The Prada Plan 2. Ashley Antoinette

Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-one

      Chapter Twenty-two

      Chapter Twenty-three

      The Last Chapter

      Epilogue

      Book Club Discussion Questions

      Prologue

      I know you want to label me the bad guy. Every story needs one, right? The conniving bitch that is only out for self, the crazy one with nothing to lose. That’s how you see me. Every pair of eyes that’s scanning this page would love to see this bad girl die slow, but I’m used to that. It’s the story of my life. Leah Richards has always been spoiled goods.

      But you all are looking through a jaded lens. If you knew the true story behind my rage, you would understand. Little Ms. Prada Plan isn’t as perfect as she seems, and I’m not as cruel as you would like to make me out to be. Rivalry, betrayal, friendship, rejection, loneliness, jealousy—those were the ingredients that brought me to this point. All of that mixed with rage contributed to the deterioration of my mental health. Now I’m teetering on the edge, and depending on which direction the winds of life blow, I could be pushed over.

      I should have never opened up my life to YaYa. The greedy bitch just took and took from me until I had nothing left. Emotionally, she drained me. She left me on E, and now it’s payback time. It’s my turn to watch her suffer.

      You’ve already chosen teams, and I get it, because you have only heard YaYa’s side of the story thus far. The Prada Plan made that bitch look like a saint, but by the end of Part 2, you just might change your mind about me. I’m not a fake bitch, so I’m not saying you are going to love me; because frankly, I don’t like any of you Indie and YaYa fan club members either. All of those Amazon.com reviews were sickening. Damn, I mean they are a far cry from Barack and Michelle. Get off their jocks. So no, I don’t care for y’all that much, and you for damn sure don’t like me, but let’s just say that after my story you will understand me, and you most definitely will know it’s not a good idea to cross me.

      My life has been one constant struggle, and one exhausting tale of survival. When nobody wants you, envy can easily corrupt your heart, and when you have no loyalties, no one is indispensable. I’ve always done what I had to do in order to get by, and the people who got in my way always felt my wrath. Fuck a mother, a father, and a friend; all I’ve ever had was me, and I refuse to lose—especially to Disaya Morgan. I’ll let my body hit the dirt before I let that bitch beat me.

      I had learned to control my anger. Years of therapy and padded rooms had snapped me out of my vindictive nature, but YaYa brought me back. She unlocked the devil in me, and from the very first time I looked into those green eyes, I secretly hated her. She had what I wanted, everything that I desired. She was so beautiful and loved, yet was clueless as to how blessed she actually was. She was who I wanted to be, who I should have been.

      Befriending the bitch was easy enough. Getting rid of Mona’s tag-along ass was simple, because she was a weak ho from the beginning. Being close to YaYa fulfilled my need for attention, but after I helped her Baby Phat—wearing ass sleep her way to the top, she forgot that we were a team. I introduced her to real money and a completely new lifestyle, then the bitch fell in love, and she had the nerve to turn her nose up at me—like lying on her back hadn’t just been her way to get paid too.

      She acted like what we had didn’t mean shit to her, as if Indie could offer her so much more. The bitch was stupid, because the way I see it, he was using her. At least my love was genuine. My love had been there all along. It was based on a much deeper connection, not just on the sex. Indie didn’t decide to wife her until she gave him some pussy. I, on the other hand, appreciated her for so much more. YaYa’s dense ass couldn’t see that, though, and her brand new attitude turned me off completely.

      I don’t get clipped; I clip bitches. She should have known that there could only be one queen B, and now I have to teach her a lesson. It’s time for her to kneel at my feet and know what it feels like to be second best.

      I know I’m rambling. It is so easy for me to get caught up in my emotions and vent about this situation all day, so before I take it there, I’m going to hand this story over to someone who can do it justice. If I kick it to you, you are going to be biased. You already hate me, so you won’t judge it with an open mind, so Ms. Ashley Antoinette is going to deliver it for me—raw and uncensored, the way that only she can do it.

      I’m about to flip this entire shit upside down. Fuck a Prada Plan and the bitch that created it. It’s Leah’s turn. Welcome to my story.

      Chapter One

      YaYa’s ears went deaf to everything around her as the explosive sound of her frantic heartbeat rang loudly in her ears. The sight of her daughter’s empty crib incited a fear within her that she had never known. Her stomach instantly went hollow as she bent over in disbelief, and the agonizing thought of someone hurting Skylar broke her down to her knees. The lonely tears that cascaded down her delicate face were every indication that her grief was too much to bear. Her mouth formed in an O of horror, yet no words came out. Her cries were so heavy that they plagued her in silence. Her soul hurt so badly that she couldn’t register the emotion in her brain. The torment that she felt was one that only a mother would know. A missing child is like a missing identity. She didn’t know who she was without her daughter, and now that she was gone, YaYa felt as if the air had been knocked from her lungs.

      Indie knelt with her in an attempt to console her. His strong arms wrapped around her fragile frame as she melted into his embrace. Tears plagued his own eyes as a jumble of emotion built up inside of him. He felt so many things at once as his mind kicked into overdrive. He immediately thought of any and everyone who he had ever had problems with. YaYa was a mother. She had birthed Skylar, but it was Indie who had created the little angel. Skylar was his seed, and the fact that someone had trespassed against his own sent Indie over the edge. Through all of the confusion, the sadness, the grief, his most prevalent emotion was rage.

      “I’ma take care of it, YaYa. I’m going to find out who did this,” he whispered as he held her, pulling her head into his chest.

      “Who would take her away from me? She’s a baby, Indie. She’s my baby,” YaYa cried.

      “I don’t know, ma,” he replied truthfully.

      YaYa sprang to her feet and rushed out of the room as she headed for the phone. “I have to call somebody. We need to call the police. She hasn’t been gone that long. They can help bring my baby back.” YaYa’s hands shook violently as she picked up the cordless phone, but before she could dial one number, Indie removed it from her grasp.

      “We can’t call the police,” he stated.

      “What?” YaYa responded incredulously as her eyes squinted in confusion. “Indie we have to.”

      Indie was trying his hardest to hold onto his logical reserve. The situation was threatening to cripple him at any moment, but he knew that he had to stay strong. Panicking would only cause more chaos, and chaos would ultimately lead to his daughter’s demise. He had to remain focused and think. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. YaYa needed him. His daughter