Chapter 7

• The sound of the champagne cork popping fills the room, and I can’t help but wince. The air in the ballroom feels suffocating, thick with forced smiles and expectations. Kemi stands beside me, her hand resting casually on my arm, her smile radiant, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She knows she’s won—she knows she’s secured the marriage she’s been fighting for, but there’s no warmth in the victory.
• I’m standing here with her, in front of our families, the press, and everyone who matters. The moment is supposed to be celebratory, but it feels more like a funeral. My own funeral.
• “Well, isn’t this just perfect?” Kemi says, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness as she leans in close, her breath warm against my ear. “You look like you’re having the time of your life.”
• I don’t answer. I can’t. There’s a part of me that wants to scream, to throw my hands up and say, “I can’t do this,” but I know better. The weight of the promise I made to my father—of duty, legacy, and responsibility—chains me to this spot.
• This was never supposed to be my choice. But it is now, and I am suffocating under the pressure.
• I glance over at Funmi, standing a few feet away, watching the scene unfold. She looks different tonight—distant, as if the fight is already gone from her. She’s always been strong, but now… now there’s a weariness in her expression that I don’t know how to fix.
• I feel a pang of guilt twist in my chest. I promised her something. I promised her that I wouldn’t choose this. That I would break free of the chains my family had set for me. But I didn’t. And now, she’s watching as Kemi, the one person who’s always seemed to see me as an obstacle to overcome, steps into my life as my wife.
• “Cole,” Kemi coos, her voice too sweet for comfort, “you’re being awfully quiet. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”
• “I’m fine,” I mutter, forcing a smile. It’s all I can muster.
• She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but doesn’t push. She’s too good at playing the long game, at pretending to care while slowly wrapping everyone around her finger.
• As the evening drags on, the guests mingle, and I find myself trapped in a conversation with some business associate of my father’s. I can’t even remember his name. My thoughts keep drifting back to Funmi, watching from the sidelines, her eyes never straying too far from me. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am: how did we get here?
• I can’t help it. My gaze flicks back to her, and our eyes meet. There’s something there, an unspoken understanding. A flicker of something, maybe hope, maybe regret. But before I can even think about walking over to her, Kemi steps into my line of sight, pulling my attention back to her with a quick, practiced smile.
• “Don’t you think we should make our grand entrance?” Kemi asks, as if we haven’t been standing in the center of attention for the past hour.
• I force myself to nod, following her lead. As we step into the crowd, I can feel the weight of their eyes on us, the press of the cameras, the hum of hushed whispers. They’re all waiting for the picture-perfect moment—the power couple, the union of two dynasties.
• But this is anything but perfect. The moment I take Kemi’s hand, it feels wrong. It’s like I’m wearing someone else’s skin, playing a part that isn’t mine.
• The night goes by in a blur of formalities and half-hearted congratulations. The champagne keeps flowing, but it only serves to make me feel more hollow. Kemi’s hand on my arm, her words in my ear, none of it feels real.
• Then, just when I think I can’t take it anymore, I catch a glimpse of Funmi across the room. She’s standing by the door, watching the proceedings with a quiet intensity, her arms crossed over her chest. It’s like she’s shut herself off from the world, watching it all happen without truly being part of it.
• I can feel the pull toward her. There’s something magnetic about her, something real that Kemi can never offer. She isn’t playing a game—she’s being herself. And I’ve spent so much time pretending, so much time bending to everyone else’s will, that I don’t know who I am anymore.
• I need to talk to her.
• But before I can take a step in her direction, Kemi pulls me back, her fingers digging into my arm.
• “Where are you going, darling?” Her voice is low, possessive, a warning in the softness of her tone.
• I stiffen, torn between the two women, both of whom have claims on me in different ways. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the words don’t come. Instead, I find myself nodding absently, allowing her to lead me back into the throng of guests.
• But even as I walk away, I can feel Funmi’s gaze on me, burning into my back. I know she’s disappointed. But more than that, I know she’s lost faith in me. She’s watching me drown, and there’s nothing I can do to save her—or myself.
• The night continues, but I’m no longer fully present. Kemi’s chatter washes over me like the sound of a distant storm, and I nod along as if my life depends on it—because, in a way, it does.
• As the evening winds down, the guests begin to trickle out, leaving the ballroom quieter, emptier. It’s just Kemi and me, the last two standing in the center of the room. I’m staring at the empty space where Funmi was just moments ago, and I feel the void growing inside of me.
• “Kemi,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t… this isn’t what I wanted.”
• She steps closer, her eyes glinting in the low light. “Of course it’s what you wanted. You just don’t know it yet.”
• Her words cut through me, and suddenly, I’m not sure what’s real anymore.
• But before I can respond, there’s a loud crash from the hallway. My heart races, and I turn toward the sound, my mind spinning with the possibilities.
• What the hell was that?
• Kemi smiles, but there’s something in her eyes that doesn’t match the sweetness of her expression. “It’s probably nothing,” she says, but the uncertainty in her voice is unmistakable.
• I don’t trust her. Not anymore.
• Without another word, I turn and rush toward the hallway, my heart pounding in my chest.
• And that’s when I see her.
• Funmi, standing at the door, her back to me, her shoulders shaking as if she’s holding herself together by a thread.
• And in her hand? A piece of paper, crumpled and torn, with a single line of text that could change everything.