Ayo doesn't say another word.
He just… walks away.
No accusations. No threats. No glint of anger in his eyes. Just silence, cutting sharper than anything he could have said.
I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My heart hammers as I slide the folder back into place and smooth down my dress.
"This is bad," Tola says in my earpiece. "You need to get out. Now."
I don't argue. My heels click against the marble as I slip out, the stolen keycard burning in my palm. My head spins with questions—why didn't he stop me? Call security? Demand an explanation?
Ayo Oladipo isn't one to let things slide.
And that terrifies me.
⸻
I barely sleep.
After the way Ayo walked out last night—silent, composed, terrifyingly unreadable, I knew something was coming. And I was right.
The bomb drops the next morning.
The newsroom hums with tension. Phones ring, keyboards click, but everything feels… off. Like everyone's waiting for an explosion.
Tola spots me the moment I walk in. "You've seen it, right?"
I shake my head.
She thrusts a folded paper into my hand. Oladipo Group's letterhead glares back at me.
NOTICE OF LEGAL ACTION
I skim the lines, my stomach knotting.
Unauthorized entry.
Invasion of privacy.
Defamation.
"They're suing us?" My voice comes out quieter than I intend.
"Oh, they're suing us," Tola confirms. "Apparently, 'one of our staff' crashed their private gala and trespassed into corporate offices." She gives me a look. "That's you, by the way."
I exhale sharply. "I didn't publish anything. How can they claim defamation?"
"They're calling preemptive strike. If this goes to court…" She trails off.
We both know.
We lose. And Ayo knows it too.
Before I can respond, Mr. Obiora's voice cuts through the newsroom.
"Zara. My office. Now."
⸻
I step inside his glass-walled office. He stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back. He doesn't sit. Not a good sign.
"Do you have any idea," he says, voice taut, "what you've done?"
I swallow. "I was careful—"
"Careful?" He spins around, fury controlled but sharp. "You got caught, Zara. By Ayo Oladipo, of all people." He gestures to the lawsuit. "Now his family is coming for my paper."
I stand there, fists curled. I won't apologize—not for doing my job—but I know better than to argue.
"I trusted you to handle this delicately," he continues. "And instead, you walked straight into a lion's den."
I say nothing. He's right.
I let Ayo see me.
And now we're all paying the price.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I heard you know him. That true?"
I hesitate—too long.
"That's what I thought." His voice cools. "And you didn't think to mention that before I sent you in?"
If I had told him the truth—that Ayo and I were ex-lovers—he never would've let me near this case. And I couldn't afford that.
"I didn't think it was relevant," I lie.
He laughs, humorless. "You didn't think your connection to the most powerful family in Lagos was relevant?"
Silence.
He sighs, dropping into his chair. "I don't care about your past with Ayo. I care about not getting steamrolled by his family. I need you to fix this before it spirals."
My stomach sinks. "How?"
His look makes it obvious. "Talk to him. See if we can settle quietly."
I nod, throat tight.
"And Zara?" His voice softens—just a fraction. "Don't screw this up again."
⸻
I walk out feeling like I've been punched in the gut.
Tola's waiting. "How bad?"
I drop into my chair. "He wants me to talk to Ayo."
Her brows shoot up. "You?"
"Apparently, I'm our best shot at avoiding a lawsuit." My voice is bitter. "Since, you know, I'm the idiot who got us into this mess."
"You didn't mean to get caught."
Doesn't matter now.
I should've told Mr. Obiora the truth. That Ayo would recognize me anywhere. That this wasn't just a story to him. But if I had, I would've been pulled off the investigation.
And then no one would be holding Ayo accountable.
"This is my fault."
Tola sighs. "So, when are you going to see him?"
I don't answer.
Facing Ayo once was hard enough.
Asking him for mercy?
That might break me completely.
⸻
By the time I leave, the Lagos skyline is bathed in gold.
The drive is too fast, or maybe my mind is too slow, because before I know it, I'm standing in front of Oladipo Group's glass doors.
I look calm.
I don't feel calm.
I step inside. The receptionist barely glances up before picking up the phone.
Seconds later, she gestures toward the elevator.
"He's expecting you."
Of course, he is.
My pulse thrums. The last time I was here, I was sneaking around. Now, I'm walking straight into the lion's den.
The elevator glides up, too smooth, too silent. The doors open. I step into his office.
He's not alone.
The thought comes too late—right as the door clicks shut behind me.
At first, my brain refuses to catch up. Everything looks the same—the dark wood, the floor-to-ceiling windows. But then, the sound registers.
Soft, breathy moans. Skin against skin.
And then, her.
She's sprawled across his desk, legs spread, head falling back as Ayo moves between her.
His face is turned toward me.
He's watching me.
Heat crawls up my neck. I should leave—I know I should—but my feet stay rooted. My hands tremble. My stomach twists into something sharp and ugly.
She's beautiful, of course. High cheekbones, glowing brown skin. His hand slides down her thigh, lifting her hips higher.
And still—he doesn't take his eyes off me.
I know he planned this.
I know he's punishing me.
And God help me, I let him.
"You're quiet, Zara." His voice is low, rough. "That's not like you."
I open my mouth—nothing comes out.
The woman gasps as he thrusts harder. His rhythm turns rough. The desk creaks beneath them.
And still—he watches me.