Chapter 32

Regan slammed the car door harder than he meant to when he got home.

The house was silent, peaceful — a sharp contrast to the war raging inside him.

He hated himself.

He hated that despite all his promises to be better, despite knowing how much was at stake, he had once again let his weakness control him.

One moment of stupidity.

One careless night.

And now guilt was chewing him alive.

Zara.

He thought of her, her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

He had been making progress with her — tiny, beautiful steps forward.

Now he had thrown it all away for a few minutes of reckless lust.

He was still brooding in the living room when his father, Chief Kareem, walked in, wearing his usual intimidating air of authority.

“Regan,” Chief Kareem said briskly, not wasting a second. “Family announcement dinner is this Friday evening. Be there. We’ll be officially announcing the date of your wedding to Zara.”

Regan froze.

Wedding.

He was getting married.

To the one girl he had been betraying behind her back.

He forced a nod, his throat too tight to speak.

His father eyed him sharply, as if sensing something was off, but said nothing more before walking away.

Regan dragged himself upstairs to his room like a man carrying a thousand pounds on his back.

Once he locked the door behind him, he sat heavily on the bed and stared at his phone for a long moment.

He needed to make sure Imani stayed quiet.

Without overthinking, he transferred ₦5 million naira to her account with a simple message:

“Use this to shop, eat, and take care of yourself. Whatever you crave, get it. No stress.”

It was blood money, and he knew it.

But at this point, he would do anything to keep Imani silent — and to keep Zara from finding out what a mess he truly was.

The weekend passed slowly, heavy with unspoken guilt.

When Monday finally arrived, everyone buried themselves back into work, trying to escape their private battles.

At the office, Zara, Imani, and two other junior staff members — Rukayat and Chika — shared a large, brightly lit workspace on the 5th floor.

Their desks were separated by low partitions, meaning conversations and movements were easily visible.

Everyone mostly kept to themselves, focusing on their work.

But not today.

A knock at the door drew all four women’s attention.

A delivery man stepped in, holding a giant bouquet of red roses, a designer gift bag, and a glossy cake box.

“Delivery for Miss Imani,” he announced.

“Sign here please,” the delivery man said, handing over the tablet.

Imani rose from her desk with a sweet, slow smile.

She scribbled her signature flamboyantly and took the packages, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Ohhh,” she squealed exaggeratedly. “Who could be spoiling me like this?”

The delivery guy replied “It says here: ‘From Regan Kareem to my darling Imani.’”

Zara stiffened.

She hadn’t meant to speak, but the words slipped from her lips.

“Regan Kareem?” she repeated, a little too loudly.

Imani turned with an innocent smile.

“Did you say something, dear?”

Zara swallowed hard. “Sorry, can I see the note attached?”

Imani smirked. “Of course, anything for you,” she said, handing the tiny card over with a fake sweetness.

Zara took it with shaking fingers.

Her heart plummeted as she read:

“To my darling Imani. Love, Regan Kareem.”

The blood drained from her face. Her stomach twisted painfully. She forced a tight smile and returned the card to Imani.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice brittle.

Imani’s grin widened like a cat savoring its prey.

Zara turned quickly back to her desk, blinking hard, willing the tears to stay away.

She kept her breathing steady.

“Not here. Don’t break down here.”

After a few moments, she pushed back her chair and mumbled, “I’ll be right back,” heading toward the restroom.

Inside the bathroom, she leaned against the cool tiles, pressing her hands to her chest.

The pain was so sharp it felt physical.

She fought the urge to sob.

“I’m such a fool. I thought there was something real between us. All along he was… still with her?”

Minutes later, Imani sauntered into the ladies’ restroom.

Once she confirmed she was alone, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

The call connected instantly.

“Hello? It’s me,” Imani said sharply. “Why didn’t you add the ‘soon-to-be mum’ cake I asked you to add?”

The man on the other side stuttered, trying to explain, but she cut him off coldly.

“Next time, do your job well. Otherwise, hmmm…”

She let the threat hang in the air like a guillotine.

She checked her account quickly, smirking when she saw the fresh ₦5 million credit alert.

“Well,” she said into the phone, her voice sickly sweet, “check your phone for your balance. I’ve sent it.”

She ended the call and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Victory looked good on her.

For now.

She returned back to her work space,She leaned back in her chair, stroking the petals of the roses with one lazy finger.

Everything was going exactly as she wanted.

When Zara returned to the workspace, her face was composed — too composed.

She sat at her desk and focused hard on her screen, pretending the world around her didn’t exist.

But deep inside, her heart was already hardening.

“So this is who you really are, Regan Kareem,” she thought bitterly.

“Arrogant. Two-faced. Exactly what I never wanted.”

Imani, catching Zara’s tight expression from the corner of her eye, smiled to herself.

Victory had never tasted so sweet.