Suddenly, her cellphone rang, drawing me out of my deep thoughts, and I fumbled with it as I quickly grabbed it. “Hello.” She answered roughly, thinking it was her piece of shit husband.

“What you doing, girl?” Aziza’s best friend and fellow model, Jordyn asked happily. 

“Dammit.” Aziza really just wanted to be left alone. 

“If I knew I was going to get all that, I wouldn’t have called you,” Jordyn responded. 

“I thought you were Rashaad.” 

“What has Rashaad done this time?” she said, saying his name like it burned her lips. 

“I’m sitting here now trying not to contemplate premeditated murder.” 

“Girl, you need to get a grip. You know he isn’t worth any time in prison.” 

“I know, but it would make me feel so much better. I came home from seeing my mother and the nigga had the gall to fucking his baby momma right there in the living room.” 

“Word? Then how about leaving him, taking all his possessions, cleaning out his bank account, and stepping? You could do that without a prison uniform having to be involved,” Jordyn said. 

Jordyn couldn’t stand Rashaad, because she was also aware of all the turmoil he had put Aziza through. Jordyn had been her friend since her modeling and walked around with the confidence that said, “I can do anything that a man can do and more.” Since they met, Jordyn had taken Aziza under her wing. She showed the ins and outs along with the dos and don’ts of the modeling industry, especially how to deal with bad press with poise and grace. She was single with no children and didn’t want any until she met the right man to have them with. She was smart and beautiful, and this was why she was excellent at everything she put her mind to.

“It’s not that easy,” Aziza told her, squeezing her phone in her hand. 

“But killing him is?” 

“At least if he’s gone, I wouldn’t have to see him, especially with another woman.” 

“That fuck boy would probably haunt you in your dreams if you took him out, and you still wouldn’t get the peace of mind you’re searching for. Now I know you don’t want to leave him, but if you want to keep your sanity, then I would advise you to find another place to stay,” Jordyn suggested. 

“Why do I need to uproot myself?” 

“Then uproot him. Kick his behind out.” 

“Rashaad’s not going to go anywhere. The apartment’s in my name,” Aziza sighed, immediately wishing she hadn’t let those words escape her lips. She knew Jordyn was going to go off. “Things are in his name like my car and a couple our other homes.”

“What do you mean in his name? Didn’t I tell you to get your name on some of that shit too?” 

“Yes, but I just hadn’t got around—” 

“All that time you spend moping couldn’t have been spent on getting your name on the things that were important to you, Aziza? You two have been together for how long?” 

“Too many years now. I don’t know. I can’t think.” 

“I know it’s been long enough to make those kinds of moves. I do know that. You never should have moved in together or bought all that stuff without your signature, giving you a claim to them. I schooled you better than that.” 

“I know,” Aziza replied, regretting that she brought it up. 

“Big mistake, and so was he. I told you that man was no good,” she said proudly. 

“I know. Please don’t rub it in.” 

“Great looks and a big dick don’t mean anything in a relationship. Whoa! Did I just say that?” Jordyn paused, rethinking what she said. 

“Yes, you did,” Aziza confirmed her mishap. 

“Let me step back and reexamine this thing again. I mean Rashaad wouldn’t be good in a relationship. Looks and dick are nice, but a good career and being faithful to go along with those two things is always greatly appreciated.” 

“You are not helping,” Aziza said, burying her face in her hand . 

“I’m just saying.” Jordyn said. “That’s why you stressing now.”

“Why can’t he just be faithful?” 

“Why can’t we be billionaires? Why can’t you use the common sense the Ancestors gave you? Remind me again why you are with him.” 

“I don’t know, Jordyn.” 

“Okay. Let’s recap. How many times has he cheated on you?” 

“Too many times to count.” 

“And how many times have you gotten infections from his trifling ways?” 

“Okay. I get it.” 

“Do you really? Because I swear we have had this conversation way too many times. And I shouldn’t have to remind you AIDS is still a major crisis among our people.” 

“I know this,” Aziza said in frustration. Jordyn’s education session did not need to be spoken to her every time Rashaad was the topic of conversation. “And you are still playing stupid. You’re risking your life—risking your career for what? But I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath talking to a brick wall. You’re going to give that nigga another chance, and he’s going to show you he’s still the asshole we know and loath that’s never going to change.” 

“But, Jordyn, I love him.” 

“And I love chocolate. I love books written by Asar, Miss Candice, and Veronica Malone. I love me some Michael B. Jordan too, but you don’t see me losing my shit over these things.” 

“You know it’s not the same. You don’t have a man, so you can’t understand where I’m coming from.” 

“Hold up. Wait a minute, girl. Just because I don’t have a man doesn’t mean I don’t have sense enough to see the forest from the trees. I saw Rashaad’s trifling demeanor from a mile away. I’m always there for you when you are drowning in misery because he hasn’t thought about you all day. I’m there for you when you go to the doctor. I’m there for you whenever he cheats on you. So don’t you go there on me not having a man because if having a man consisted of dealing with the bullshit you put yourself through, I don’t want one.” Jordyn said angrily in one breath. 

“I’m sorry, Jordyn. I didn’t mean to—” 

“You’re damn right you’re sorry. You’ve officially pissed me off now. If it wasn’t you I was talking to, I would almost hang up on your dumbass, but you need a friend right now, and I’m trying to be that person.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you.” 

“Just think about what I said. And if you don’t want to listen to that advice, then take this one. Cheat on him. Tit for tat.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“As long as that man knows you’re going to sit around, argue once he gets in, and you still take him back, he’s going to keep doing it. Give him some of his own medicine to swallow. I’ll call you back later. Peace.”

“Peace,” Aziza said, throwing her phone to the floor.

Aziza couldn’t believe it. She wanted to talk to her girlfriend for some emotional support.  However, instead of support, she got nothing but ‘I told you so’. All they could talk about was how Rashaad was no good from the start and that she should have done better for herself. A million tears ran down her face as she began driving around again for hours without a clear direction. She stopped the car and just cried in defeat. In her car, she rested her folded arms on the steering wheel. The tears that poured from her eyes just wouldn’t stop. Aziza was in complete emotional distress with no one to turn to. Just then one last person popped into her head. She dug around for my phone. Finding it, she went to her contacts and clicked the name, praying that they’d answer the phone.