The doors to the Kingdom are open once again, with the black rug in its place at the entrance. I smile at it like we’re old friends who’ve had incredible experiences together, and step over it when entering the room like it’s sacred. The hairs on my arm stand up in anticipation as I unfasten my flannel and pull it off my shoulders, leaving only the tight, white tank top covering my torso. I start to unfasten my pants when I hear another shuffle come from upstairs, this one closer to the steps. It’s so loud this time that I stop what I’m doing and step out into the entryway, puzzled. The last time Nas had me wait for him, I had no idea he was in his office. He was completely silent, so if he’s here now, he seems to want me to know he’s here. But if that’s the case, why not just greet me at the door? He said he had a thing with his PA tonight, and I took that to mean he wouldn’t be here when I arrived, so now that I’m hearing noises in the house, I’m confused.

“Nas?” I call out from the bottom of the stairs, then I freeze and listen.

Only silence answers. I stay at the bottom of the steps for a moment, but when I don’t hear anything else, I convince myself it’s nothing and go back to the Kingdom. I step over the rug and reach for my pants again, and just as my fingers brush the fabric at my waist, I hear heavy footfalls speeding down the stairs. My heart jumps into my throat as I spin around just in time to see someone wearing a Ghostface mask over their face, dressed in all-black, sprinting full speed toward me. My eyes widen as I try to scream, but the sound is rattled out of my throat as I’m knocked to the ground, landing on my back. Before I can think straight, the masked person is on top of me with a large, jagged knife to my throat and a gloved hand over my mouth.

“Sshhh,” they whisper, pressing the blade to my neck, the steel so cold it feels like ice.

I stare up at them, wondering what the fuck is going on as panic locks me in its grip. Who is this? What the fuck? The strong cologne wafting off the person above me isn’t one I recognize from Nas’s arsenal of perfect aromas, and the person’s shape is contorted by the loose, baggy poncho draped over their shoulders. Even in my kinkiest of fantasies, I can’t imagine Nas sneaking up on me and placing a knife to my throat. So, that would mean someone has broken into Nas’s house. Is this for real?