He Shot His ‘Favourite Girl’ 7 Times… Then Claimed Self-Defense
The heat had barely faded from the studio lights when the first shell casing hit the bedroom floor. By the time the last one stopped spinning, a 28-year-old mother had been struck seven times. Her two sons were sleeping in the next room.
When police arrived at 4:03 a.m. on February 12th, 2026, they found a man with a single wound to his leg telling officers it was self-defense. He was rushed to Piedmont Columbus Regional Hospital. But the detectives were not waiting for him to recover. Less than twenty-four hours later, they walked into his hospital room and served him with arrest warrants for murder and possession of a firearm during the commission of a crime.
Kievon Davenport was twenty-two years old.
His social media called Lexus Antrum his “favorite girl.” Her family says he shot her seven times.
Before Gardener Drive became a crime scene, it was a content studio. And before she was a victim in a police report, Lexus Antrum was a brand. To her mother, she was Lexus. To her followers, she was Germani LaRosa—a woman who refused to let a working-class Philly zip code define the boundaries of her future.
Born in May 1997, Lexus was the only girl in a house full of boys. She was not just a sister. She was the mediator. From her brothers’ fights to her mother Tunisia’s frustrations, every emotional load landed on Lexus. She was the gravity that kept the family together. Within that household, three generations of women—Lexus, her mother Tunisia, and her grandmother—looked so alike that loved ones gave them a nickname: the Triplets.
But Lexus’s dreams were too big for a single city.
By her teens, she was already a cheerleader built for success, a content machine long before the term went mainstream. She would set up a ring light and a tripod in her living room, transforming her private space into a studio for a multifaceted career. She was a rapper and a reality TV standout, appearing on City Girls of Atlanta and Blueface Club season three. She landed a role in the horror film Mr. Belvedere Bear 2. Beyond that, she was a digital creator who monetized her image across multiple online platforms and an entrepreneur who ran her own fashion brand, Sye Mari Collection.
But underneath the spotlight and the self-tape auditions was a mother who had been carrying that role for nearly half her life.
Lexus became a mom at fifteen. By the time she reached adulthood, she was already doing what most young women find hard—balancing parenthood with her dreams. By 2026, her sons were seven and thirteen. They were the reason she worked so hard. Fame for Lexus was not ego. It was a ticket to a better life for her kids.
For a long time, that strategy included their father, Shaquan Mack. His relationship with Lexus was a roller coaster of breakups and reconciliations—a long and crazy journey she believed was finally behind her. By July 2020, the woman who had taught about toxic love on a Philadelphia stage thought she had finally found her safe harbor.
She took to social media to announce her engagement to Shaquan, pouring her heart out in a raw, unfiltered post. “You guys have no idea how stunned I was. It has been such a wild ride. We were apart for so long, I truly thought we were beyond repair. I had actually started telling myself that maybe relationships just were not for me, that I was the one constantly failing. But we have both evolved. We have learned from the mess. I love this man with everything I have, and I am so ready for our next chapter.”
But even a ring could not quiet her itch for a fresh start.
On April 7th, 2021, Lexus packed her dreams, her two sons, and headed south—chasing greener pastures in Georgia. She thought she was leaving behind the grit and heartbreak of Philadelphia. She did not know that three years later, chasing that dream would walk her straight into a digital trap set by a twenty-year-old aspiring rapper.
Kievon Davenport was twenty years old when they met—six years younger than Lexus. He was hungry to make a name for himself in the Atlanta scene. He was also a man who, only months earlier, had been behind bars. In mid-2024, he posted a message to his followers that left no doubt about where he had been. “I was messed up in the county. God made a way so I could come home, and I am thankful for that and for all my family. Free my brother, big bruh. Gonna go hard for you every chance I get. I love you. Only the real will get it. #freeZoe.”
That post told you everything. He had just come home but still had people inside. He was looking to start over.
By September or October of 2024, the two of them were appearing in each other’s worlds publicly. Likes. Comments. Reposts. On the surface, they looked like a perfect match. Both lived in the same rap music world. Both were chasing the same dream. And Kievon made his move loud and clear. He recorded a song titled “Only Her,” dedicated specifically to Lexus.
Keep a smile on your face ’cause you know that you pretty. Come on, little baby, ride through the city. One of a kind, know that she trend. I swear that you different. Don’t care about them. Know your heart broke, baby girl.
Now here is a detail no one talks about. Kievon was twenty years old when this began. Lexus’s older son was eleven at the time. Most people confused him as their father. But when you do the math, one thing becomes clear. Kievon was never the biological father of Lexus’s children. He had entered their lives less than two years before the fatal incident.
Throughout 2025, their love was everywhere you looked online. Their feeds were a steady stream of Valentine’s gifts, outings, Christmas mornings, matching outfits—all screaming perfect love. The internet called them couple goals. A family that had finally found its footing. News reports and close ones referred to him as her husband.
But search for an engagement ring, a wedding photo, or anything that points to an actual legal union. You will not find one. Strange for a couple who laid everything else out for the cameras.
On May 8th, 2025—Lexus’s twenty-eighth birthday—Kievon posted what may now read as one of the saddest captions. “My favorite girl. My favorite person. You can have whatever you want. You special. I fell in love with your vibe at first sight. This feeling different. You give a man a reason to smile. I am going to make sure you get whatever. Forever be your protector. I got your heart. You the rawest. You the baddest. Forever be your protector.”
The performance of devotion was flawless. He was worshiping her in public—posting captions, buying flowers, showing up to family events. The reality behind closed doors was starting to look very different.
Kievon did not just charm Lexus. He charmed her mother, too.
“He called me Mom,” Tunisia Seals would later say. “And, you know, he was respectable.”
A polite young man. He bought flowers. He helped with the boys. To everyone watching from the outside, he was the answer to a generational pattern Tunisia had spent her whole life trying to outrun.
But then something changed.
On February 11th, 2026—the day before the shooting—Kievon called Tunisia. He did not call to say hello. He called to vent about an argument he was having with Lexus. He wanted her mother to hear his side of the story. Tunisia, trying to be a good mother-in-law, gave him some advice and hung up, hoping they would just work through it like any other couple.
“And I tried to get the best advice I could,” Tunisia would later say through tears, “but I did not know it was like this.”
Before that, here is a detail worth knowing. Tunisia was already carrying a weight most people could not imagine. On January 16th, 1999, she lost both her mother and father to a domestic murder-suicide. For twenty-seven years, she lived with that silence, making it her mission that her children would never walk that same dark path.
But the start of 2026 was merciless. On January 14th—just two days before the anniversary of her mother’s passing—Tunisia’s arranged husband also passed away. She was still in the thick of that grief, barely twenty-nine days later, when her phone rang again on February 12th with the news that something had happened to Lexus.
At 4:03 a.m. that morning, a fatal incident unfolded inside her home. In her bedroom. With her two sons in the next room.
By the time it was over, Lexus Antrum was gone. She had sustained multiple wounds. Her family says seven. A level of violence one source close to the case would later describe as overkill.
When Columbus police arrived at Gardener Drive, they did not find a grieving husband. They found a man with a single wound to his leg, telling officers it was self-defense. He was rushed to Piedmont Columbus Regional Hospital. But the police were not waiting for him to recover. On February 13th, less than twenty-four hours later, detectives walked into his hospital room and served him with arrest warrants for murder and possession of a firearm during the commission of a crime.
Under Georgia law, that firearm charge carries a mandatory consecutive five-year sentence on top of whatever the murder charge brings.
Lexus’s body was transported to the GBI Crime Lab in Decatur for autopsy. The Muscogee County Coroner had pronounced her at the scene.
While the law was catching up to Kievon, Tunisia Seals was living through a nightmare that felt all too familiar. On February 15th, she finally made it to Georgia to see her daughter one last time.
“When we made the call to the hospital, they did not have her body,” Tunisia said, her voice breaking. “And all the nurse could tell us was we needed to get down there ASAP. So we had to gather money together to go to Georgia. Prior to going to Georgia, we did find out that my daughter Alexis—she goes by Germani, Jamani on social media platforms—that she had been shot seven times. So we are thinking at first, maybe it was not as serious. But we later found out it was seven times.”
But Tunisia could not just grieve. She had to figure out how to get Lexus home to Philadelphia. The cost of transporting a body across state lines and caring for two traumatized boys was more than the family could handle. They launched a GoFundMe for thirty thousand dollars. And Tunisia went live on social media—exhausted and heartbroken—asking the world to help her bring her daughter home.
“We are in the process of trying to bring her body from Georgia back to Philadelphia so we can give her a proper service. I have been asking, and I am one of them ones that do not like to ask, but I have been asking and we have been posting. I do not know what to do and how fast to get money up, but it has been a struggle. It has been a struggle. We are just trying to get her home. That is what we are trying to do. We are trying to get her home.”
Today, the two boys who heard everything that night are back in Philadelphia, safe in the care of their grandmother. On May 9th, 2026, the family held a celebration of life. They released balloons into the sky to honor Lexus—the woman who narrated a play about knowing your worth, only to have hers taken by the man she called her protector.
“Love you, sis. Love you, sis. Love you, sis. Miss you.”
“So that means she wanted to stay,” someone said at the memorial. But the truth was crueler. She wanted to leave. She may have been asking for a breakup in the days before her death. Some close to Lexus have alleged that. Was that the trigger for a twenty-two-year-old who had only been in her life for eighteen months—watching his “favorite girl,” the subject of his songs, walk away?
Or was it something deeper? Something only the coworker who came forward after Lexus was gone could have explained.
As of this recording, there is no update on the final funeral date. The case is still moving through the courts. The family is still waiting. The moment doctors cleared Kievon, Columbus police booked him straight into the Muscogee County Jail, where he sits behind bars awaiting trial.
“It is okay to leave,” Tunisia Seals said, standing in the wreckage of a generational curse she had tried so hard to break. “It really is. It is okay to leave. Because if you do not leave, you can end up like my daughter and like my mother. I just want justice to be served.”
This case still leaves more questions than answers. Kievon told officers it was self-defense. But how does a man defending himself walk away with a single wound to the leg while the woman beside him sustains multiple wounds—seven, according to her family?
And those calls he made to Tunisia—the ones where he played the concerned partner asking his mother-in-law for advice—were they really cries for help? Or were they something colder? A way to plant the idea in advance that Lexus was the difficult one?
Then there is the question no one can answer. If it was self-defense, why did he call her mother the day before—not after, but before—to complain about an argument? Why did he need to shape the narrative before the violence even happened?
The performance of devotion was flawless. The performance of remorse may be just as calculated. But the forensic evidence does not perform. The bullet trajectories do not lie. And two boys who will grow up without their mother are the only witnesses who cannot be cross-examined.
Tunisia Seals lost her mother and father to domestic violence in 1999. She lost her husband in January 2026. And twenty-nine days later, she lost her only daughter. Three generations of women, bound by love and by grief, and by a pattern of violence that should have ended with her mother’s death but did not.
“It is okay to leave,” she said. Not as a warning. As a plea.
Somewhere in the Muscogee County Jail, a twenty-two-year-old rapper sits in a cell, waiting for his day in court. His social media still says he was a protector. His songs still say he loved her. But the seven rounds recovered from Lexus Antrum’s body tell a different story.
The cameras are off now. The ring lights are dark. And a mother who has buried too many people is still waiting to bring her daughter home.
If you or someone you know is in a relationship that feels unsafe, if the public devotion does not match the private reality, if you are making excuses for someone who makes you afraid—please hear what Tunisia Seals said. It is okay to leave. It really is. Because if you do not leave, you could end up like Lexus.
And the world has already lost too many favorite girls.
