Chapter Seven

Night pressed thickly against the windows, the compound quiet except for the distant bark of a stray dog. Emelia sat at the edge of the bed, her wrapper pulled tightly around her frame, as though fabric alone could shield her from what lay ahead.

August leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching her. His expression carried no malice, only conviction.

“It’s for us, Emelia. For the child we’ve been praying for. Just one more time with Ethan. After that, we’ll know.”

His certainty pierced her like a blade. She nodded faintly, unable to trust her own voice. Inside, her vow burned: This will be the last time. Never again.

Moments later, she crossed the hallway with slow steps, her feet betraying none of the storm in her chest. The door to the guest room stood half open. A faint glow spilled out, the low hum of Ethan’s voice humming a tune to himself. He had been waiting.

When she entered, his eyes lit up with that familiar fire, the one that unsettled her, the one she both loathed and longed for.

“So… he sent you again,” Ethan said smoothly, his lips curving into a knowing smile.

“Don’t,” she whispered sharply, though her voice trembled. “This is the last time, Ethan. Do you hear me? The last.”

He rose slowly from the edge of the bed, his presence filling the room.

“You’ve said that before.”

“This time I mean it,” she snapped, though the weakness in her tone betrayed her. She stood rigid, as if holding her body back from its own betrayal.

Ethan stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Then let me make sure it’s a night you’ll never forget.”

Her heart pounded. She hated how her body leaned toward him even as her mind screamed against it. And when his hand brushed her arm, that invisible line between resistance and surrender dissolved once again.

Later, when it was over, she lay in silence, staring at the ceiling. Guilt washed over her like a tide she couldn’t swim against. Beside her, Ethan smirked faintly, utterly unrepentant.

“Don’t look so tragic, Emelia,” he murmured. “The way I see it, this isn’t the end. Not for you. Not for me.”

Her throat tightened. She rose quickly, tying her wrapper, refusing to meet his gaze. “It ends tonight. I swear it.”

She slipped out into the dark hallway, her steps light but her heart unbearably heavy.

And there—just beyond the shadows—stood August.

He had been waiting.

“Did you…?” he asked softly, his tone careful, almost tender.

Emelia froze, unable to meet his eyes. At last, she gave the faintest nod.

Relief softened his face. He reached out, brushing her arm as though she had done him the greatest kindness. “Thank you, Emelia. You don’t know what this means for us.”

She forced a small smile, though inside, her vow screamed louder than ever: Never again. Never.

But as she turned toward their bedroom, she felt Ethan’s lingering presence behind the door—and with it, a fear she dared not name

The sun was already spilling gold across the compound when Emelia stirred awake. The air was thick with the mingled scents of fried akara and exhaust fumes drifting in from the street. For a moment, she lay still, listening to the distant chatter of schoolchildren on their way to class, wishing she could dissolve into that normalcy.

But reality pressed in. Ethan was still in the house.

From the kitchen, she could hear August humming softly as he prepared tea, his mood lighter than it had been in weeks. Every clang of a spoon against porcelain was a reminder of why her body felt heavier than her spirit.

She rose quietly, tying her wrapper and smoothing her hair back, then stepped into the hallway. The guest-room door was open now. Ethan was standing by his suitcase, buttoning his shirt. His eyes caught hers immediately.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said in a low voice, too casual for the weight of the night before.

Emelia’s lips tightened. “Don’t,” she whispered sharply. “It’s over, Ethan. What happened last night will never happen again.”

He gave a slow, amused smile, slipping on his watch. “You’ve got fire when you say that, you know? But fire doesn’t put itself out. It spreads.”

Before she could reply, August’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“Emelia, is he awake?”

She stepped back instinctively, putting distance between herself and Ethan. “Yes,” she called, forcing steadiness into her tone.

August appeared moments later, his face bright with warmth. “Brother, I trust you slept well?”

Ethan turned smoothly, his smirk dissolving into a charming grin. “Like a king. You’ve made this place feel like home, August.”

“Good,” August said, clapping his cousin’s shoulder. “And thank you for being here. We’ll talk more soon about the outreach plans. But for now, you mustn’t keep your day waiting.”

Ethan chuckled. “Always the practical one.” He picked up his bag and headed toward the door. As he passed Emelia, his fingers brushed the back of her hand—a fleeting, deliberate touch hidden in plain sight.

She flinched inwardly, though she kept her face composed. August didn’t notice.

At the doorway, Ethan turned back briefly. His eyes met hers, a look that lingered just long enough to unsettle her resolve. Then he was gone, the sound of the Lexus engine fading into the distance.

Emelia stood in silence, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

August slipped an arm around her shoulders, his voice tender. “You’ve done so much already, Emelia. I know our blessing will come. I feel it.”

Her throat tightened. She leaned into him, because that was what he needed, but inside she repeated her vow like a desperate prayer: Never again. Never.

____________________

The late morning sun streamed through Chisom’s curtains, catching on the polished frames of family photographs that lined the shelf. Most were of Rachel—smiling at birthdays, holding trophies from school competitions, a childhood captured in glossy prints. None bore Tobi’s face.

Tobi sat on the edge of the sofa anyway, legs spread lazily, twirling a keychain between his fingers. He looked completely at ease in the space that had always felt like hers alone.

“You didn’t have to come unannounced,” Chisom said flatly, emerging from the kitchen with a steaming mug of tea.

Tobi grinned. “And miss the look on your face? Never. Besides, Rachel begged me to stop by. Said she’s tired of only seeing you on school runs.”

Chisom’s jaw tightened. “Don’t drag her into this.”

“Why not? She’s the only one who makes you soften up.” He leaned back, studying her with teasing eyes. “Me, you treat like I’m invisible.”

“You make it sound like you deserve more,” she shot back, sipping her tea without meeting his gaze.

“I do,” he said simply, the playfulness in his voice edged with something rawer. “But you’ll never admit it.”

For a moment, the silence between them was thick. The clatter of Rachel’s laughter filtered faintly from outside, where she was playing with Francesca.

Tobi tilted his head, his grin returning, lighter now. “See? Even your daughter likes my girl. You might as well give me some credit.”

Chisom let out a slow breath, staring into her cup. “Don’t push it, Tobi.”

But her eyes flickered, betraying the conflict beneath her words. He noticed. He always noticed.

Before Chisom could answer Tobi’s

teasing words, the front door burst open. Rachel darted in, her laughter carrying through the living room.