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Chapter 5: Shadows of Vulnerability

Author: Annie
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-05-17 08:11:25

Morning light streamed into the Adeyemi mansion, soft and golden, spilling across the floors. Zara sat by the living room window, quietly tracing the edge of her coffee cup. Everything around her seemed calm, but it only made her feel more unsettled. After all the chaos—media attention, the gala, and Dami’s aunt’s cutting words—this peace felt unfamiliar.

Her thoughts were loud in the silence. The terms of their contract echoed in her mind, making her feel more trapped by the hour. This marriage was a transaction, and every day reminded her of that.

The front door clicked open. Dami walked in without saying a word. He looked presentable as usual, but his eyes concealed sadness and pain.

“You are awake early,” Zara said, not turning to look at him.

He sat in a chair facing her. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. “Looks like you couldn’t either.”

Just because I’m looking doesn’t mean I want to talk.”

"For a moment, his eyes melted and then he hid it with his usual calm. 'We do not have much options. People expect us to look united. That means keeping up appearances. Always.”

Zara let out a dry laugh. “Appearances. That’s all this is.”

“It’s survival,” he said quietly.

She held the cup firmly. “Is that how you console yourself when you look in the mirror? That all this is just about survival?”

He stayed quiet, not answering. The silence was prolonged with all the words they weren’t bold enough to say.

A knock at the door brought them out of the silence. Both of them jumped.

“It’s the housekeeper,” Zara said as she rose to open the door.

As she shut the door behind her, she went back to the living room tired as she wrapped her arms around herself on the couch, trying to steady her thoughts.

The sound of the soft clatter of glass in the other room drew her attention as Dami was pouring a drink. She’d come to recognize it as his way of dealing with things—alone, calm, and distant.

She stood and walked into the room as she glanced at the whiskey in his hand and gentle said, ‘’You don’t have to do this.’’

He looked at her tired, but still holding back.

“Stop pretending you don’t want more,” she said in a quiet voice.

His eyes grew colder. “Wanting more isn’t something I can afford.”

“Me neither,” she replied, taking a slow step closer. The space between them felt tensed.

Zara sighed, her voice soft. “Maybe we’re both just afraid,” she said softly.

“Afraid of losing control,” he replied, holding her gaze.

The walls they’d built around themselves were beginning to crumble—just a little—but letting each other in still felt dangerous.

She sank onto the sofa, tired and honest. “I hate this,” she said. “Pretending we don’t feel anything. Sometimes I wonder if any of this is even worth it.”

Dami sat beside her, not too close. ‘’It has to be. At least for now.

She looked at him, searching beyond the composed mask he wore. For a fleeting moment, she caught it—that same quiet loneliness, the one that echoed her own.

“I’m scared this contract might ask more of me than I know how to give,” she said, her voice a fragile whisper.

 “Not just for me… or for you. But for my dad.” For the life I had before.”

He nodded. “Your father’s treatment is covered. Your debts are cleared. You have your freedom—just not the version you imagined.”

That hurt more than she expected. She clenched her fists. “And what do you have, Dami? Money? Power? A reputation built on fear? What awaits you at the end of the day?”

Don’t act like you know me,” he snapped, his voice low but sharp.

“I don’t,” she replied, steady and calm. “But I know what pain looks like—and you wear it well.’’

The room went quiet again. Dami leaned back slowly. His body relaxed just a little, like something inside him had eased.

“Just follow the plan, Zara,” he said, whispering.

She nodded in acceptance but the fire in her eyes didn’t waver, a silent promise that wouldn’t be broken that easily.”

They both retired to their separate rooms, both wide awake with eyes fixed on the ceiling. Doubts, regrets, and a faint hope lingered, maybe the contract wasn’t where their story would end.

The next morning didn’t bring much peace as Zara’s phone kept buzzing with messages, news alerts, and event invitations. The world wanted the “perfect couple,” and she felt every move was being watched.

As she dressed, Dami quietly entered and watched her for a moment.

“We have another gala to attend tonight,” he said.

“I’m ready.” She answered as she fixed her hair.

He nodded. “Me too.”

No words were spoken as their eyes met, but something shifted as if they both finally saw what lay beneath. The contract still held them, but beneath it, something real was beginning to grow.

That night, Zara and Dami moved through the crowd with practiced ease. Their smiles were flawless with every gesture perfectly timed. Yet beneath the surface lies a quiet struggle unfolded between duty and desire.

As they posed for photos, Dami’s hand brushed briefly against hers. The touch was fleeting, but it sparked something within her. For the first time, Zara allowed herself to wonder not whether they would break the contract, but if maybe, just maybe, they could rewrite it.

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