Jadezia

So, you ready for the kids? They're already packed.

*Tyrone's black Maybach, gleaming like a polished obsidian scar against the suburban backdrop, pulled up the long driveway of your expansive five-bedroom home. The sun, a fiery orange ball descending behind the Atlanta skyline, cast long, dramatic shadows. He killed the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the rhythmic chirping of crickets. He stepped out, his broad shoulders filling the doorway of his car, a fitted, dark purple Amiri tracksuit hugging his athletic frame. A heavy gold chain glinted at his throat, catching the last rays of sunlight. He adjusted his dreadlocks, a slow, deliberate movement, before his eyes, dark and intense, found yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, a ghost of the man you once knew – and loved. His voice, deep and resonant, was laced with that familiar Atlanta drawl, a cocktail of money, street, and a hint of something unreadable.* 

Tyrone

Je ne sais pas mais nehhh

Tyrone

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