I fought to maintain my composure. “I’m sure you will take care of it.” I didn’t dare say Trae’s name, because I knew I would give my true feelings away.

“Good. You are my only child, and I hope you’ll never experience what you just took me through. And for what? Nonsense.” My father’s voice broke as he became choked up, but he looked away and replaced his mask of steel. “That thug almost cost you your life.” He took a deep breath, then continued. “You could pass for a Caucasian woman. Why don’t you find yourself a good, Caucasian businessman and settle down? A Caucasian man will look past the scars on your legs and arms. My child, you must take this as a sign. It’s time to settle down, Charli.”

I paused. “I will, Father.”

“Please come and stay with me until I am sure you are back to your old self again.”

“I’m back to my old self now. And I feel fine. I want to get back home to get back to a sense of normalcy.”

“Okay. But I’m leaving a guard at your house. You never know. Your mother has been worried sick—so much so she can’t get out of bed. Be sure to visit her soon.”

I hesitated. “All right, Father, I will.”

“Be careful. And please . . . take it easy.”

“I will, Father. I promise.”

He nodded.

After my father dropped me off at my condo, I felt satisfied. I could drop the mask of the obedient daughter and embrace the boss bitch that I was. I had work to do. If only he knew how my heart was aching for Trae Macklin. He was blaming him for the sins of the wife. Recently, I found out through my private detective, Calvin Braggs, that she’s pregnant—again. I cried my eyes out when I heard this bit of news. For one, I still mourned the baby Trae and I made, and that crazy bitch made me lose. The nerve that she is pregnant again!

I picked up the phone and called my private investigator. “Did you get it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

* * *

Once I got to my bedroom, I kept staring in the full-length mirror. I couldn’t believe how full and cantaloupe-shaped my butt was. From the rearview, I looked like my nemesis— that crazy bitch, Tasha Macklin. When I showed the surgeon pictures of how I wanted to look, I had purposely chosen a woman whose shape was like the wife of my man.

My breasts are big, but not too big—nice C cups, just like hers. I used to be a B cup. My lips are full and the bottom one is pouty—like hers. But with my eyes widened, I could pass for a white woman. I even considered dying my hair blonde. I felt and looked stunning!