Chapter Six

August opened the door to Tobi’s familiar face. They exchanged a quick hug—no fuss, just warmth.

“Morning,” Tobi said.

“Morning,” August replied, stepping aside.

Tobi entered, gave Emelia a respectful nod. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she answered, eyes lowered.

His gaze slid to the sofa. “Ethan.”

“Tobi,” Ethan returned, cool, unreadable.

August gestured to the seats. “Make we sit.”

No small talk. No catching up. They had seen each other the previous morning. The room settled into a quiet that said more than words.

Tobi leaned back in the armchair, flashing his usual grin. “Emelia, abeg, you don’t even greet me properly. Since yesterday, you’ve just been treating me like a side character.”

Emelia rolled her eyes but the corner of her lips curved. “Side character that eats the biggest meat in the pot, right?”

August chuckled, already used to their bickering.

“Exactly!” Tobi spread his arms dramatically. “And since I’m here, I expect small chops too. Don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”

Emelia shook her head, pretending to sigh. “If you’re not careful, I’ll start charging you rent each time you step into this house.”

Tobi laughed, loud and unbothered, then leaned forward to grab his malt. “At least you’ll finally admit I’m family.” He shot her a playful wink, and she swatted the air at him.

August smiled, pleased at the familiarity. For a moment, the room softened, warmed by their easy banter.

But Ethan sat back quietly, sipping his drink. His gaze followed Emelia longer than it should have, the playfulness between her and Tobi twisting in his mind into something else.

Emelia felt it, even as she laughed at Tobi’s jokes. A chill slipped under her skin, breaking through the warmth.

The laughter between Emelia and Tobi lingered like soft echoes, filling the living room with an ease that reminded August of simpler times. He leaned back on the sofa, relaxed.

But Ethan hadn’t laughed. He had smiled politely, nodded when expected, and sipped his malt with deliberate calm. Now, as Tobi set his bottle down with a satisfied sigh, Ethan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“So,” he began, his tone lower, measured. “Brother, we should talk about why I came.”

The shift in his voice drew the attention back to him. Tobi slouched deeper into his chair, unconcerned, while Emelia’s hands stilled on her wrapper.

August nodded. “Yes, you mentioned the outreach program. I’ve been eager to hear your ideas.”

Ethan’s eyes flickered briefly toward Emelia before returning to August. “It’s not just ideas. It’s expansion. I’ve been thinking—we could take Father’s legacy further. Beyond the little pockets of charity here and there. Something bigger. Something that carries weight.”

August’s expression warmed with interest. “That sounds good. But it has to remain true to the heart of what he started—service, not show.”

“Of course,” Ethan replied smoothly. But his gaze, sharp and unwavering, slid toward Emelia again, as though the true conversation was happening without words.

Emelia lowered her head, busying herself with gathering the empty bottles from the tray. Her pulse thudded against her ribs.

Tobi, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped once. “Expansion, ehn? That one sounds like more money, more wahala. Just don’t involve me. I like my peace.”

Ethan smirked faintly. “Peace is a luxury, cousin. Some of us aim for more.”

His words, though spoken to Tobi, landed heavier in the air—directed elsewhere.

August leaned forward, eager. “So, the outreach. You said expansion?”

“Yes,” Ethan replied, his voice steady. “Something bigger. But we’ll get into the details later. For now—” his gaze lingered on Emelia as she gathered the bottles—“I just wanted to set the tone.”

Emelia froze for a heartbeat, then forced herself to move, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she lifted the tray.

Tobi stretched lazily, half-amused. “Set the tone, expand, legacy… abeg, all these your big grammar can wait. I’m hungry. Emelia, do we still have suya from yesterday?”

She managed a small smile. “I’ll check.”

Ethan smirked faintly, watching her retreat toward the kitchen. Then he leaned back, his chain catching the light. “You’re lucky, August. Not every man is cared for this way.”

August chuckled, taking the words at face value. “Yes, I’m blessed.”

But the weight of Ethan’s stare said something else entirely.

Emelia set the tray down on the counter, her movements brisk, almost too precise, as though the neat arrangement of bottles and glasses could steady her pulse. The cool air from the fridge brushed her arm, but it did nothing to quiet the heat crawling up her neck.

She sensed him before she heard him. The shift of the air, the shadow lengthening across the tiled floor. Her spine stiffened.

“Still the perfect hostess,” Ethan’s voice slid in, smooth, deliberate. He leaned on the doorframe, his white polo bright against the dim kitchen, one hand buried in his pocket, the other spinning his keys lazily. “Always making sure everyone else is comfortable.”

Emelia kept her back turned, fumbling with a bottle she had no intention of opening. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m family.” His footsteps were unhurried, closing the space between them. “Besides…” his tone dropped, softer, heavier, “you knew I’d come.”

Her fingers tightened around the glass until she feared it might shatter. She forced herself to turn. “Stop this, Ethan. Whatever you think—”

“What I think?” He cut in, amusement flickering in his eyes as he stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, sharp and intoxicating. “I don’t have to think, Emelia. I remember.”

Her throat constricted. “It was a mistake.”

He tilted his head, smiling, as though she had told him a sweet lie. “You don’t say ‘mistake’ with your hands trembling like that.” His gaze dropped briefly to where her fingers clutched the counter, pale against the polished wood.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

For a moment, silence hung thickly between them, charged and dangerous. He didn’t touch her—he didn’t have to. The closeness was enough, his presence pressing against her resolve.

From the parlor, August’s laughter rang out, warm and unsuspecting. The sound cut through her haze, and she shifted quickly, creating distance.

Ethan lingered, watching her with a half-smile that felt like both a taunt and a promise. “Don’t worry,” he murmured as he finally stepped back toward the door. “I’ll play the cousin. For now.”

He left her standing by the counter, breathless, her pulse loud in her ears, the taste of guilt already thick in her mouth.

By the time Ethan stepped out of the compound, the house felt strangely hollow. His cologne still lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the curtains as though refusing to leave with him.

August closed the door and returned to the living room, loosening his collar. “That went better than I thought,” he said lightly. “At least he’s willing to hear me out about the outreach. That’s progress.”

Emelia nodded, her face carefully composed, though her hands were clenched in the folds of her wrapper. “Yes. Progress.”

She glanced around—the tray was empty, the glasses cleared. Tobi was gone too, having slipped out quietly while the cousins spoke. The silence between her and August now was intimate, domestic, but it pressed on her differently than it used to.

August came closer, his expression softening. “You’ve been quiet since yesterday,” he murmured. “I thought maybe the beach relaxed you, but…” He touched her chin gently, tilting her face up. “Maybe tonight will.”

Her chest tightened. “Tonight?”

“Yes.” His smile was tender, unknowing. “I want us to try again. To be sure. To really know that everything we’re waiting for—the prayers, the fasting—it’s not in vain.” His thumb brushed her cheek, reverent. “Let’s try again tonight, Emelia.”

For a long moment, she could only stare at him, her mind warring with the memory of Ethan’s nearness in the kitchen. Guilt pricked her like thorns, but she forced herself to nod.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Tonight.”

But as August gathered her into his arms, resting his head against her shoulder in relief, Emelia’s eyes remained distant. Her voice was a promise she didn’t mean for him but for herself.

Tonight will be the last time, she vowed silently. The last time Ethan ever touches me.