Chapter 1- My Name Is Ava
The Lake View Hotel Los Angeles, Penthouse Suite 161Friday, August 22nd, 2025 — 8:17 PM
Around the room was the scattered evidence of luxury and ratchet shit in perfect harmony. Empty bottles of champagne sat next to half-crumpled bags of hot chips. Red bottom heels kicked carelessly aside, inches away from fuzzy slides that screamed comfort over class. Designer purses were stuffed haphazardly under plush white recliners, furniture costing more than most people’s rent.
The Monarch Hotel penthouse was bougie, but we’d managed to sprinkle enough of ourselves throughout the room to make it feel like home.
The marble countertop held a charcuterie board of overpriced cheeses, grapes, sliced figs, and smoked prosciutto, bougie snacks for women who used to argue over splitting a five dollar pizza. Lavender scented candles flickered around the suite, expensive enough to whisper, “You made it, bitch,” but subtle enough to still say, “But don’t act brand new.”
I took a moment to appreciate it. This suite wasn’t something just anyone could book. The ceilings were high, chandeliers dripping crystals over our heads, softly illuminating the gold accents and pristine marble floors. Soft jazz played in the background, barely audible over Toni’s reckless laughter and the rhythmic tapping of Keisha’s nails on her champagne flute.
The women around me were powerful, successful, beautiful and deeply messy. Each one was complicated enough to need her own therapist, yet together, we managed to heal one another better than any shrink could. Tonight, more than ever, I desperately needed their unique brand of healing.
Toni lounged across from me, legs thrown carelessly over the arm of her recliner, a picture of carefree audacity. Her platinum blonde pixie cut was flawless, edges laid smooth, her lips glossed just enough to shine in the dim light. Her hazel eyes were always mischievous, constantly sparkling as though she knew some hilarious secret the rest of us were still catching up to.
Next to Toni was Keisha, the walking embodiment of a bad bitch, waist length braids slicked into a sleek, gravity defying ponytail. Her dark skin glistened like polished obsidian, highlighted beautifully beneath the suite’s warm glow. She wore a bodysuit that hugged curves no one could buy. On her fingers spanned nails so long they doubled as weapons and accessories. Keisha held nothing back, her mouth just as sharp as her aesthetic. She arrived exactly at 8:00pm, punctual to the point of aggression, declaring, “Let’s hurry this shit up, because I got clients tomorrow, and Lord knows you bitches love to talk.”
Nia sat gracefully beside me, in a posture that seemed effortlessly meditative, legs folded beneath her on the recliner. Waist length white locs spilled like silk threads over her petite frame, eyes gently closed as she absorbed the energy of the room. She radiated peace, even when she wasn’t trying. Nia was our conscience, our healer, our spiritual core.
Then there was Camille, older than us by nearly two decades, yet somehow ageless. Camille was the mother figure none of us admitted needing. Her short natural curls were proudly silver, framing deep set eyes that carried lifetimes of wisdom. She wore rimless designer frames, carefully balanced at the tip of her elegant nose. Her rich, smooth mahogany skin looked like it belonged in an expensive painting, her aura calm but never passive.
Lastly, directly opposite me, was Latrixa. Sharp, blunt, devastatingly beautiful, and frighteningly intelligent. Her sleek jet-black bob framed a face carved by the gods, dark lipstick accentuating full, judgmental lips. Her amber eyes missed nothing, holding none of Nia’s warmth or Camille’s gentleness.
The air was heavy with anticipation and carefully applied perfume something between expensive floral fragrances and Keisha’s signature blend of cocoa butter and vanilla. I cleared my throat softly, watching as five sets of eyes swiveled to land on me. My chest tightened. The champagne in my glass was cool beneath my fingers, bubbles fizzing quietly, providing false courage.
“I guess I should start,” I said.
Toni chuckled, shifting slightly in her chair. “Damn straight, Ava. You got us all out here drinking champagne like we ain’t waiting on your ass to confess.”
Keisha tapped her nails rhythmically. “For real, because somebody’s tea is getting cold, and y’all know I don’t sip lukewarm.”
Laughter rippled around us, briefly easing my tension. I drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“Alright, fine.” I raised my glass, voice steadier now. “Welcome, ladies, again to Bad Bitches Anonymous. My name is Ava, and I’m fucking a man who my husband said he would kill on sight.”
I let the words drop like bombs into the silence.
Toni nearly fell out of her chair, gripping the edge dramatically. “Bitch!” Toni shrieked, spilling her drink as she bolted upright. “Again? Ava, I swear your life needs subtitles and a parental advisory sticker!”
Keisha leaned forward, incredulous. “Off top, Ava, what does he do for you that Jordan doesn’t? Because ain’t no dick in the world good enough to see my husband do a bid for murder. Period.”
I laughed, despite myself, feeling warmth rise to my cheeks at Keisha’s bluntness. I loved and hated how clearly, she saw through my bullshit.
Latrixa narrowed her eyes. “Start slow, Ava. You gotta tell us who he is first, ’cause if you risking your husband’s wrath like this, I need visuals.”
“Yeah, and details,” Toni chimed in, refilling her glass shamelessly. “Height, dick size, credit score all the important shit.”
Nia leaned toward me, eyes warm, inviting honesty. “We all got secrets and layers, Ava. Tell us yours. Who is this man exactly?”
I hesitated briefly, staring at the bubbles climbing my glass. The room waited in silence now, breaths held, ready for the next drop.
“His name is Austin,” I finally confessed. “He’s someone I buried a long time ago or tried to.”
“Buried or hid, baby?” Camille asked gently.
I sighed. “Hid. From Jordan, from myself, from everyone. But now he’s back, and I don’t know how to hide him anymore.”
Keisha rolled her eyes dramatically. “Austin? Girl, please tell me he’s at least Black. Because if you’re out here risking your neck for some colonizer dick…”
I bit my lip as I hesitated. “He’s white.”
“I knew it!” Keisha groaned loudly, collapsing dramatically into her chair. “Somebody call and resurrect Harriet Tubman, because clearly we done lost another one.”
Laughter bubbled uncontrollably around us, and even Camille cracked a quiet smile. I laughed too. “It’s complicated. It’s not like every brother out there is a saint, besides who doesn’t like a lil cream in their coffee.”
“So don’t hide him,” Latrixa challenged sharply. “Speak on it. Own it. Tell us who he really is to you, not just his name.”
I looked directly at her, matching the intensity in her eyes. “He’s everything Jordan isn’t, and everything I probably shouldn’t want. Austin’s dangerous. Reckless. Passionate. We met years ago at a branding convention in Las Vegas. I was young and newly single, and he swept me away before I even knew what hit me.”
I smiled faintly, nostalgia coating my voice. “It was the kind of connection you read about but never actually experience. One kiss, and I was done. I didn’t just want Austin I needed him. And he needed me, even if he didn’t fully realize it yet.”
Keisha raised a skeptical brow. “And now, years later, you’re risking your marriage for nostalgia?”
“Or she’s risking it for real passion,” Camille countered.
I nodded slowly, grateful she understood. “Exactly. Jordan built me a perfect, stable life. But Austin sets my whole soul on fire. With him, I’m myself, fully alive.”
Nia tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then why’d you bury him at all?”
“Fear,” I whispered. “Fear of losing control, fear of giving someone else power over me. Austin had too much power. But now I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of pretending I don’t need him.”
Camille eyed me deeply, raising her glass in respect. “To Ava, the baddest bitch in this room, juggling two men and she still has her edges intact.”
Toni howled with laughter, nearly spilling her champagne. “Edges laid, marriage frayed. Sis got layers!”
I smiled, lifting my glass. “Cheers to my messy ass life, ladies.”
“Cheers to messy lives,” Nia said.
“Cheers to Ava and her chaos,” Keisha grinned.
“Cheers to no more hiding,” Camille nodded.
“And cheers,” Latrixa added sharply, eyes locked onto mine, “to finally telling the truth, even if it burns everything down.”
I met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle into my bones. She was right. The truth was here, spoken clearly, waiting for me to stand in it. And tonight, surrounded by the only women brave enough to help me survive the flames, I finally decided to stand ten toes down.
