The Launch Lie
BREATHE AI HEADQUARTERS — SKY DECK — 7:45 PM
Kansas City, MO
The rooftop glistened like generational wealth. Black people in custom designer fits laughed with glasses of overpriced champagne, framed by a panoramic view of the skyline and a 12-foot glowing "BREATHE" sign pulsing behind the stage. You could smell the money, the ambition, and the secrets sweating through tailored suits and contour.
Sasha Foster stood in front of a two-way mirror in the VIP suite, adjusting the off-white silk of her floor-length Brandon Blackwood gown, her natural curls pinned like art. She didn't just look expensive — she looked untouchable. The type of woman no man would dare play with.
At least, not if he valued his life or his net worth.
Her assistant, Jordan, hovered by the door, iPad in hand. "The investor table is ready. Nico's finishing up the pre-pitch with Forbes."
"Tell them I'll be down in five," Sasha said, swiping a champagne gloss over her lips. Her tone? Polished. Calm. But her eyes? Scanning.
Something in her gut had been whispering all week. But tonight, it screamed.
⸻
7:57 PM
By the time Sasha floated down the marble steps of the rooftop's private entrance, heads turned. Phones rose. Her presence was the announcement. She was the moment.
Then she saw it.
The dress.
On another woman.
Not a dupe. Not a similar design. Her design — a limited unreleased collab between her agency and a luxury Black designer out of Atlanta. A piece only three people had access to.
And this random IG-ass-looking woman had it on.
She was across the venue, laughing with a group of beauty influencers, her back arched just right for the camera, her hand resting on a man's chest—
Nico.
He looked casual. Confident. In control. White turtleneck under a gray suit, no tie, Cuban link barely visible. Laughing too loud. He hadn't seen Sasha yet.
But Sasha saw enough.
She turned her head slightly, whispering to Jordan, "Who's the woman in the green stiletto boots standing next to Nico?"
Jordan blinked. "That's Trinity James. She's one of the new campaign partners for Breathe's self-care roll out. Nico said you approved it—"
"I did not."
"Oh... he CC'd you on—"
"I don't get CC'd on things I run."
Jordan swallowed.
Sasha smiled calmly, then turned back to the room, slipping a hand around the gold-rimmed flute of champagne passed to her by a server.
⸻
8:05 PM
Nico approached like everything was beautiful. Like betrayal didn't have sequins.
"Damn," he grinned, eyes dragging over her dress. "I told 'em you were gonna shut it down. You make the brand look like it already hit a billion."
Sasha kissed his cheek lightly. "You clean up well."
"Only cause you dressed me," he smirked. "Trinity's around here somewhere — she's mad cool. Might be a good fit for that podcast rebrand we talked about."
Sasha sipped her champagne, eyes locked on his. "Mm. She's wearing a dress that hasn't dropped yet."
Nico blinked, just a second too long.
"Is she?" he said, chuckling. "Damn, small world. I think she said she got it from her stylist's showroom. Might be a knockoff."
"It's not. It's a prototype. Only three exist. One's mine. One's with the designer. The third... disappeared."
He licked his lips, leaned in slightly. "Sash, baby... that's on me. I told Lamont to pull pieces for press — I didn't know he gave her that one. I'll fix it."
"No need," she said smoothly. "It's just fabric. And stories."
Nico grinned — that charming, politician-ass grin — like everything was cool. But for the first time since she met him, Sasha realized he smiled the exact same way at everyone.
⸻
8:22 PM – CENTER STAGE
Nico took the mic and began the presentation. Breathe AI's origin story. Its mission. Its numbers. Cameras flashed. The crowd vibed. Sasha stood right beside him, her arm tucked around his, the image of support.
Meanwhile, Trinity stood just off to the side — not in the shadows, but right where the lights could kiss her cheekbones.
The same lights that kissed Sasha's dress.
And from across the room... a phone lit up. A DM slid in.
From an account named: @ZenWithReceipts
Message:
🫢 He told her she's the face. He told you you're the future.
But baby, he belongs to the present.
[4 Attachments]
