Chapter Seven

“Michael Jobs, please, take a seat. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Selene said, her voice calm and composed though her insides were trembling. Her nerves fluttered beneath her skin like a butterfly.

Michael gave a polite smile as he crossed the room, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Harrington.”

“Please,” she replied, shaking his hand firmly, “call me Selene.”

He nodded once, repeating her name with a faint chuckle that softened the air. “Selene.”

They both laughed lightly, the sound awkward, a mask to cover what lay ahead.

When they sat, Selene gestured toward the empty chair, and Eileen joined them without hesitation. Selene trusted her assistant more than anyone—five years of loyalty had cemented it. Eileen had been beside her through impossible deadlines, personal storms, and secrets no one else could carry. If anyone was to witness this moment, it should be her.

Once they were seated, silence settled. Brief. Heavy. Anticipatory.

Michael cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing a black folder on the desk. His fingers lingered for a second before he said quietly, “Shall we begin?”

Selene nodded once, then whispered, “Yes.” Her hands clenched beneath the table.

Michael opened the folder, pulling out a stack of photographs, arranged neatly in order.

“I’ve organized them by timeline,” he explained, his voice even.

Selene’s eyes dropped to the photos in his hands, her heart already bracing itself.

She gave a slight nod.

Her heart tightened as her gaze fell on the first photo Micheal placed on the desk between them

Cole. Mid-stride, entering a golf course.

“He left your home at exactly eight and arrived here around eight-thirty. He stayed until ten-thirty. Nothing unusual so far.”

She nodded once, lips pressed tight.

The next photo slid across the desk: Cole exiting the arena, phone at his ear.

“At ten-thirty, he left while already on a call. I couldn’t identify who he was speaking to, but he went straight from there to a café.”

Micheal placed another photo down. Cole, stepping into a modest café entrance.

Selene’s eyes widened faintly. “That café?” she asked, her voice thin with surprise.

Michael nodded.

A laugh slipped from her, brittle and self-mocking. “That’s… a very far café. I know it very well. The Toad’s Place.” she murmured, eyes locked on the image.

Her tone softened, tinged with memory. “Scarlett and I used to go there. We found it on a random drive. They had the best iced mocha, and it quickly became our thing. One time, she got recognized there by a fan. She wanted to disappear under the table. I laughed until I cried. God, that day…”

Her words trailed off, her eyes glossy with memory. A bittersweet smile touched her lips, then faded.

Michael gave her space before laying the next photo down. “Well, I suppose this must be Scarlett.”

The woman in the image was striking—brown-skinned, Fulani braids tumbling over her shoulders, dressed in sleek black boots and cobalt-blue blazer. A Chanel handbag swung at her side, her phone to her ear, her face angled just enough to be unmistakable.

Selene’s chest constricted. She didn’t need a second look. It was Scarlett.

She gave a silent nod, her chest tightening around the truth she already knew.

“Yes. That’s her. I gave her that bag in our final year in college. It was custom-made, just for her.”

Her voice lowered, weighted by memory. Her mind drifted back to that day. She could still see Scarlett’s birthday smile when she unwrapped it, the joy in her eyes. A gift meant to be one-of-a-kind, proof of a bond she once thought unbreakable.

Her eyes stung, and she forced the memory back down. She blinked quickly and let out a deep, shaky breath.

Michael waited a few seconds before speaking again, giving her the space she needed; whether out of pity or respect, she didn’t know.

“She entered the café twenty minutes later. They stayed for forty minutes.” He laid down three photos.

One showed Scarlett and Cole hugging. Another showed them kissing. And in the third one, they sat side by side at a small table, mid-conversation, with drinks and pastries in front of them.

Selene's lips trembled. She brought her palm up to cover her mouth, her elbow resting heavily on the table. Her eyes locked on the photo of Scarlett sipping a familiar drink.

“Wow,” she whispered, a note of stunned disbelief in her voice. “She even ordered an iced mocha. My favorite.”

Then a small, bitter and broken laugh escaped her lips. She had been so stupid. So blind.

She bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes still fixed on the photo.

Michael cleared his throat delicately, continuing. “At eleven forty-five, they left together.” He slid the next picture forward—Cole and Scarlett holding hands, strolling out into the sunlight.

“They’re not even hiding. They are not even wearing a cap or a mask, they’re just… out in the open,” Eileen muttered sharply.

“You’re right, Eileen,” Selene murmured, her eyes burning holes into the image.

“For three hours they shopped at three different places,” Michael went on, placing photos of them leaving boutiques, bags dangling from both their arms. “Then they went for a late lunch.”

The next photo showed them inside a Mexican restaurant.

“Quesadilla Thursday,” Selene said bitterly. “That used to be our ritual. Cole, Scarlett, and I used to do this once in a while… whenever we had time. No matter what else we ordered, we always got quesadillas to top it up.” Her voice broke. Tears spilled freely this time, hot against her cheeks. She swiped them away with her palm. “Continue.”

Michael cleared his throat gently. “A-Alright… uhm, after they left the Mexican restaurant with takeouts. I followed them for a while, until they arrived at this house.”

He slid the next photo onto the desk.

Selene’s eyes widened instantly, so wide it looked like they might pop from their sockets. She gasped, once. Then again. Then a third time, softer, more broken.

She stood abruptly, fingers clawing at her hair. “No. No, no—how could he? How dare they?” Her eyes darted to Michael. “Do you know what house this is?”

He stayed silent.

“This is our second house,” Selene choked out, pointing a shaky finger at the photo. “We bought it when we were dating. We spent our wedding night there.” Her voice trembled. “It’s supposed to be sacred. A place just for us. Where we go when we want to be alone.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she paced, unable to stand still. “Damien warned me. And now—” She broke off, spinning back to the desk. “He took her there?”

She stared between Michael and Eileen like she couldn’t believe it even with the proof in front of her. But Michael’s silence was answer enough.

She lifted her hand to run a hand through her hair, and that’s when she saw her.

Her mother. Standing just behind Michael, stylish as always, eyes filled with that knowing glint. She waved one hand, graceful, almost playful, as if to say I told you so.

Selene froze, staring.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?” Eileen asked gently, brushing Selene’s arm.

“Yes,” Selene rasped, dragging her eyes back. “Michael. What next?”

He cleared his throat, flipping to another photo. “They stayed at that house for over four hours. Then he drove her home, where her manager was waiting.”

He placed the evidence on the desk. Scarlett, Cole, and Yeshua, smiling in the frame.

Eileen’s eyes went wide. “That’s Yeshua. Scarlett’s manager!”

“Yeshua knows?” Selene whispered, voice cracking.

Eileen scoffed. “Wow, they’re so brazen.”

Selene laughed bitterly, hollow. She had danced with Yeshua just yesterday at her anniversary. He had smiled at her—while knowing.

“What next?” she asked, voice flat now, iron creeping into the edges.

Michael closed the folder. “After that, Cole returned home. He’s still there, last I checked.”