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Present day


The change in Ezinne was immediate. The softness disappeared from her face as the colour seemed to drain from it, and her fingers went still against the fabric of her dress.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Mofe watched her expression close completely. The contrast was so sharp that a short, incredulous laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

Ezinne’s head turned toward him. “What is funny?”

“It is easy for you to advise me, isn’t it?” he asked. “You can tell me to meet my uncle, hear him out and ask the questions I have carried for years. But when the same suggestion is made to you, you look as though I have asked you to walk into a burning building.”

Her jaw tightened. “It is not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” He pressed, despite seeing she was getting upset.

“No, Mofe. It is not,” She snapped.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You are telling me that meeting someone does not mean forgiving them. That hearing an explanation does not erase what happened. Why does that only apply to me?”

“Because your uncle abandoned you with your aunt,” she said, her voice sharpening. “My father nearly got me killed.”

The words wiped the faint amusement from Mofe’s face. Shit. This was going somewhere he’d not planned.

“I know,” he said, hoping to calm her.

“Do you?” She asked, her voice rising several notches. “Then you should know better than to compare the two.”

Mofe paused, choosing his next words carefully. “I am not saying what he did was right. Trust me, I'm the last person who would try to rationalise what he did to you.”

“Really? Because it sounds very much like you are about to.”

“What I’m saying is, unlike my uncle, your father never stopped loving you. What if he made terrible decisions because he thought they were the best ones?”

Ezinne’s expression hardened.

Mofe continued before she could cut him off. “He did not abandon you. He did not disappear and leave someone else to carry the responsibility of raising you. He was there.”

“He was there?” she repeated quietly.

There was something in the way she said it that warned him that he had totally stepped onto dangerous ground, but he kept going.

“Yes. He was controlling. He was proud. He made decisions for you that he had no right to make. I know that. But perhaps, in his own way, everything he did was because he wanted to make certain you were taken care of.”

Ezinne shot to her feet, and the speed of it startled him. Her hand struck the arm of the chair as she stood, and the sound cracked through the quiet suite. She took one unsteady step away from him, breathing hard.

“He wanted to make sure I was taken care of?” She asked him, her voice sounding fierce with brimming anger.

Mofe stood as well. This was so not going well. He began to approach her. “Ezinne..”

“Do not.” Her voice broke from across the room, sharp enough to stop him.

“How can you sit there and say that to me?” she demanded. “You, of all people?”

Mofe’s chest tightened. “I did not mean…”

“You know what he did and even what you didn't know; I told you months ago. That night you were in my room. Or have you forgotten? The night we …” her voice trailed as she recalled the events that had happened.

The night he’d kissed her, and they'd been so close to going all the way before they had stopped.

“The night we talked before you suddenly ran back to the States.” She informed him.

Mofe cringed as she reminded him of another one of his Bleep ups. “I know ...”

“No, it seems you do not, because if you did, you would never say something like that.” She said hotly.

She turned away from him, one hand searching blindly until it found the back of the armchair. Her fingers curled around it tightly.

“He forced me into that marriage,” she said. “He took every choice I had and decided that because I was pregnant, because I had brought shame to him, I no longer deserved a say in what happened to my life.”

Mofe’s heart fell hearing the pain in her voice. Once again, he began moving toward her slowly. “Ezinne, I am sorry. I didn’t mean …”

“He handed me over to Ekene as though I was something that needed to be hidden or to be rid of.” Her voice rose with every word. “As if marrying me off quickly would erase the pregnancy. As if putting Ekene’s family name beside mine would make everything respectable again.”

“I know,” Mofe said, afraid that he sounded patronising.

“You do not know!” She turned toward him so sharply that he stopped in his tracks.

Her hands were trembling now. “My father knew what Ekene was like. Maybe not at first, but he knew later. He knew I was unhappy. He knew I was frightened. He knew I did not want that life.”

Tears slipped beneath her glasses and ran down her cheeks. “He stood by while that man tried to destroy me.”

Mofe’s throat tightened; he’d unearthed painful memories and was at a loss how to banish them back to where she’d buried them. The pain was clearly on her features, and he was the bastard for making her relive them all for a promise he made because of his own desperation to keep his secrets from her.

“Ezinne… please,” he tried to get her to calm down. He was well aware that she had blood pressure issues.

“A man that beat me?” She continued, her voice cracking. “Insulted me … made me feel worthless. He made me afraid in my own home, and my father kept telling me to endure it because marriage was difficult and because leaving would embarrass the family.”

Mofe finally closed the distance between them. “I am sorry.”

She stepped back immediately. “Do not touch me.”

He stopped, his hands falling helplessly to his sides. “I am sorry,” he repeated. “I should not have said it that way.”

“You should not have said it at all. My father was part of the reason my life took this turn, Mofe.” The words came out on a sob. “He decided who I would marry. He decided what I would tolerate. He decided that his reputation mattered more than whether I was safe.”

Her hand rose to her mouth, but it did nothing to hold back the tears. “And now you sit there and tell me he did it because he wanted me taken care of?”

Mofe shook his head immediately till he realised she couldn't see him doing it. “I .. it's … I'm sorry I tried to simplify a complicated situation. I'm an insensitive jack ass sometimes; I'm sorry.”

She turned away from him again, but he could see how hard she was fighting to hold herself together. Her shoulders trembled despite her effort to remain steady, and one hand tightened around the handle of her cane.

This was a deeply painful subject for her, and like an idiot, he had dragged her into it without warning, then made light of her reaction. Guilt twisted sharply in his chest. She was leaning too heavily on the cane now, her balance slightly off, and for one frightening moment, he thought her legs might give way before he could reach her.


Mofe stepped closer. “Please.”

She raised one hand between them. “Don’t.”

He stopped again, but only for a second. Then she swayed slightly, her breath catching in a way that frightened him more than her anger had.

Mofe reached for her, but she pushed weakly against his chest. “I said don’t touch me.”

“I know you said that.”

“Then let me go.”

“I cannot, I'm sorry.”

Her hands struck his chest once, then again, but there was no strength behind them. Mofe wrapped his arms around her carefully, ignoring her initial resistance.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I have you.”

“It is not all right.”

“I know.”

“Stop saying you know. It is patronising.”

“I’m sorry if it sounds that way, but I promise it's not my intention,” He said quietly.

She tried to pull away, but he held her more firmly, one hand spread against the middle of her back while the other cradled the back of her head. For several seconds, she remained stiff in his arms. Then something inside her broke.

Her forehead dropped against his chest, and the sob that left her was raw enough to tear through him.

Mofe closed his eyes. He had caused this. He had taken a moment when she had been open with him and turned it into pain because he had been too eager to keep a promise to her father.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I should not have said any of it that way.”

She cried harder. Mofe held her through it, rubbing slow circles over her back while her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt.

“It’s all right,” he murmured again, softer this time. “Let it out.”

She shook her head against him. “He was supposed to protect me. He was my father, but he chose his pride over me.”

Mofe tightened his arms around her. There was nothing he could say to undo that. There was nothing that would make the years disappear or erase the fear she had lived with. So he did the only thing he could. He held her.

He let her cry into his chest until the storm began to ease, until the hard trembling in her body softened into occasional shudders and her breathing became less broken. Even then, he did not release her.

His shirt was damp beneath her cheek. Her hands still rested against his chest, though she was no longer pushing him away.

When Mofe finally spoke, his voice was low. “When Aunt Moni told me about the money my uncle gave her for my airfare, I did not handle it well.”

Ezinne remained quiet in his arms.

“I know it is not the same as what you went through,” he continued. “I am not comparing them anymore. I only want you to understand why I brought up your father.”

She shifted slightly but did not pull away.

“For the first two days, I wasn't in the right space of mind; I was angry,” he said. “ I was angry with my uncle, Aunt Moni, and even myself. I kept thinking about the fact that something so important had been hidden from me for years.”

He closed his eyes as his hand moved slowly over her back, thinking of the almost eleven-year-old secret he'd been keeping from her. He was such a hypocrite, but he continued speaking.

“I had built my whole life around the belief that I owed that man nothing. Then I learned he had helped create the opportunity that changed everything for me.”

Ezinne’s breathing remained uneven, but she was listening.

“It broke something in me,” Mofe admitted. “Not permanently, but enough that I needed space to think. I did not know how to speak to anyone without saying something I would regret.”

“So you stayed away from me for four days,” she whispered.

“Yes. Well, that's the thing. I stayed away from you for slightly different reasons,” he said, careful about what he told her now. “Your father … reached out to me on the same day.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against his shirt. “Wh… what?”

He swallowed. Why in the world had he chosen to tell her this way? Why hadn’t he chosen a calmer moment, planned every word and made certain he could control the direction of the conversation?

He drew in a slow breath. It was too late to turn back now. He had to see it through, Lord help him.

“He left a message for me at the office, and I arranged for a meeting with him. We met today,” he finally confessed.

Ezinne went completely still; even her breathing seemed to stop. Mofe felt the tension return to her body beneath his hands, sharper and colder than before.

jupitre:
Thanks aunt Repogirl

You're welcome

And you love it

Frankcallys:
Ah aaaah! You better come back and finish what you start now. Mofe asked this kind of tricky question and you want us to wait till Monday for Ezinne's answer?

I swear rugad, ama bite you 😭

😂 Monday will be here soon enough.

dripzzy:
Please make it early

Fingers crossed 🤞🏽🤞🏽

Next chapter comes up on Monday morning ... Or possibly earlier, who knows?

Mofe did not answer immediately.

For a few seconds, he simply stood there, wondering how much to say and how to explain something he had spent most of his life refusing to examine too closely.

“I was trying to process things,” he said at last. “Finding out that the uncle I thought abandoned me had helped pay for my trip messed with my head a little.”

Ezinne frowned. “What do you mean when you say he abandoned you?”

Mofe let out a slow breath and returned to the stool in front of her. He sat down and she could almost feel the warmth coming from him.

“When my parents died, my uncle took control of my father’s business. Everything that should have come to me eventually passed through his hands.” His voice remained even, but there was a hardness beneath it now. “He sent me to live with Aunt Moni and carried on with his life as though I no longer existed.”

Ezinne’s expression softened. “He never checked on you?”

“Not in any way that mattered. He did not ask if I was settling in or whether Aunt Moni could afford to care for me. He did not come to school events. He did not call. He just took over everything my father had built and left my aunt to raise me.”

“Mofe,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He looked away, uncomfortable with the sympathy in her voice. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean it stopped hurting.”

His jaw tightened slightly. She was right, of course, but admitting it would mean acknowledging that the boy he had once been was still somewhere inside him, waiting for an explanation that might never come.

“Now he’s trying to get me to meet with him,” Mofe continued. “I refused every attempt before. I had no interest in hearing anything he had to say.”

“But now you do.”

He gave a short, humourless laugh. “Now Aunt Moni tells me he paid for my airfare when I left for America. So, yes, now I have questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Why did he do it?” Mofe asked, the frustration in his voice growing. “Why help me from a distance when he could not be bothered to help me when I was a child? Why pay for my ticket and say nothing? Why pretend I did not exist for years and then suddenly decide my future mattered?”

Ezinne listened quietly.

“I want to ask him why he abandoned me,” Mofe said. “And why, after all of that, he still chose to do something that changed my life.”

The pain in his voice was more exposed now, stripped of the confidence and control he usually wore so easily.

Ezinne reached out. Her hand found his forearm, brushing against the sleeve of his shirt. He had removed his suit jacket at some point after they entered the suite, and she slowly moved her palm upward over the firm shape of his arm.

Mofe went still.

Her fingers travelled to his shoulder and then, carefully, to the side of his face.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her palm before he could stop himself.

The touch was gentle, almost unbearably so.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” she said softly. “I never knew.”

“I never told you.”

“Why not?”

Mofe opened his eyes, though she could not see the way he looked at her. “I didn’t like talking about it. I still don’t.”

Her thumb moved lightly against his cheek.

“Are you going to see him?”

A long sigh left him. “I don’t know.”

Ezinne waited.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted. “But I also do.”

His mouth twisted with frustration. “Does that make any sense?”

She nodded slowly. “It makes perfect sense.”

Mofe studied her face, surprised by how easily she understood. “I just wish Aunt Moni had never accepted the money,” he said. “Or that she had told me, so I could have rejected it.”

“Would you have?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly. Ezinne’s hand remained against his face. “Even if it meant not travelling?”

Mofe hesitated, and that hesitation was answer enough.

He lowered his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe I would have found another way. Maybe I wouldn’t have. But at least the choice would have been mine.”

Ezinne said nothing.

“That’s what bothers me,” he continued. “Everyone made decisions about my life without telling me. Aunt Moni decided I was better off not knowing. My uncle decided he could help from the shadows and still avoid facing me. And I built my entire life believing I owed him nothing.”

His expression hardened again. “Now I find out that the money that took me to America came from him. The opportunity that changed everything came partly because of him.”

“You feel indebted.”

“I hate it.”

The words came out blunt and immediate.

Mofe pulled away from her hand and stood, too restless to remain seated. He walked a few steps across the room before turning back.

“I never wanted anything from that man. I made peace with what he did by believing I survived without him.” His voice lowered. “Now I find out that isn’t completely true.”

Ezinne lowered her hand slowly into her lap.

“It doesn’t erase what he did to you,” she said.

“No, but it complicates it.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I know gratitude is probably the reasonable response, but all I feel is angry. Angry with him for sending the money. Angry with Aunt Moni for accepting it. Angry that neither of them trusted me enough to tell me the truth.”

“You are allowed to feel all of that.”

Mofe gave a quiet laugh without humour. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her.

“You can be grateful for what the money helped you achieve and still be angry about everything else. One good act does not cancel years of abandonment.”

Something in him eased at that. Only slightly, but enough for his shoulders to lose some of their stiffness.

Ezinne tilted her face toward him. “And meeting him does not mean you forgive him.”

Mofe remained silent.

“It only means you are giving yourself the chance to ask the questions you have carried for years,” she added. “You deserve the answers, even if you do not like them.”

He walked back toward her and stopped in front of the chair.

“You really understand.”

A small, sad smile touched her lips. “I do. More than you think.”

Mofe released a long breath and lowered himself onto the stool opposite her again.

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply watched her, his thoughts moving quickly as her last words settled between them.

Meeting his uncle did not mean forgiving him. It only meant giving himself the chance to ask questions.

The advice had been sensible and compassionate. It was more generous than he had expected, especially from someone who understood what it meant to have family wounds that never truly healed.

And suddenly, he saw an opening. A tricky one.

He studied her face, wondering whether this was the right moment to use it. She was calm now, her hand resting loosely in her lap, her expression softened by the sympathy she had shown him. If he did not ask now, he might not find another opportunity that did not feel forced.

Still, he hesitated.

Then he reminded himself of the promise he had made to Chief Onu. He'd promised to do everything he could to get a reconciliation.

“Would you also consider meeting with your father?” he asked.

**********

Present Day

The moment Ezinne stepped into the suite, she could smell the luxury.

It was there in the cool, faintly perfumed air, in the subtle scent of polished wood, fresh linen and something warm she could not quite identify. Even the silence felt expensive, the kind of deep, insulated quiet that suggested thick walls, soft furnishings and rooms too far above the street for traffic noise to intrude.

She slipped off her shoes almost immediately.

Mofe watched as she placed them neatly beside the door, then stretched one foot cautiously over the floor. Her toes moved against the smooth marble, testing its coolness and the flawless surface beneath her.

“Feels expensive,” she murmured.

Mofe closed the door behind them. “It’s the penthouse suite. As for if it's expensive, well … that's relative. It's good value though.”

There was no pride in his voice. He said it as though he were stating an ordinary fact, which somehow made the reality of his wealth more striking.

Ezinne turned slightly toward him. “Can you assist me to a seat?”

He was beside her at once.

His hand settled gently beneath her elbow while the other was near her waist, ready to steady her if necessary. He guided her across the room, adjusting his pace to hers even though she could have managed with her cane.

“This way,” he said. “There’s an armchair just ahead.”

He placed her hand on the back of it and waited until she had lowered herself safely into the seat before moving away.

“I’ll order room service,” he said. “You must be famished.”

She nodded. “I am actually.”

Mofe crossed the room toward the telephone while Ezinne settled more fully into the chair. Her hands moved over the armrests, exploring the velvety fabric. It was soft beneath her fingertips, but firm enough to hold its shape, the kind of upholstery that had probably been chosen by someone who understood that true luxury did not need to call attention to itself.

Only the best for one of the wealthiest Black men in the world, she thought.

She had heard his lawyer’s threat at the council offices. Everyone in the room had. The words had not sounded exaggerated, and the sudden change in the officials’ attitudes had told her all she needed to know.

She knew Mofe was rich. But knowing it in theory was not the same as sitting inside the penthouse suite he had occupied for weeks and feeling the evidence of that wealth beneath her fingers.

From what she'd noticed, Mofe could afford to live anywhere in the world. He could wake up in New York one morning and fly to London for dinner. He could buy houses in cities most people only visited in their dreams. There was only one thing keeping him back in Nigeria, sleeping in an expensive hotel suite when he could have gone back to the life he had built abroad.

He was here for Azora, she reminded herself.

That was what he truly wanted. Time with his daughter. The years he had missed. The chance to know her habits, her moods, her favourite foods and the endless questions that filled every journey home from school.

He had picked Azora up for the past three days. But he had made a point of staying away from Ezinne.

At first, she had told herself she was imagining it. By the second day, she had known she was not.

Mofe was avoiding her. The thought had unsettled her far more than she wanted to admit.

She had grown accustomed to his presence too quickly. To hearing his voice in the house. To his teasing. To the way he filled spaces without needing to dominate them. Even when she was irritated with him, she had known he was nearby.

Then suddenly, he had withdrawn.

Ezinne lowered her hand from the armrest.

Did he know she had overheard his conversation with Aunt Moni? Perhaps he had seen her leaving. Perhaps Aunt Moni had told him later. That would explain the distance and the careful way he had avoided meeting her.

Across the room, Mofe spoke briefly into the telephone, ordering food in the same calm, assured voice he used when handling business.

When he replaced the receiver, Ezinne heard his footsteps begin to move away.

“Mofe.”

The steps stopped immediately.

“Yes?”

“Come back, please.”

There was a short pause before he returned. His footsteps drew closer, and then she caught the familiar scent of him, and the faint trace of his cologne.

A moment later, the air shifted in front of her as he sat down.

They were close. Closer than they had been in the car.

Judging from the height of his voice and the nearness of his breathing, he had probably taken the low cushioned stool in front of her rather than another chair across the room.

Ezinne clasped her hands together in her lap. “Did I … do something wrong?” She asked tentatively.

She heard his sharp intake of breath before he answered. “What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for the past few days.”

His breathing changed again, but he did not move away.

“Ezinne,” he said, his voice gentler now, “believe me when I say I’m the one who has been an ass. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

Relief moved through her, quick and unexpected, but it was immediately followed by confusion. “So it wasn’t because you caught me listening to your conversation with Aunt Moni?”

The silence this time was different.

“Caught you?” he repeated. “What are you talking about? Ezinne, did you eavesdrop on a private conversation between my aunt and me?”

Her fingers twisted together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“How do you accidentally eavesdrop?” His tone was not angry, but there was enough disbelief in it to make her wince.

“I walked in and heard the two of you speaking. I realised it was private, so I left almost immediately.”

“Almost?”

“I heard some things.”

“What things?”

Ezinne hesitated. “Something about your uncle paying for your airfare when you travelled.”

Mofe said nothing.

She hurried to explain. “I’m truly sorry. I wasn’t trying to listen. I came to greet Aunt Moni, and I heard raised voices before I realised what you were discussing. I promise I left as soon as I understood it was personal.”

“But you heard enough.”

“Yes.”

A long breath left him.

Then she heard the faint movement of fabric as he stood.

“Well,” he muttered, “this is embarrassing.”

“Mofe .. I’m ...”

“No, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

He moved a short distance away, and Ezinne felt the loss of his nearness immediately.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have heard any of it.”

He did not answer.

Ezinne tilted her head toward the direction of his footsteps, knowing he was assessing the situation, what she said and how to address it.

“If you didn’t know I was listening,” she asked quietly, “why have you been avoiding me?”
****

dripzzy:
Another early update I'm surprised

Thanks for reading.

Hello Dear readers,

The first part of the next chapter comes up by 8pm ... or earlier possibly ...

Present Day

Mofe had raised such hell at the Educational Council offices that, at one point, two uniformed security officers had stepped into the room and quietly positioned themselves near the door. But he had not cared.

By then, whatever restraint he had walked in with had been stripped away by the sight of Ezinne sitting rigidly in a hard plastic chair, her dark glasses still on, her e-zinne cane resting against her leg while three officials spoke over her as though she were not even there. One of them had been waving a file in the air and repeating that procedure had to be followed. Another kept insisting that the Council was merely doing its job.

Mofe had nearly lost what remained of his temper.

“Your job?” he had demanded, his voice carrying through the office so sharply that conversations outside had gone quiet. “Your job is to drag a visually impaired woman away from the institution she built because of paperwork that could have been resolved with a phone call?”

“Mr. Johnson, you need to lower your voice,” one of the senior officers had warned.

Mofe had turned on him so quickly that the man took an unconscious step backwards.

“No. You need to explain why the director of a registered institution was taken from her workplace like a criminal.”

“She was not arrested,” the man had said defensively. “She was invited for questioning.”

“Invited?” Mofe repeated, his expression hardening. “Did she have the option to refuse?”

The man said nothing.

Mofe laughed once, but there had been no humour in it. “Then do not insult my intelligence.”

One of the security officers had moved closer. “Sir, if you continue to be disruptive–”

“You will do what?” Mofe asked, turning his gaze on him. “Arrest me too?”

The officer hesitated, and Mofe took a step forward. “Go ahead.”

Ezinne had called his name then, quietly but firmly. “Mofe.”

He had looked at her, and the tightness in her face had only made his anger worse. She was trying to appear calm, but he could see the strain in the way her fingers curled around the edge of her chair.

Before he could say anything else, his lawyer had arrived.

The man walked into the office with none of Mofe’s visible fury. He was calm, neatly dressed, and carrying a leather briefcase, but there was something in his composure that made the entire room settle almost at once.

He listened to the council officials speak for less than two minutes before setting the briefcase on the table.

“Let me make sure I understand the situation correctly,” he said. “The centre has all the required documents. Some licences have expired, but no allegation has been made that the institution is unsafe, fraudulent, or operating outside its approved purpose.”

One of the officials cleared his throat. “The renewal dates were missed.”

“And that justifies detaining the director?”

“She was not detained.”

Mofe’s lawyer looked at the man over the rim of his glasses. “Was she free to leave?”

The room fell silent again.

“I thought not,” he said.

Then he opened the file in front of him and spoke with such quiet precision that even Mofe stopped pacing.

“My client would like to know whether this Council has the resources to defend itself against a multi billion dollar lawsuit.”

Several faces changed at once, an the senior officer leaned forward. “There is no need for threats.”

“This is not a threat,” the lawyer replied. “It is a clarification of possible consequences. If Mr. Johnson instructs us to proceed, this will not be treated as a minor dispute over expired licences. We will examine unlawful detention, procedural misconduct, reputational damage, harassment, discrimination, and every administrative failure involved in the decision to bring Mrs. Ezinne here by force.”

Mofe folded his arms, his gaze fixed on the officials.

His lawyer continued in the same calm tone. “And once we begin, we will not stop with today. We will review this Council’s conduct over the last decade. We will request audits, internal communications, disciplinary records and every document relating to enforcement actions against private educational institutions.”

The Council chairman shifted uneasily in his seat.

The lawyer looked directly at him. “I sincerely hope this agency has the funds to defend itself against one of the wealthiest Black businessmen in the world, because by the time we are finished, the Federal Government may decide it is cheaper to scrap this Council entirely than rescue it from bankruptcy.”

That had changed everything. The hostility drained out of the room with embarrassing speed. Voices softened. Chairs were offered. Documents were suddenly located. The same officials who had insisted that nothing could be done without due process began speaking about misunderstandings and administrative oversights.

It turned out there had been no reason to bring Ezinne in at all.

The centre had every essential document. A few operating licences had lapsed, but they could be renewed immediately once the penalties were paid. There was no fraud, no dangerous violation and no legal basis to continue holding her.

Mofe paid the fine without blinking and within the hour, Ezinne was released unconditionally.

Now she sat beside him in the back seat of his car, and the fury that had carried him through the Council offices was gone.

The interior of the car was cool and quiet, sealed away from the heat and noise outside. Traffic crawled around them, horns sounding in short, impatient bursts, while motorcycles slipped between vehicles with reckless confidence. The city was alive beyond the tinted windows, but inside the car, the silence between Mofe and Ezinne had hardened into something almost physical.

He did not know what to say. Four days. He had avoided her for four whole days.

Now, sitting inches away from her, all he could think was that he had behaved like a coward.

His phone rested in his hand, though he had not read a single email in several minutes, but he kept scrolling anyway.

He opened documents he did not absorb, replied to one message with a sentence so vague it barely qualified as an answer, then returned to his inbox and stared blankly at the same unread notification.

It was easier than looking at her.

Ezinne sat against the leather seat with her earbuds in. Her face was turned slightly toward the window, her dark glasses hiding her eyes, and her hands rested calmly in her lap. Anyone looking at her might have thought she was relaxed.

Mofe knew better.

Her stillness was too deliberate.

He wondered what she was listening to. Music, or perhaps an audiobook. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe the earbuds were simply her own way of avoiding him. The thought unsettled him more than it should have.

He stole another glance at her, then looked away before she could somehow sense it. For one reckless moment, he imagined telling her everything right there.

The secret about his departure. The arrangement with her father. Every ugly detail he had kept hidden for years. The thought made his stomach tighten.

How did a man confess the darkest thing he had ever done to the woman he loved and still expect her to look at him afterwards?

He could admit to the medical records because he had already placed something hopeful in front of her. The charity outreach and the possibility of surgery had softened the blow. He had hated manipulating the timing, but it had worked. Her anger had not disappeared, yet it had not swallowed everything else.

This was different. There was nothing hopeful attached to this secret. No doctor. No charity. No promise of restored sight.

Only betrayal.

If it had been entirely his decision, he would have carried the truth to his grave. He would have buried it beneath everything good he intended to do for her until even he could pretend it no longer mattered.

But he had made Chief Onu a promise, and when the time was right, he would tell her. He would find a way to keep that promise, even if the thought of it made his chest feel tight.

He dragged his thumb down the screen again without seeing the words.

What he should have been thinking about was her father. He had promised the Chief that he would begin laying the groundwork for reconciliation.

That conversation alone was dangerous enough. Ezinne had spent years building a life without her father in it. She had learned to live with the pain he caused and the distance he created. Suggesting that she open the door to him again could easily send Mofe straight back into the doghouse. Perhaps even beyond it.

He could already imagine the quiet disbelief in her voice. After everything he did to me, you want me to forgive him?

Mofe had no answer that would not sound like betrayal.

He shifted slightly, suddenly unable to get comfortable.

The Council officials had not frightened him. Armed guards had not frightened him. The possibility of arrest had barely registered.

But one difficult conversation with Ezinne had him pretending to read emails like a nervous schoolboy.

Her voice broke through the silence without warning. “Since Azora is spending the night at Dara’s place, I would like us to talk.”

Mofe’s thumb froze over the screen. His entire body went still before he slowly lifted his head.

One of her earbuds was now resting in her palm. She had not turned toward him, but her posture had changed. She was no longer leaning against the window. She was sitting straighter, her fingers curled lightly around the earbud as though she had already made up her mind about something.

“Talk?” he repeated before he could stop himself.
Ezinne turned her face in his direction.

“Yes, Mofe. Talk.”

Something in her tone tightened the knot already forming in his chest, and his mind immediately ran through every possibility.

Was this about the last four days?

Had she discovered his meeting with her father?

Had she finally decided that whatever was happening between them had gone too far and needed to end?

That last thought struck him with enough force that his mouth went dry.

He locked his phone and placed it beside him, abandoning the pretence at last.

“Of course,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “We can talk.”

Ezinne was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Not in the car. Let's go to your hotel.”

His gaze snapped fully to her. She must have heard the change in his breathing because her lips tightened slightly.

“Unless you would rather continue avoiding me,” she added. The words were calm, but they landed like a slap.

Mofe leaned back slowly, guilt pressing hard against his ribs, as a fresh wave of unease moved through him.

Whatever she wanted to say, it was not casual. It was not gratitude for getting her released. It was not a conversation that could happen while his driver listened from the front seat.

He picked up his phone and sent one short message to the driver. Take us back to the hotel.

Then he locked the screen and set it aside. This time, he did not pretend to be busy.

He sat beside her in silence, acutely aware of every inch between them and every truth waiting to tear that distance wide open.


***************

She tried to hold on to the lightness between them, because if she let herself sink too deeply into what he had just said, she might cry.

“So,” she said, brightening deliberately, “can we go again?”

Mofe stared at her for a second. Then he laughed so hard she grinned.

“Slow down,” he said, propping himself on one elbow. “Aren’t you sore?”

“Nothing I can’t manage.” She said with a shrug.

He gave her a look. “That is not an answer I like.”

“I want to feel that climaxing feeling again. Especially with you inside me,” she said with shameless enthusiasm. “It’s just so good.”

Mofe laughed again, but this time there was fondness all over his face. He looked at her like she was ridiculous and precious and dangerous to his sanity all at once.

“As much as I would love to make you feel that again,” he said, “we need food. And I am not touching you again until I get protection. We’ve already taken enough risk as it is.”

She made a face. “Why do you have to be so sensible all the time?”

“Because one of us has to be.”

“You’re no fun.”

He leaned forward and kissed her softly, a slow, lingering kiss that made her complaint lose all its strength.

“There will be fun,” he murmured against her lips. “I promise. But let’s give your body some time to rest.”

She looked at him hopefully. “So later tonight, perhaps?”

His brow lifted. “Ezinne, aren’t you supposed to be going back to Dara’s place tonight?”

“I was supposed to,” she said, settling comfortably against the pillow, “but there’s no way I’m going back now. I’m spending the night here.”

Mofe watched her quietly. For a moment, the tenderness in his expression gave way to caution. “I don’t mind that. You know I don’t. But are you sure? You won’t get into trouble?”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

He studied her for another second, as though weighing whether to push. Then he nodded and sat up. “Okay. I’ll freshen up first, then you’re next. After dinner, we’ll go for a walk.”

“A walk?”

He looked back at her, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. “I need to stock up on some things.”

She understood immediately and laughed. Condoms.

Mofe shook his head at her amusement, then got out of bed and started toward the bathroom.

Ezinne’s laughter faded slowly as she watched him go.

He walked away naked, completely unaware of how shamelessly she was looking at him. The room’s light touched his back, tracing the slope of his shoulders and the clean, defined muscles that shifted with every step. His waist narrowed beautifully, his body lean and strong in a way that made her mouth go dry. There was nothing soft or careless about him. Every line of him seemed shaped by work, discipline, and movement. By the life he had fought through and the strength he carried without making a show of it.

She stared because she could not help it. He was beautiful to look at, beautiful to touch, and beautiful to hold. And now she knew the feel of that body against hers. She knew the warmth of his skin, the strength in his arms, and the way he trembled when his control finally slipped.

A slow, private smile spread across her face. Her man was so damn fine.

The thought filled her with a strange, pleased pride that made her want to laugh at herself. After all the pain, all the distance, all the uncertainty, some young, possessive part of her sat up inside her chest and admired him with complete satisfaction.

He was hers. At least in this room, in this moment, he was hers.

The bathroom door shut behind him, and a moment later she heard the shower come on.

Ezinne remained on the bed for a few seconds, wrapped in the quiet warmth of everything they had shared. Then her phone vibrated on the bedside table.

She glanced at it. Ekene.

The warmth in her chest cooled immediately.

For a brief moment, she considered ignoring it. But then she remembered the delicate arrangement she had created, the lies she had already told, the fragile freedom she was still trying to protect. Ignoring him completely might create questions. Questions would create suspicion. Suspicion would lead back to her father.

With a small sigh, she picked up the phone.

“Hi, Ezinne,” Ekene said.

“Hi.”

“I was just about to come see you at Dara’s.”

Her mind adjusted quickly. “Ah. Then it’s good you called first.”

There was a pause. “Why? Where are you?”

“I’m not at Dara’s.”

Another pause, heavier this time.

Ezinne leaned back against the pillows and forced her voice to stay smooth. “Her parents took us out for dinner.”

“Oh.” Ekene sounded surprised, but not doubtful yet. “Where? I can meet you there.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s no need for that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be weird.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“Ekene,” she said, letting mild irritation enter her voice, “inviting yourself to dinner with my friend’s parents would be weird. Besides, don’t you have something better to do with your evening, or have you appointed yourself my new officer?”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Ezinne…”

“No,” she cut in, her tone sharpening. “When you told my father I shouldn’t be treated like a prisoner, did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it.”

“Then act like you meant it. Because right now, it feels like you’re trying to take over the position of my jailer.”

Ekene sighed. “I’m sorry if you feel that way. I only wanted to see you.”

“Not tonight.”

“Fine,” he said after a moment. “So when do I pick you up tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ll take an Uber home.”

“I can pick you.”

“No.”

“Ezinne…” He said, dragging her name into a frustrated silence.
The silence should have ended there, but Ezinne knew better than to let him retreat too far. She still needed the illusion of friendliness. She still needed him invested enough to keep her father relaxed, but not encouraged enough to assume anything more. It was a thin line.

“But you can come by in the evening,” she said, softening her tone just enough. “Is that okay?”

His voice changed slightly, warming with hope. “Sure. That’s fine. Can I take you out?”

“No, you can’t. That’s not the sort of—”

“Even friends hang out,” he said, as if reminding her that they were supposed to be friends.

She closed her eyes briefly. He always did this. Made unreasonable things sound reasonable. Slipped his wants into ordinary sentences until she felt like she was the one being difficult.

“Just a quick outing,” she said finally.

“Okay,” he replied, too quickly.

Before he could say more, she heard the shower stop.

“I have to go,” she said at once. “My battery is low. Goodnight.”

She ended the call before he could reply.

For a second, she sat there staring at the dark screen of her phone, the guilt and irritation mixing uncomfortably inside her. Then the bathroom door opened.

Mofe stepped back into the room, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his waist and another in his hand. Steam followed him faintly, along with the clean scent of soap. His hair was damp, his skin glowing softly under the dim light, and for one unguarded second, Ezinne forgot every lie she had just told.

He looked at her and smiled.

“Your turn,” he told her.

She set the phone aside quickly. “Yes, it is.”

He came to the side of the bed and held out the towel, but before she could take it, his gaze drifted over her with such open admiration that warmth rushed straight back into her face.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said quietly.

The words were simple, but they sank deep.

Ezinne took the towel from him and wrapped it around herself, suddenly shy in a way that felt strange after everything they had already done.

“You always say that,” she murmured.

“Because your beauty never ceases to stun me,” he confessed.

She tried not to smile and failed.

Reaching for her hand, he helped her up gently. For a moment, they stood close together, not speaking, the quiet between them warm and full. His fingers lingered at her waist before he let go, and even that small loss of contact felt like something.

She turned toward the bathroom, still smiling faintly. And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her, the same way hers had followed him earlier.

For tonight, she let herself enjoy it. For tonight, she let herself pretend there were no lies waiting outside the room, no Ekene, no father, no fragile plan balancing on half-truths and careful performances.

For tonight, there was only Mofe. And the beautiful but terrifying fact that she had found her way back into his arms.
**********

jupitre:
Thanks for the update

You're welcome.

The meal had arrived, but neither man had paid much attention to it yet.

For the first time since Mofe walked into the private dining room, the conversation between him and Chief Onu had become almost easy. Not warm enough to erase the years of anger between them, but calm enough that Mofe no longer felt as if every sentence had to be chosen like a weapon.

Somehow, they had begun talking about Azora.

“She asks questions about everything,” Mofe said, and despite the heaviness that had followed him for the past few days, a smile found its way onto his face. “And I mean everything. You can give her the simplest explanation and she will still find five more questions buried inside it.”

The Chief smiled faintly as he cut into his meal. “That sounds very much like her mother. She drove me crazy with questions when she was younger.”

“It does,” Mofe agreed, with a quiet chuckle. “But Azora is even more relentless. Ezinne knows when to stop. Azora does not believe there is such a thing as enough information.”

The older man chuckled softly, and Mofe watched him for a moment, struck again by how strange the afternoon had become. An hour ago, he had expected the meeting to be tense from beginning to end. Instead, he was sitting across from Ezinne’s father, describing the granddaughter the man had never met and watching interest soften his usually stern expression.

“She is very intelligent,” Mofe continued. “She remembers everything too. You cannot make careless promises around her. She will remind you of the exact words, the date, and probably what you were wearing when you said them.”

The Chief laughed properly this time, and Mofe found himself relaxing a little more.

“She gets that from the Onu side,” the older man said.

Mofe lifted a brow. “Convenient.”

“I am only stating the truth.”

Mofe was about to respond when his phone began to vibrate against the table.

He glanced at it and saw Maureen’s name, and the smile disappeared from his face.

Maureen rarely called him directly unless something had gone wrong at the centre. Even then, she usually sent a message first.

He picked up immediately. “Maureen?”

“Sir, Mofe, please, where are you?”

The panic in her voice made him sit straighter. “What happened?”

Across the table, Chief Onu lifted his head. Mofe turned his face slightly away, keeping his expression controlled even as unease tightened sharply inside him.

“Some people came from the education council,” Maureen said quickly. “They said some of the centre’s licences have expired. They have taken Ms Ezinne.”

For one terrible second, Mofe could not speak.

“What do you mean they have taken her?”

He kept his voice low, but the hand holding the phone tightened hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

“They said she has to go with them to answer questions. We tried to explain that the principal handles most of the licence renewals, but they would not listen.”

Mofe rose from his chair slowly. “Did they arrest her?”

“I don’t know if they called it an arrest, but they would not let her remain at the centre. She left with them.”

Anger moved through him, swift and hot, but he forced it down. Losing control now would not help Ezinne.

“Where are they taking her?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Find out. Text me the exact address, the names of the officers, the department they came from, and anything they gave you in writing.”

“Yes, I will.”

“And Maureen?”

“Yes?”

“Stay calm. Don’t frighten the staff or the students. I’m coming.”

His voice sounded steadier than he felt.

The obvious person to call would have been Anthony, the centre’s principal, but the man was away on a two-week leave of absence. Mofe did not even know whether he could be reached quickly enough to explain what had gone wrong with the licences.

That did not matter, because he would find out for himself.

“Send me the details now,” Mofe repeated.

“I will,” she said before ending the call.

For a moment, Mofe remained standing beside the table, staring at the dark screen of his phone while his mind moved rapidly through everything he needed to do.

Find Ezinne. Call his lawyer. Identify the exact agency involved. Find out why the licences had expired and who had failed to renew them.

Then find out who had decided it was necessary to remove a visually impaired woman from her own centre as though she were some criminal likely to escape.

“Mofe.”

The Chief’s voice pulled him back.

Mofe slipped his phone into his hand and looked at him.

“What happened?”

“I need to handle something.”

Chief Onu studied him closely. “Does it concern Ezinne?”

“No,” he automatically replied, thinking he didn't need to concern the old man about something he would sort out within the next one hour, but the lie had come out too quickly.

The older man looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small shake of his head.

“You are a very poor liar.”

Mofe’s jaw tightened, but he did not deny it.

The Chief placed his cutlery down. “Is she in trouble?”

“I don’t know yet.”

That was the closest Mofe could bring himself to the truth. “But she won't be staying in detention for long.”

The older man’s expression changed, worry passing briefly across it before he controlled it. To his credit, he did not press for details. Perhaps he understood that Mofe was already holding himself together by force.

“You should go,” he said calmly.

Mofe reached for his jacket that he'd taken off sometime during their lunch. “You can stay and finish your meal. Everything has already been arranged.”

Chief Onu rose from his chair as well. “I have lost my appetite.”

For a moment, they faced one another across the table, and then the older man extended his hand.

Mofe looked at it briefly before taking it.

“I know we have not always agreed,” the Chief said, his grip firm, “but I am convinced of one thing. Whatever the problem is, you will handle it.”

The quiet confidence in his words took Mofe by surprise.

Not long ago, he would have dismissed anything that sounded like approval from this man. Today, with concern for Ezinne already tightening painfully around his chest, he found himself strangely grateful for it.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I mean it.”

Mofe nodded once. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“Please do,” the Chief said as his grip on Mofe's hand tightened.

He released the Chief’s hand and walked quickly out of the private dining room.

The calm elegance of the restaurant suddenly irritated him. The low music, the hushed conversations, the polished floors and smiling staff all felt completely removed from what was happening outside.

He stopped briefly at the front desk. “Please charge the meal to the penthouse suite.”

The hostess nodded at once. “Certainly, sir.”

Mofe was already typing as he walked toward the entrance.

Bring the car to the front immediately. We’re leaving.

His driver responded almost at once.

He stepped through the restaurant doors and into the hot afternoon air, then opened his contact list and found his lawyer’s number.

The education council, or whatever department had decided to drag Ezinne away over expired paperwork, clearly had no idea who they had just chosen to trouble.

They were about to find out.

************



Next chapter comes up on Wednesday evening .... or probably even sooner than you expect

Mofe waited for the chief to continue.

“I am grateful that you dropped the charges against me.”

Mofe’s expression did not change. “You should not have altered the company’s books.”

“I know.”

“The auditors found serious irregularities.”

“They did.”

“The company’s finances had been misrepresented before the sale,” Mofe added.

Chief Onu nodded. “That is also true.”

“Then what exactly is there left to explain?”

The older man looked down into his cup. “You don't know the full story.”

Mofe frowned.

“I moved funds from the company,” the Chief began. “I will not deny it. But I was not taking money simply to enrich myself.”

“You expect me to believe it was a misunderstanding?”

“No.”

The Chief’s answer was firm. “It was wrong. I know that. But it was more complicated than embezzlement.”

Mofe said nothing.

“A few years back, I invested heavily in a side venture. A private logistics business with two former colleagues.”

“What happened?”

“It failed.”

The Chief gave a tired sigh.

“We expanded too quickly. We took loans. I personally guaranteed most of them because I believed the venture would recover.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No.”

His fingers tightened around the cup. “When the business collapsed, the debts became mine. The creditors threatened legal action. They were prepared to seize several of my personal assets and expose the entire matter publicly.”

“So you used money from Onu Shipping to service the loans.”

“Temporarily.”

Mofe gave a hard laugh. “That is always the word people use.”

“I intended to return every naira.”

“But you hid it in the books.”

“I disguised the transfers as intercompany advances and consulting expenses.”

Mofe shook his head. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I knew it was wrong.”

The Chief met his gaze. “But I was desperate and ashamed. I kept believing the side business would recover and I would replace everything before anyone noticed.”

“It didn’t.”

“No, it did not.”

Mofe’s expression remained hard. “That still does not explain all the missing funds.”

Chief Onu was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Some of the money went to Ezinne.”

Mofe stilled. “What?”

“Not directly.”

The older man’s voice softened. “I have been supporting her centre anonymously for years.”

Mofe stared at him.

“The large donations she received every few months,” the Chief continued. “The ones that came in anonymously. Most of them came from me.”

Mofe sat back slowly. “You funded the centre?”

“I tried to.”

“Why anonymously?”

“She would never have accepted the money if she knew it came from me.”

The Chief gave a sad smile. “I could not speak to my daughter. I could not visit her. She would not take my calls. But I knew what the centre meant to her.”

He looked away briefly. “I thought if I could not help her directly, I could at least help the work she loved.”

Mofe felt something shift uncomfortably inside him.

He remembered the donation records. The unusually generous deposits that appeared at different times. The funds that should have expanded the centre years ago.

“Most of the money never reached her,” Mofe told him.

Chief Onu’s face changed immediately. “What do you mean?”

“Her former business manager was ripping the place off. He siphones funds from the centre. He created false vendor accounts, duplicated expenses, and redirected donations into accounts he controlled.”

The older man’s face hardened with anger. “How much?”

“Almost everything from some of the larger donations.”

Chief Onu went still, and did not speak for several seconds, and his hand tightened into a fist on the table.

“That man stole from my daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And she didn't get most of the money sent?”

“No, she didn't. The Centre was actually in debt when I came in.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

The Chief looked older suddenly. Not because his shoulders had fallen or his face had weakened, but because the regret in his expression was no longer hidden behind pride.

“You really thought I never loved her,” he said quietly.

Mofe did not answer.

“You thought I sold her away and forgot about her.”

“You forced her into a marriage that almost destroyed her,” Mofe pointed. “You treated her like an asset.”

“I made terrible mistakes back then.” Chief Onu’s voice broke slightly on the words, but he continued. “When you look at Azora, what do you feel?”

Mofe’s expression tightened, and he became instantly defensive. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just … humor an old man with an answer.”

Mofe looked away briefly. “I feel … grateful to have finally met her. I want to give her everything.”

“Exactly.” The Chief leaned closer. “You look at your child and you want to place the whole world at her feet. You want to protect her from every disappointment and every struggle.”

Mofe said nothing, and the chief said, “That is how I feel about Ezinne.”

The older man’s voice was raw now. “I wanted everything for my daughter. Security. Respect. A stable life. A husband who could provide for her and protect her.”

“And you did not believe I could.”

“No, I didn't.”

The blunt answer stung even after all these years.

Chief Onu continued. “You were young. Angry. Struggling. You had nothing.”

“I had her, I had a brain and I was going to do right by her,” Mofe insisted.

“Yes, you had love.” The Chief shook his head sadly. “But I was arrogant enough to believe love was not enough. I saw you as a boy who would drag my daughter into hardship. I did not see your ambition. I did not see what you could become.”

“You never tried.”

“No, I guess I never even considered trying.” The Chief said, accepting the accusation. “I believed I knew what was best for her. I believed giving her financial security was the same as giving her happiness.”

He exhaled slowly. “By the time I understood the difference, I had already lost her.”

Mofe felt his anger soften, but only slightly. “You did love her,” he said. “You just loved her badly.”

Chief Onu’s face tightened. “Yes.” The word came out almost as a whisper.

“And sometimes,” the older man added after a moment, “badly expressed love causes more damage than hatred ever could.”

Neither man spoke after that.

For the first time since the meeting began, Mofe looked at Chief Onu and did not see only the man who had separated him from Ezinne. He saw a father. A proud, deeply flawed father who had spent years convincing himself that control was protection.

And perhaps that was what unsettled Mofe most. Because in more ways than he wanted to admit, he understood him.
***

Present Day


Across from Mofe, Chief Onu sat with the quiet confidence of a man who had spent most of his life expecting people to listen when he spoke.

Once again, Mofe wondered at how age had softened his frame, but not his presence. His shoulders were still held proudly, his clothes immaculate, his expression controlled.

For a few moments, neither man said anything.

The silence between them was not comfortable. Too much had happened for that. Too much anger. Too much blame. Too much history neither of them knew how to put down.

Finally, Mofe placed his cup back on its saucer.

“I received your letter.”

Chief Onu nodded slowly. “I assumed you did.”

“I nearly ignored it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

The older man leaned back slightly in his chair. “Then I’m grateful you called this meeting. We needed to have this conversation.”

Mofe said nothing.

“I’m hoping you carefully considered everything in the letter, and we can try to be civil in our interaction, Mofe,” the Chief continued. “We cannot keep allowing the past to control every conversation between us.”

“The past is the reason we’re here,” Mofe noted quietly

“I know,” Chief Onu agreed with a nod.

The answer was quieter than Mofe expected.

Chief Onu looked down at his hands for a moment before continuing.

“When I was younger, I was a very proud man.” A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. “I believed being older made me wiser. I believed authority meant I was always right. Being Military trained certainly didn't help. I had no patience for disobedience.”

Mofe watched him carefully, silently taking in the Chief's words.

“Hindsight has not been kind to me,” the Chief admitted. “When you get to my age, you begin to look back at the decisions you once defended so strongly, and you realize how much damage your pride caused.”

He paused. “I can see the things I did wrong now.”

Mofe had expected excuses. Defiance. Perhaps even another attempt to shift blame. Instead, the man sitting across from him sounded tired, not weak.

Something in Mofe loosened slightly, though he remained guarded. “All is not lost,” he said.

Chief Onu lifted his face toward him, clearly surprised.

Mofe continued before he could respond. “I came back to make things right with Ezinne. That has not changed.”

“And where do I fit into that?” The Chief asked, holding Mofe's gaze.

Mofe folded his hands on the table, and leaned forward. “I intend to help Ezinne reconcile with you.”

For the first time since he entered the room, the Chief’s composure slipped.

“You do?”

“Yes. Everything written in the letter made sense. If all goes well, it will be for the best.” Mofe explained. If the general was willing to ask for his daughter's forgiveness, who was he to get in between that.
Ezinne and her father had fallen out but he was still her parent and he knew there had been a time, father and daughter had had a good relationship. Besides he couldn't imagine himself being estranged from Azora, for a short while, not to talk about ten years.

“After everything between us?” The Chief asked.

“This isn’t about you and me,” Mofe clarified, holding his gaze. “It’s about Ezinne. Whatever she says, and whatever she has convinced herself she no longer needs, you’re still her father.”

Chief Onu stared at him.

“And Azora deserves to know her grandfather,” Mofe added.

The older man swallowed, emotion briefly tightening his face before he controlled it. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

The warning in Mofe’s voice brought the Chief’s attention sharply back to him.

“This is not going to happen quickly,” Mofe said. “You cannot simply appear at her house or the centre and expect her to welcome you.”

“I know she’s still angry with me, even after ten years.”

“She is more than angry.” Mofe leaned forward. “You hurt her. You made decisions that affected the rest of her life without caring what she wanted. She does not trust you.”

The Chief’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue.

“If there is going to be any reconciliation,” Mofe continued, “it has to be handled carefully. Strategically.”

The older man gave him a long look. “Strategically,” the Chief repeated.

“Yes.”

“You mean slowly.”

“I mean without cornering her.”

Chief Onu’s expression hardened slightly. “Or perhaps you are simply stalling because you are afraid to tell her what happened between us.”

Mofe’s mouth tightened. “That is part of it.”

The admission seemed to surprise the Chief.

Mofe picked up his coffee again but did not drink. “I am afraid to tell her.”

“And rightly so?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation. “I know Ezinne. I know how she reacts when she feels betrayed. She has only just begun allowing me back into her life. I will not drop this on her before I have prepared her for it.”

“You mean before you have manipulated the situation in your favour.”

Mofe smiled without amusement. “If that is what you want to call it.”

“It is what it sounds like.”

“Then call it whatever you like.”

Mofe sat back. “I cannot tell her yet. Not when our relationship is this fragile. Not when one badly handled conversation could make her shut the door on me permanently.”

“She will be angry,” the Chief said. “But anger passes.”

“Not always.”

“She accepted you after all these years,” the chief said, gesturing with his hand.

Mofe shifted uncomfortably. “She has not accepted me completely.”

“But she is allowing you into her life.”

“That does not mean I can take that trust for granted.”

Chief Onu shook his head. “You underestimate my daughter.”

“No. I know her well enough not to gamble with her,” Mofe argued.

The older man watched him in silence.

Mofe continued, his tone calmer now. “I can begin the process of getting her to speak to you. I can help her understand that you regret what happened. I can encourage her to consider hearing you out.”

“And the rest?”

“The truth about what happened between us comes later.”

“How much later?” The Chief asked, staring intently at him, as if checking for signs that Mofe was being shady.

Mofe sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I cannot give you a date.”

Chief Onu’s expression hardened again. “I have already waited for years.”

“And you may have to wait a little longer.”

“I am not a young man, Mofe.”

“I know.”

“I do not have endless time.”

“And rushing her will not give you the relationship you want.” Mofe leaned forward again, his voice firm. “If you truly want Ezinne back in your life, then you have to trust me to handle this.”

The Chief was quiet for a long time.

The waiter entered briefly, set down a tray of light refreshments, and left without either man acknowledging him.

Finally, Chief Onu spoke. “Can you at least estimate how much time are you asking for?”

“I honestly don’t know yet.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“It is honest.”

The older man rubbed one hand slowly across his jaw. “And you believe you can convince her to see me?”

“Eventually, yes. I can.” Mofe said with a definite nod.

“You sound very confident.”

Mofe shrugged. “I understand her anger.”

A faint smile crossed the Chief’s face. “Because you have been on the receiving end of it.”

“Quite a few times,” Mofe replied with a quiet sigh.

That pulled a brief, unexpected laugh from the older man and the tension between them eased slightly.

Then the Chief nodded. “Very well.”

Mofe watched him carefully.

“I will give you some time,” the Chief said. “But I hope you can do what you have promised.”

“I will try.”

“I need more than an attempt.”

“It is the most honest promise I can give you right now but I will do everything within my power to make it happen.”

Chief Onu considered that, then nodded again.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Then the older man reached for his coffee. “There is something else.”

Second part comes up in a few minutes.

dripzzy:
Finally after many days of refreshing the page

Thanks for your patience.

sal1974:
Mwow splendid,thank you for the update,it worths the suspense and waiting Mofe's level of control his out of this world,he still continues to be to make sure she really wants to be intimate with him after several assurance.

Yes! Thanks for reading.

My apologies for the long delay. Half of the next chapter comes up now. 18+ recommended. Enjoy.

Update postponed till Friday night. Apologies

dripzzy:
Nice story you got here

thanks

juninhouj:
Thanks for the update

you're welcome.

Present Day


The hostess led Mofe through the quiet dining room and toward a private suite tucked away from the lunchtime crowd.
The restaurant was one of Abuja’s finest. It was all polished marble, muted lighting, and discreet luxury. The kind of place where important conversations happened behind closed doors and nobody asked unnecessary questions. Exactly what he needed.

He walked into the private dining room with a hard expression on his face and plans already forming in his head.

The waiter opened the door and stood aside. "This way, sir."

Mofe nodded his thanks and stepped inside. The room overlooked the Jabi waterfront through floor-to-ceiling glass. A polished table set for two occupied the centre of the room, fresh flowers arranged tastefully between two place settings.

The second chair was empty, as his guest had not arrived yet.

Mofe stood for a moment just inside the room, his jaw set, then crossed over to the table and took the seat facing the empty chair with his back to the window.

Four days. It had been four days since he had last seen Ezinne. He still picked Azora up from school every afternoon as promised, dropping her safely at home afterwards. Most days, he deliberately timed his arrival so one of the house staff collected Azora.

It was perhaps cowardly, but definitely necessary. He simply wasn't ready to stand in front of her pretending everything was fine while the weight of her father's letter sat permanently at the back of his mind. Not yet.

A waiter appeared beside him, providing the menu. "May I get you something while you wait, sir?"

"Double espresso."

The waiter inclined his head. "Anything else?"

"No."

After the waiter disappeared, Mofe leaned back slowly. He had avoided Ezinne long enough. Nothing was improving by keeping his distance. If anything, it was giving his imagination too much room to torment him.

He had spent the past four nights playing every possible version of the future inside his head, and it all ended the same way. It ended with Ezinne shutting him out.

He exhaled heavily. No, he refused to accept that ending without trying everything first. It was why he had called for this meeting with her father, retired General Onu, now Chief Onu.

The espresso arrived. Mofe thanked the waiter quietly, then lifted the cup and took a sip. The bitterness hit his tongue hard and sharp, exactly the way he liked it when he needed to think clearly. He set the cup down and stared at the empty chair across from him.

He had spent the last two days convincing himself this was the right decision. Because somewhere between receiving that letter and lying awake night after night, he'd realised something uncomfortable. He had to start planning.

If the truth was eventually going to reach Ezinne, and it would, he needed to decide how.

He could not simply blurt it out one evening and hope for the best. That would be emotional suicide for both of them. He knew he needed to prepare for it and put certain things in place first, exactly as he had done with the medical records.

He grimaced slightly at the comparison. God. That could have easily blown up in his face too, but it hadn’t.

Mofe rubbed a hand slowly across his mouth. There was no pretending now; he knew what he was: a manipulative bastard.

He knew the ways he bent situations when he was desperate. The ways he delayed truth until it could land where it hurt least. The ways he calculated pain as if timing could make deception cleaner. It was ugly, not noble.

And maybe Ezinne would hate it if she ever found out how much of this had been strategy. But what choice did he have? Tell her too soon and risk losing her forever. Wait too long and risk her finding out from someone else. Do nothing and let the past detonate inside their present without warning.

So, yes, he planned too much … controlled too much. He calculated outcomes instead of giving people the chance to make their own choices. He might hate that about himself, but he hated the alternative even more.

Because the alternative was telling Ezinne everything exactly as it was, watching the colour drain from her face, and then spending the rest of his life wondering whether one conversation had cost him both the woman he loved and the daughter he had only just found.

No, he couldn't do that, not if there were another way.

It wasn't perfect. It probably wasn't even fair, but fear rarely produced perfect decisions. And fear had been driving him for days now.

He did not have the luxury of purity here, and he was not going to choose between right and wrong. He was choosing between ugly options and trying to pick the one that gave him the smallest chance of losing everything he loved.

And he did love her. God, he loved her. That was the part that made this unbearable because if Ezinne walked away from him now, it would not just be heartbreak. It would be the collapse of every fragile thing he had begun to build with her. The little routines. The easy moments with Azora. The quiet breakfasts. The softening in her voice when she forgot to hide it. The sense that he was inching toward a family instead of merely circling one from the outside.

He could not lose that. Not now. Not when it had finally begun to feel real.

Whatever came out of this lunch, whatever agreement they reached or did not reach, it all had to happen before he stood in front of Ezinne and opened the wound he had spent years pretending was buried. He had avoided her long enough.

Now he needed a plan, even if it meant becoming the villain in his own story for a little while longer.

The quiet click of the private dining room door pulled him from his thoughts.

Mofe looked up to see Chief Onu standing in the doorway. For several long seconds, neither man spoke, and then the Chief walked slowly toward the table.

Neither of them looked away from the other. The war between them, which had been paused for a while, was most likely about to begin again.
Only this time, neither of them was fighting for pride. They were fighting for Ezinne.
**********


Next post on Thursday/Friday.

sal1974:
Thank you for the update, looking forward to the update

you're welcome.

princemozyk:
Thanks for the update

You're welcome.

Mofe's smile faded, though only a little. His eyes stayed on her, steady and unreadable for a moment, as though the real answer had gone somewhere deeper than words.

"Like Ezinne," he said at last. His voice was low, almost careful. "You're you."

Something fluttered inside her chest. It was such a simple answer, and yet it felt too honest to be clever, too plain to be decoration. She looked away first, focusing on the can in her hands, but warmth had already begun to creep under her skin.

"You're funny," he went on after a moment. "Mischievous. You act like you're fearless most of the time."

He glanced at her, then back down at the can, as if gathering courage for the rest of it. "You walk into a room as if you belong there. Like no one and nothing can make you doubt yourself."

A knowing smile touched his lips. "But I know better."

Her gaze slid back to his face.

"I know there are days you don't feel half as confident as you pretend to be." His voice had softened now, stripped of teasing. "And I know you'll never let anyone else see it."

Ezinne stared at him, suddenly very still.

He took a breath and continued, a little slower this time, as though the words mattered enough to be handled gently.

"And then..." He gave a small, helpless shrug. "You care too much."

She frowned faintly. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No." His answer came at once, immediate and sure, and it made her smile before she could stop herself.

"No," he repeated, softer now. "I don't mind it. Especially when it's directed at me. "One corner of his mouth lifted. "I know how selfish that sounds, but I don't care. It's one of the things I love about you."

The words made her breath catch.

"You show up for the ones you care about. You forgive things most people wouldn't even think twice about walking away from."
His voice dropped further. "You’re forgiving, but I wouldn’t mistake it for you being a pushover because I also know that when you’re done, you're done. And that’s the part of you that scares me the most."

Silence settled between them, heavy and tender. Then he smiled, and this time it was easier, lighter, but no less sincere.

"So when you ask me what you look like to me..." He shook his head once. "I don't really think about the clothes you wear or the way everybody else sees you."

His eyes held hers. "I just see Ezinne."

The words were simple, but somehow, they struck deeper than anything else he could have said. She barely had time to let them settle before he added, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, I forgot to mention something."

She frowned suspiciously.

He leaned back a little, his expression turning mischievous. "You're also a menace."

Her mouth fell open in disbelief, and he immediately went on, clearly enjoying himself now.

"To my heart," he clarified. "You cause a lot of chaos in it. Good chaos."

A laugh burst out of her then, bright and helpless, and she shook her head because of course he would ruin the seriousness with a joke. Typical Mofe. He never allowed her to get too comfortable in one emotion for too long.

He let out a slow breath and leaned back against the couch, watching her with a quiet kind of relief. "It's good to see you laughing again."

She looked up at him, and the softness in his expression made something tighten in her chest. He looked relieved, almost grateful, as though her laughter had answered a question he had been too afraid to ask aloud.

"I've been wondering if I'd ever make you laugh again," he admitted.

The sincerity of it unsettled her more than the teasing had. For a moment, she did not know what to say, only that his words had reached somewhere deep and tender inside her.

Before she could speak, Mofe suddenly stood.

Ezinne blinked, confused, as he moved toward her. Then, without warning, he went down on one knee in front of her.
Her eyes widened. “Mofe—”

He took her hand before she could pull back, and the surprise of the gesture froze her in place. She stared at him, too stunned to move, too embarrassed to fully process what was happening. The room seemed to go very still around them.

His hand closed over hers gently, but there was urgency in the way he held it.

“I want us to be together,” he said.

Ezinne’s breath caught as he held her gaze from where he knelt; he was so big that they were at eye level, his face open in a way that made her chest ache before he had even continued.

“My heart can’t take this up and down thing anymore,” he said quietly. “I know I said I’d follow your lead. I know I promised that. But this…” His grip tightened around her fingers. “This is killing me, Ezinne.”

She could feel her own pulse racing now.

“Every day I don’t hear from you, I feel it,” he said. “Every silent week, every stretch of waiting, it eats at me. I don’t want to keep feeling like that. I don’t want to feel like I’m hanging on a thread and not knowing whether you’ll pull me up or let me fall.”

His voice roughened. “I’m stressed the Bleep out,” he admitted, the honesty of it almost raw now. “I can barely function when I don’t know where I stand with you. I’m tired of waiting and guessing and hoping and pretending I’m okay with this distance when I’m not.”

Ezinne stared at him, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

“I want to go back to us,” he said quietly. “I want what we used to have. I want us to stop doing this shaky, half-broken thing where we act like we’re okay when we’re not.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was lower than she intended.

“I want it too.”

Something flickered in his face immediately. But she wasn’t done. His gaze stayed fixed on hers, waiting. Then she let out a long, quiet breath.
“But I’m afraid.”

He went still.

She squeezed his hand once, even though hers was trembling slightly now. “Mofe, from what you’ve told me, part of why you decided to go to my father was because I pressured you for sex. You were afraid we’d give in before you were ready because we were staying together.”

His face changed at once, like he knew exactly where she was going and could already feel the ground shifting under him.

“Do you understand what that means to me?” she asked softly, the hurt rising in her throat despite how carefully she tried to hold it back. “It means you’d rather betray my trust than give in to your desire for me.”

He opened his mouth, but she kept going, her voice trembling just enough now to show how much this had stayed inside her.

"That's if you even had such a desire to start with,” she said, “because sometimes it felt like you didn’t. It felt like you were holding back from me even when I was right there. If you truly desired me, why would you choose to do that? Why would you go to him instead of staying with me, actually having a sane discussion, and trusting me to ..”

She never finished the sentence, because Mofe lunged at her.

One moment he was kneeling in front of her with her hand in his, and the next he was rising suddenly and pulling her into him with a force that stole the rest of her words. His mouth met hers in a fierce, desperate kiss. It was not gentle at all but hungry in the way of someone who had run out of patience for everything except the one thing he could no longer bear to say with words.

Ezinne’s breath left her in a gasp, her body startled stiff for only a second before the shock of it hit every nerve in her. His hand slid to the back of her neck, steadying her, and the other gathered her close, drawing her against him with a heat that made her whole body go unsteady.

The kiss deepened almost immediately, not in a hurried way, but in a consuming one. His mouth moved over hers with a fierce urgency that seemed to carry every feeling he had failed to put into language. It felt like longing, frustration, regret, and need.

It was the kind of kiss that did not ask permission because it had already been granted somewhere deep between them long before either of them spoke again.

Ezinne made a soft sound against his mouth, half surprise, half helpless surrender, and that only seemed to unravel something in him further. He kissed her again, slower for a beat, then harder, like he was trying to say, "Please stay," without using the words. His fingers tightened at her waist, and before she could fully gather herself, he shifted his hold and pulled her down with him.

The chair gave way beneath them in an awkward scrape, and the next thing she knew, they had fallen onto the rug together.

Her back hit the soft floor first, Mofe following almost immediately, bracing himself over her with his body curved protectively around hers. The fall barely registered compared to the feeling of him over her, warm and solid and too close in a way that made her pulse stumble wildly.
He kissed her again before she could even catch her breath.

This time it was slower, deeper, more searching, his mouth moving against hers with a kind of aching familiarity that made her chest tighten painfully. One of his hands framed her face gently now, thumb brushing along her cheek while his other arm kept her pulled close. She could feel the hard line of his body above hers, the steady weight of him, the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, the sharp contrast between the urgency in the kiss and the care in the way he held her.

Ezinne’s hands found his shoulders without her fully deciding to move them there, her fingers curling into the cloth as the kiss kept pulling more and more of the breath from her lungs. He kissed her like he had been holding back for too long, like something inside him had finally cracked open and this was the only way he knew how to reach her now.

Every part of her seemed to respond before her mind could catch up, as the room disappeared around them. The couch, the can of coke forgotten somewhere near the edge of the rug, the quiet of the apartment, the tension of the court, all of it faded until there was only the heat of his mouth, the firmness of his body, the shaky rush of feeling that spread through her like fire. She could feel the ache inside her answering the kiss, softening and burning all at once, as though some long-denied part of her had been waiting for this exact collapse.

Mofe’s kiss became gentler for one brief moment before deepening once more, as if he could not decide whether to comfort her or lose himself in her. He kissed her with such tenderness and with all the restraint he had been carrying around finally breaking loose.

Ezinne was stunned, breathless, and too overwhelmed to think clearly. She could only cling to him as the feeling of him filled every corner of her body and left no room for anything else. This was the kiss of a man who had nothing but pure desire for her.

******

Second part of the chapter comes up later this evening ... Fingers crossed.