Jr
"So," Crystal drawled, capping the mascara wand and turning to face India. "How are things going with your new boy toy? What's his name again? Arell?"
India rolled her eyes, but couldn't quite hide the small smile that tugged at her lips. "He's not a boy toy, Crystal. We're actually... kind of serious."
Crystal's perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Serious? You? Since when?"
"I don't know," India shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit defensive. "It just feels different with him, you know?"
Crystal leaned in conspiratorially, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, if you're not being serious about him, I might have to make you share. That man is fine as hell."
"Hell no!" India laughed, swatting at her sister playfully. "Keep your paws off my man."
Crystal held up her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. But seriously, sis. Why are you even taking him serious? This isn't like you."
India was quiet for a moment, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt as she considered the question. "You remember Jayden's christening a couple weeks ago?"
Crystal nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"
"Well, sitting there in that church, listening to the whole service... I don't know, it just got me thinking, you know?" India's voice took on a softer quality. "About life, about what I want. And I already liked Arell, so I figured... why not give it a real chance?"
Crystal studied her sister's face, searching for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, she shrugged. "I guess. But it's still early days, right? How long have you two even been official?"
"Not even a week," India admitted. "But it feels... right."
Crystal nodded slowly, processing this new information about her typically carefree sister. "Well, I hope it works out for you. Lord knows you could use a break from some of these other fools."
India groaned, flopping back dramatically in her chair. "Don't even get me started. Soulja Boy will not stop blowing up my phone."
Crystal snorted. "Girl, please. Like you didn't love the attention."
"Maybe at first," India conceded. "But now it's just annoying. And kinda disrespectful to Arell."
The sisters lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Crystal spoke up again.
"Remember that time in high school when you thought you were in love with that boy... what was his name? Marcus?"
India groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Oh my god, don't remind me. I was such an idiot."
Crystal laughed. "You were young. We all do dumb shit when we're young."
"Yeah, well, this feels different," India insisted. "Arell's... different."
Crystal's expression softened. "I hope so, sis. You deserve someone good."
India smiled gratefully at her sister. "Thanks, Crystal. I really think he might be."
"So," Crystal said, her tone turning playful again. "Tell me more about this Arell. What's he like? Besides being fine as hell, of course."
India's eyes lit up. "God, Crystal, he's amazing. He's smart, and funny, and so talented. And yeah, he's gorgeous."
Crystal grinned. "Sounds too good to be true. What's the catch?"
India's smile faltered slightly. "Well... he doesn't really like my Instagram photos."
Crystal's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Like, the more revealing ones," India explained. "He says they're beautiful, but I can tell they make him uncomfortable."
"Is he insecure?" Crystal asked, a note of concern in her voice.
India shook her head. "I don't think so. Not in a bad way, at least. It's more like... he's protective, I guess?"
Crystal hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose that's not the worst thing. Especially with how fine he is. You said he's a musician, right?"
India nodded. "Yeah, he's crazy talented. His career is really starting to take off."
"Well, hopefully he doesn't let it go to his head," Crystal mused. "You know how some of these industry guys can be."
India's expression clouded slightly. "Yeah, I know. I worry about that sometimes. Like, will he cheat? But I don't know, he seems different."
Crystal reached out and squeezed her sister's hand. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."
India squeezed back, grateful for her sister's concern. "I will be. Promise."
A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the set. After a moment, Crystal's lips curved into a mischievous smile.
"You know," she said, her tone deceptively casual, "if you really want to lock him down, you could always get pregnant. It'd be great for the show's ratings."
India's jaw dropped. "Crystal! Oh my god, you're terrible!"
Crystal cackled, delighted by her sister's scandalized reaction. "I'm just saying! Think of the views!"
India shook her head, fighting back a laugh. "You're insane. Besides, it's way too soon for that."
Crystal's eyebrows waggled suggestively. "Oh? So you're being careful then?"
India felt a blush creeping up her neck. "I mean... mostly."
Crystal leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Has he ever, you know... finished inside you?"
India's blush deepened as she cast her mind back. "I mean... there was this one time. But he was pretty high, and it hasn't happened since, I'm prety sure he doesn't even remember."
Crystal's eyes widened. "Girl! You better be careful. You know how quickly that can happen."
India nodded, suddenly serious. "I know, I know. We've been more carefu-"
India paused, her brow furrowing slightly as Crystal's words sank in. A sudden realization flickered across her face, and she bit her lip nervously.
"Actually..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Now that you mention it..."
Crystal leaned in, her eyes widening. "What? What is it?"
India hesitated, glancing around as if to ensure no one else could hear. "It's probably nothing, but... I'm late."
Crystal's jaw dropped. "Late late? As in...?"
India nodded slowly, her hand unconsciously drifting to her stomach. "Yeah. And I've been feeling kind of... off lately. Nauseous in the mornings."
The sisters stared at each other.
Crystal broke the silence first. "But that doesn't necessarily mean... I mean, stress can mess with your cycle too, right?"
India nodded eagerly, grasping at the alternative explanation. "Exactly. And things have been pretty crazy lately with the show and everything."
"Right," Crystal agreed, though her tone held a note of uncertainty. "And you said you've only been with Arell for a short time..."
"Just a few weeks," India confirmed. "There's no way... right?"
The sisters watched each other carefully, neither quite willing to voice the possibility out loud.
After a long moment, Crystal spoke again, her voice gentle. "India... when was the last time you had your period?"
India's eyes widened as she mentally calculated. "Oh god," she whispered, her face paling slightly.
Crystal reached out, squeezing her sister's hand. "Okay, let's not panic. It could be nothing. But maybe we should get a test, just to be sure?"
India nodded numbly, her mind racing with the implications.
Before either of them could say anything more, a sharp knock on the dressing room door made them both jump.
"Two minutes, ladies!" the production assistant called.
<>
As the SUV glided through the sun-drenched streets of Miami, Arell lounged in the back seat, his eyes closed as he soaked in the pulsing beat of L$D playing through his headphones. Geoffrey sat beside him, fingers flying over his tablet as he juggled the countless details of Arell's expanding career.
"Arell," Geoffrey's voice cut through the music. "Got a minute to talk business?"
Arell cracked one eye open. "Do I have a choice?"
Geoffrey's lips quirked in a small smile. "Always. But I think you'll want to hear this one."
With a theatrical sigh, Arell paused his music and removed his headphones. "Alright, hit me."
"I've secured that sponsorship we discussed," Geoffrey began, his tone businesslike but with an underlying note of satisfaction. "It's with Red Bull energy drinks. Two hundred thousand for a series of photoshoots and social media promotions. Janelle will handle the posts, of course."
Arell's eyebrows shot up. "Two hundred K? Not bad. What's the catch?"
"No catch," Geoffrey assured him. "Just the usual – look good, smile pretty, pretend you actually drink the stuff."
Arell chuckled. "Fair enough. When's the shoot?"
"That's where we're headed now, actually," Geoffrey replied, glancing at his watch. "Should be there in about ten minutes."
As if on cue, Arell's phone buzzed with an incoming message. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting subtly as he read the name.
"Pharrell?" Geoffrey inquired, noting the change in Arell's demeanor.
Arell nodded, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Yeah. Wants to know if I can stop by the studio later to work on the mixtape."
Geoffrey studied him carefully. "And you don't want to."
It wasn't a question.
Arell sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Pharrell's cool and all, but after what went down with Kanye and Ty? Nah, I'm good."
The incident with Kanye West and Ty Dolla $ign – where they had essentially stolen one of Arell's beats and then ignored his contributions – was still a raw wound.
"What do you want me to tell him?" Geoffrey asked gently.
Arell shrugged, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside. "Just... tell him I'm busy. Got other commitments or whatever."
Geoffrey nodded, already composing a politely worded refusal in his head. As they pulled up to the studio where the photoshoot was to take place, he placed a hand on Arell's shoulder.
"Ready to dazzle them?"
A grin slowly spread across his face, the shadow of the earlier conversation fading. "Always."
The studio was a hive of activity as they entered. Assistants scurried about, adjusting lights and arranging props. A harried-looking woman with a clipboard hurried over to greet them.
"Mr. Rose! We're so excited to have you here," she gushed, extending her hand. "I'm Melissa, the shoot coordinator. If you'll follow me, we'll get you into hair and makeup."
As Arell was whisked away to be primped and polished, Geoffrey hung back, observing the controlled chaos of the set. He watched as the creative team huddled together, gesturing at mood boards and arguing over color schemes.
When Arell emerged from the makeup chair, he looked every inch the star – his skin glowing, his hair artfully tousled, his outfit a carefully curated blend of street style and high fashion.
The photographer, a wiry man with thick-rimmed glasses, approached Arell with an outstretched hand. "Arell, my man! I'm Diego. We're gonna make some magic today, yeah?"
Arell nodded, his easy charm on full display. "Let's do it."
As the shoot began, Arell moved through the standard poses with practiced ease – holding the energy drink, pretending to sip it, flashing his megawatt smile at the camera. But after a while, a restless energy seemed to take hold of him.
"Hey, Diego," he called out during a break. "I've got an idea. What if we switch things up a bit?"
Diego lowered his camera, intrigued. "What did you have in mind?"
A mischievous grin spread across Arell's face. "You got a basketball around here?"
Fifteen minutes later, the studio had been transformed. A makeshift hoop had been set up, and Arell stood at the far end of the room, a can of Red Bull in one hand and a basketball in the other.
"Alright," he announced to the now-hushed room. "Let's see if this stuff really gives you wings."
With a fluid motion, Arell tossed the energy drink high into the air. As it reached its apex, he launched the basketball in a perfect arc. The room held its collective breath as both objects hurtled through the air.
The energy drink can hit the ground first, spraying its contents across the polished floor. A split second later, the basketball swished through the hoop with a satisfying thunk.
For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then the room erupted in cheers and applause.
Diego lowered his camera, his eyes wide with excitement. "Tell me you got that," he breathed to his assistant, who nodded emphatically.
Arell turned to Geoffrey, his eyes dancing with triumph. "Now that's how you sell an energy drink."
Arell's infectious energy seemed to electrify the entire studio. The Red Bull executives, initially skeptical of his unorthodox approach, were now grinning from ear to ear, their eyes alight with the viral potential of what they were witnessing.
"Hold up," Arell called out, a new idea sparking in his mind. "Who's got game here? Any ballers in the house?"
A lanky production assistant tentatively raised his hand. "I played some in college," he offered.
Arell's grin widened. "Perfect. You and me, one-on-one. Right now."
The studio erupted in excited chatter as crew members scrambled to clear space for the impromptu match. Arell glanced down at his outfit – designer jeans and a silk shirt, hardly ideal for basketball – and shrugged. Fashion be damned; this was about putting on a show.
As he moved to the makeshift court, Arell's hand flew to his neck. "Shit, almost forgot," he muttered, carefully removing the gleaming chain that hung there.
"Yo, Geoff," Arell called, tossing the chain to him. "Hold this for me, would you?"
Geoffrey caught the chain with ease, tucking it safely into his pocket. "Try not to break anything," he admonished, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement.
Arell just winked in response before turning to face his opponent. The production assistant – Jake, Arell had learned – looked equal parts thrilled and terrified.
"Ready to get schooled?" Arell taunted good-naturedly.
Jake gulped visibly but nodded, determination setting his jaw.
What followed was less a basketball game and more a display of Arell's skill and showmanship.
At one point, Arell pulled off a move that had the entire room gasping. He faked left, then spun right so quickly it seemed to blur, leaving Jake stumbling. As the ball arced towards the hoop, Arell called out, "That's that Curry shit right there!"
The ball swished through the net, and the studio erupted in cheers and laughter. Even Jake, thoroughly outmatched, couldn't help but grin.
Throughout it all, cameras flashed and video rolled, capturing every electrifying moment. The Red Bull team looked like kids on Christmas morning, their eyes wide with the marketing potential unfolding before them.
As the game wound down, Arell pulled Jake in for a friendly hug. "Good game, man," he said, genuine warmth in his voice. "Thanks for being a good sport."
Jake beamed, clearly thrilled to have been part of the spectacle. "Are you kidding? This was amazing content!"
As the excitement began to settle, Arell made his way back to Geoffrey, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the brief exertion.
"So," Arell said, a hint of breathlessness in his voice, "how'd I do?"
Geoffrey's lips quirked in a small smile. "I'd say you made quite the impression. The Red Bull team looks ready to offer you a lifetime contract."
Arell chuckled, accepting a towel from a nearby assistant. "Man, that was fun. I really enjoyed working with these guys."
"Good," Geoffrey nodded, already making mental calculations. "That means I can probably sort out more deals with Red Bull for you in the future."
Arell's eyes lit up. "Hey, doesn't Red Bull do a lot of crazy stunt stuff? Like, extreme sports and shit?"
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow. "They do. Why? Got something in mind?"
Arell's grin turned mischievous. "Well, you know the driving rewards I got for Fair Trade hitting the rap charts? The F1 car thing? It's rated a 10 out of 10."
Understanding dawned on Geoffrey's face. "Ah, I see where this is going. You want to try your hand at some high-speed driving?"
"Hell yeah!" Arell exclaimed. "When can we make that happen?"
Geoffrey considered for a moment, mentally reviewing Arell's packed schedule. "Well, we'll have the tour for your mixtape this year, and then the release of One of a Kind next year... How about after the album drops? We could work it into the promotional schedule before you head on tour."
Arell's face split into a wide grin. "Bet! Man, that's gonna be insane."
Their conversation flow was shattered by the shrill ring of Geoffrey's phone. Arell watched as his expression shifted from relaxed to tense in a matter of seconds.
"Kenny? Slow down, what's happening?" Geoffrey's voice was tight, his free hand clenching into a fist.
Arell leaned in, straining to hear Kenny's frantic voice on the other end of the line. Fragments of the conversation reached his ears - "The Game," "outside the villa," "entourage," "security."
Geoffrey's eyes met Arell's, a silent communication passing between them. "We're on our way," he said curtly before ending the call.
"What's going on?" Arell demanded, his earlier excitement about F1 cars evaporating in an instant.
Geoffrey's jaw clenched. "The Game's pulled up outside the villa with his crew. Kenny says everyone's there - Devon, Malik, Cam, Rashad, Tariq, Keeve, Jamal, and the boys."
Arell nodded, knowing Geoffrey meant Jahseh, Jarad, and Stokeley. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. "Why now? What's he playing at?"
Geoffrey shook his head, already dialing another number. "I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling about this. We need to get back there now."
They hopped in the SUV making a sharp turn, sending them hurtling towards the villa, Arell felt a familiar tension coiling in his gut. He'd known The Game wasn't just all peaceful now, but this? This was something else entirely.
"Geoff," Arell said, his voice low "your security friends - they there?"
Geoffrey nodded, ending another call. "Yes, they're on site. But Arell, I think The Game needs a stronger message this time. This can't keep happening."
Arell's eyes hardened, a cold fury settling over him. "Oh, he'll get a message alright."
As they pulled into the long driveway of the villa, the scene that greeted them was chaos incarnate. The Game stood in the center of a sea of bodies, his entourage forming a protective circle around him. On the other side, Arell's crew had formed their own defensive line, tension crackling in the air between the two groups.
Arell didn't wait for the car to come to a full stop. He was out the door in an instant, his feet hitting the pavement with purpose. As he strode towards The Game, he absently tugged at his waistband, hiking his pants up.
The Game's voice cut through the evening air, dripping with false bravado. "Look who finally decided to show up. The big man himself."
Arell's lips curled into a sneer. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you."
The Game's facade faltered for a split second, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his face. Arell pressed his advantage.
"You remember the last time we were face to face? I do. You were shaking so bad I thought you were gonna piss yourself."
A ripple of laughter passed through Arell's crew, and The Game's face darkened with fury.
"Watch your mouth, boy," he snarled. "You don't know who you're messing with."
Arell stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "No, you watch your mouth. You're on my shit, threatening my people. You really want to see how this ends?"
As if on cue, the sound of car doors slamming echoed through the night. Geoff's security team - Mike, James, Sarah, Alex, Carlos, Tyrone, Lisa, and Marcus - emerged from the shadows, their presence adding an extra layer of tension to the already volatile situation.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arell noticed Geoffrey hanging back, his phone held discreetly at his side. The red recording light blinked steadily, capturing every moment of the confrontation.
The Game's eyes darted nervously between Arell and the newly arrived security team. For all his bluster, it was clear he hadn't expected this level of resistance.
Arell took another step forward, his voice low and controlled. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna do something about it?"
The Game took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto Arell. Everyone tensed, ready to jump in at a moment's notice.
"You really think you're something, don't you?" The Game spat, his voice dripping with disdain.
Arell's lips curled into a smirk. "I know I am. The question is, what are you?"
With a roar of frustration, The Game lunged at Arell, swinging a wild haymaker. Arell dodged, his reflexes sharp. He countered with a quick jab to The Game's ribs, feeling the satisfying thud of impact.
Chaos erupted around them as both entourages clashed. Fists flew, bodies collided, and the shouts of angry men filled the night. Devon and Malik were in the thick of it as they defended against The Game's crew. Malik ducked under a punch, delivering a brutal uppercut, while Devon wrestled another man to the ground.
Arell and The Game circled each other, their eyes locked in a deadly dance. The Game swung again, this time connecting with Arell's jaw. Pain exploded in Arell's vision, but he shook it off, his anger fueling his determination. He retaliated with a flurry of punches, each one finding its mark on The Game's torso.
The Game snarled, lunging forward with a knee aimed at Arell's stomach. Arell barely had time to react, the blow knocking the wind out of him. He staggered back, but refused to go down. Instead, he used the momentum to deliver a vicious headbutt, feeling the crunch of bone as The Game's nose broke.
Blood streamed down The Game's face, but he didn't back down. He tackled Arell to the ground, and they rolled in the dirt, each struggling for dominance. Arell's fists were relentless, pounding into The Game's face and body with a fury that bordered on primal.
The fight seemed to stretch on forever, each second a blur of pain and rage. The Game managed to land a solid punch to Arell's ribs, making him gasp for breath. But Arell was unyielding. He surged forward, driving The Game to the ground once more. With a final burst of energy, he pinned The Game beneath him, his fists flying in a relentless barrage.
The Game's face was a canvas of pain, each punch painting a new bruise. But Arell knew he couldn't maintain the upper hand from the ground indefinitely. He felt the strain in his muscles, the burn in his lungs.
The Game grunted, using his brute strength to push Arell off balance. They both scrambled to their feet, circling each other. The crowd around them faded into the background, their shouts and jeers becoming a distant roar.
Arell wiped the sweat and blood from his brow, his eyes never leaving The Game's.
The Game threw a wild punch, but Arell ducked beneath it, using the opportunity to land a solid jab to The Game's side. The Game winced but quickly recovered, swinging back with a fierce hook. Arell blocked it with his forearm, the impact reverberating through his bones.
Each strike met with a counter, each block followed by a counterattack. The Game was powerful, his blows heavy and deliberate, but Arell was faster, his movements fluid and precise. He dodged a punch aimed at his head, retaliating with a swift kick to The Game's knee. The Game stumbled, but regained his footing, his eyes burning with renewed fury.
He feinted left, then struck out with his right, catching The Game off guard. The punch landed squarely on The Game's jaw, sending him reeling.
The Game shook his head, trying to clear the stars from his vision. He spat blood onto the ground. "Not bad," he muttered.
Arell could feel his body protesting, every muscle screaming in agony, but he pushed through the pain. He lunged forward, feinting another punch before grabbing The Game by the collar. With a grunt of effort, he yanked The Game forward, kneeing him hard in the stomach.
The Game doubled over, gasping for breath, but managed to retaliate with a vicious uppercut. Arell's head snapped back, and he stumbled, seeing stars. The Game pressed his advantage, landing a series of rapid punches to Arell's torso. Each blow felt like a hammer, driving the breath from Arell's lungs.
But Arell refused to back down. He took the hits, biding his time, waiting for an opening. When The Game paused to catch his breath, Arell saw his chance. He swung his leg in a low, sweeping kick, knocking The Game's legs out from under him.
The Game hit the ground hard, but rolled with the impact, quickly scrambling to his feet. Arell was on him in an instant, not giving him a chance to recover. He drove a fist into The Game's side, then another to his face.
The Game's defenses began to falter, his movements slowing. Arell could see the fatigue setting in, the desperation in his eyes. He knew he had to end this now, before he himself collapsed from exhaustion.
With a final, desperate surge of energy, Arell launched a series of rapid, brutal punches. The Game tried to block, but his arms were heavy, his reactions slow. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, driving The Game back, inch by inch.
Then, out of nowhere, Malik came flying in with a perfectly timed kick. His foot connected with The Game's chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. The impact was so forceful that it knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for breath.
Arell stepped back, breathing heavily, his fists still clenched. The Game lay on the ground, struggling to rise, but his body refused to obey.
Arell's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
"Take your man's and get out of here. Now."
The Game's crew hesitated, looking between their fallen leader and the fierce determination in Arell's eyes. After a tense moment, they moved forward, helping The Game to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, leaning heavily on his supporters.
As they began to retreat, Arell called out one last time, his voice low and dangerous. "And don't even think about coming back."
The Game's entourage shuffled away, their bravado deflated, casting wary glances over their shoulders as they went. The sound of car doors slamming and engines revving filled the air as they made their hasty departure.
Geoffrey approached Arell, his phone still in hand, a satisfied glint in his eye. "We got it all on video."
Arell nodded, wincing as the adrenaline began to fade and the pain of his injuries set in. He looked around at his crew, assessing the damage. "Everyone okay?"
Devon limped over, sporting a split lip and what promised to be an impressive black eye. "We're good, man. Nothing we can't handle."
Malik joined them, his knuckles raw and bleeding. "Speak for yourself. I think I broke my hand on that dude's face."
Arell chuckled, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his ribs. "Alright, let's get everyone checked out. Who needs to go to the hospital?"
A quick survey revealed that while most had sustained minor injuries, a few would need more serious medical attention. Cam was cradling his arm, his face pale with pain, while Rashad seemed to be having trouble focusing, likely concussed.
"Geoff."
Geoffrey nodded, already dialing. "On it. I'll have ambulances here in five minutes."
As they waited for medical assistance, Arell made his way around the group, checking on each person individually. He clasped hands with Tariq, who was sporting a nasty gash above his eye.
Soon enough the sound of sirens arrived as the ambulances arrived on the scene. Paramedics swarmed out, quickly assessing and treating the injured. Arell watched as Cam and Rashad were loaded into the back of an ambulance, worry etching lines on his face.
"They'll be okay," Geoffrey reassured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you looked at too."
Arell shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine. Take care of the others first."
But as he turned, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He stumbled, caught by Devon and Malik on either side.
"Yeah, you're real fine," Malik said sarcastically.
As they made their way towards the waiting paramedics, Arell caught sight of his reflection in a nearby window. Blood trickled from a deep cut on his forehead, and the beginnings of a bruise was forming along his jawline. He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a freight train – and felt like it too.
A paramedic approached, her eyes widening as she took in Arell's condition. "Sir, we need to get you to the hospital. That cut needs stitches, and you might have a concussion."
Arell started to protest, but Geoffrey cut him off. "No arguments, Arell. You're going. I'll stay here and make sure everyone else is taken care of."
Reluctantly, Arell allowed himself to be guided into an ambulance.