2. THE OFFER

JENETA’S POV.

“You want your boss,” I whispered, my voice shaking, “to have sex with me… while you watch?”

Silence.

He didn’t deny it.

“So, he’s going to fuck me?” I screamed, voice trembling as my throat burned. “While you sit there and watch it happen? Not from afar, not in your imagination but in the same damn room? You, Nonso?”

My words echoed off the walls ugly and painful. I needed him to feel it, to understand what he was asking me to do. To see the filth in it.

But he didn’t even flinch.

His eyes were hollow. The man I once loved was replaced by a stranger with ambition sharper than morality.

“If we lose this deal,” he said quietly, “we’re getting a divorce. You can go back to Nigeria.”

The finality in his tone cut deeper than a knife.

Then he turned, grabbed his coat, and disappeared into the bedroom. The slam of the door echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.

For a long time, I just stood there, staring at nothing and letting the air choke me.

Coming to Canada had been my dream. Living with my lover, my husband, has been my joy. But I had given up everything for Nonso, my comfort, my dream, my pride, because he had once given me everything: tuition, shelter, and love. He had built me up when I had nothing.

And now, he was tearing it all down for ten million dollars.

I told myself he was just scared and desperate. That he didn’t mean it. But in truth, I knew his job was the only thread holding our world together. And for people like us, in a country that wasn't ours, the climb up was always on borrowed time.

The next morning came quietly.

Nonso got ready for work without a word. I made him breakfast jollof rice, the way he liked it but he didn’t even glance at the plate.

When I tried to speak, he brushed past me, grabbed his keys, and left.

The door shut softly this time. Somehow, that hurt even more.

Days bled into a week. The silence between us was stretching into something very unbearable. The man I married felt like a stranger sharing my bed. Every night I’d turn to where he used to lie, and there’d be nothing but cold sheets.

The perfect marriage I had tried to hold together was crumbling brick by brick, word by word, silence by silence. I needed to do something about it.

The following day, in the evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. I packed a small container of rice and chicken, his favourite, and headed to his office. Maybe he’d listen if I showed him I still cared, if I reminded him what we had before greed poisoned it all.

When I arrived, the receptionist smiled politely. “You’re here to see Mr Agu?”

I nodded, clutching the flask a little too tightly. She picked up the phone to call about my arrival, but before she could finish, I heard that voice.

“Thank you so much, Mr Maynard. I’ll do my best.”

I turned and my heart stopped.

Jinhai Maynard.

He was there again, and he was taller than I remembered.

And when his eyes met mine, those deep brown eyes. It was like the air left my lungs.

Then Nonso turned, and the illusion shattered.

He smiled. My husband smiled for the first time in a week. But it wasn’t for me, I could tell. They were his fake smile.

“Mr Maynard, the last time she came over, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you. This is Jeneta Agu, my wife,” he said, stepping closer to me. Then he leaned in and hissed through clenched teeth, “Smile, Jeneta. Mr. Maynard. My boss.”

The first smile he had given me in days was just for an introduction.

If I hadn’t known what Jinhai wanted, I might have thought it was innocent.

Jinhai smiled, a faint curve of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. He extended his hand and I instinctively stepped back.

Nonso’s fingers pinched sharply into the small of my back. The silent warning sent a shiver up my spine.

So, I let Jinhai take my hand. His palm was warm, firm. He brought it to his lips and brushed the back of it in a gesture so gentle it almost masked the cruelty beneath it.

The touch burned.

I hated him for what he was doing to me. For the way he looked at me. For the way my marriage trembled under his effect.

And he saw it. He enjoyed it. His smirk deepened, as if my discomfort amused him.

I forced my tears back, my throat tight, when his voice came again unmistakably British with that faint Eastern cadence.

“If you’re less busy…” His gaze flicked from me to the flask in my hand, then back to my face. “Why don’t we have—” a small pause. “Dinner?”

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs. I stood frozen like a puppet held up by invisible strings.

“Of course,” Nonso replied quickly, grinning like a man who’d just won a prize. “My wife and I would very much like that.”

Both men looked at me. I tried to smile but it died the moment it reached my lips.

The car ride had been silent. Not the kind of silence that settled peacefully between two people, but one so heavy it pressed against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Nonso sat beside me with his fingers tapping the steering wheel like a man forcing himself to seem calm. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur.

When we arrived, a valet in a crisp black suit took the keys. A hostess led us through a narrow corridor to a secluded wing draped in velvet and silence. It felt more like a courtroom than a dining room and Jinhai Maynard sat at the head of it, waiting.

He didn’t stand when we entered. He simply looked up.

Jinhai’s gaze caught mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. There was something disarming about his composure.

We sat. The waiters moved around us, serving in perfect synchrony. The scent should’ve been appetising, but it only made my stomach turn.

Not a word passed between us as the waiters poured the wine, bowed slightly, and withdrew, leaving a silence that rang in my ears.

Jinhai set his glass down. Then he leaned back, fingers steepled lightly, eyes moving from Nonso to me.

“I’m sure you two have already come to an agreement by now,” he said. “Mr Agu told me you did.”

The sound of my husband’s name in his mouth made me flinch.

Nonso gave a strained laugh that sounded almost embarrassed. “Yes, yes, of course. We talked about it.”

Jinhai’s gaze didn’t leave me. His lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile, more like a quiet acknowledgement.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then there’s no need for pretence.”

I felt my throat close. My hands, clasped in my lap, were shaking. My guts screamed at me to stand, to run but this was for Nonso.

The only sound I could hear was the ticking of my heartbeat in my ears and the faint clink of glass as Jinhai reached again for his wine. I knew this was not dinner. It was a transaction.