Chapter Eight: The Question He Couldn’t Escape
994 Words
Okikiola couldn’t stand the sudden calmness of Abiodun. In the frantic world of Lagos, silence was usually a luxury, but here, in the quiet heart of the village, her silence felt like a physical weight pressing against his chest.
His thoughts were already troubling him—ghosts of business deals and half-truths swirling in his mind—but her lack of response was worse. It was heavy, unsettling, and strangely judgmental. Despite his masculinity and his usual ability to command a room, he found himself unable to endure the void she had created between them.
Out of sheer impatience and a desperate need to break the tension, he finally spoke.
“Please, sir… ma… pardon us,” he said, addressing the parents. He tried to keep his voice steady, masking the tremor of anxiety that threatened to betray him. “While you discuss yours, can we also have a moment to discuss ours?”
The parents exchanged knowing, satisfied smiles.
“You are free,” Mr. Alabi said calmly, his voice full of a patriarch’s warmth. “I release your wife.”
Okikiola stood and gently pulled Abiodun up. She hesitated for a brief second—a small but firm resistance only he could feel—but she followed him, unwilling to draw attention or create suspicion in front of their elders.
They stepped outside.
Night had already fallen completely, draping the compound in velvet shadows. The atmosphere had changed the moment they crossed the threshold. The compound was quieter now, wrapped in a peaceful stillness that felt almost sacred. Unlike Lagos, where the night was filled with generators, movement, and restless energy, this place was different—calm, slow, and almost watchful. The crickets provided a rhythmic backdrop to a silence that felt thick enough to touch.
They walked to the large tree at the edge of the compound and sat on the wooden bench beneath its sprawling branches.
Okikiola sat first, then gently drew her down beside him. He wanted closeness—to feel her warmth and reassure himself that she was still emotionally within reach. But Abiodun remained stiff, distant even in proximity. She turned her face away, staring into the dark thicket beyond the compound.
“Abbey…” he said, using his pet name for Abiodun. he began softly, his voice barely a whisper. “What did I do wrong?”
No response.
The wind hissed through the leaves above them.
“Why this sudden coldness?” he continued, frustration slowly slipping into his tone. “You’re making me uncomfortable… your silence is driving me crazy. Talk to me, please.”
Still, she said nothing.
He let out a small, jagged breath.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, half teasing, half desperate, trying to soften the tension.
He reached out, gently turning her face toward him—
But before he could lean in, her voice cut through the air.
Sharp. Controlled. Unforgiving.
“Who is Tonia?”
Everything stopped.
The crickets seemed to vanish into silence.
Okikiola froze, his hand still hovering near her cheek. For a second, no words came. His throat tightened.
Damn… I messed up.
His mind raced.
How did she hear that? This girl… she’s sharper than I thought. She’s been watching me all along.
He forced a weak smile.
“Tonia?” he said lightly. “She was my former secretary. I sacked her months ago because of her attitude. I was correcting my friend, Chums, for telling her about our lost contract. She now works for the competition. She’s nobody, Abbey.”
Abiodun didn’t respond.
She just looked at him.
Long. Quiet. Piercing.
A look that stripped away every layer of confidence he had carefully built.
It was a look that said clearly: I don’t believe a single word you just said.
Then she spoke again, her voice lower.
“Why did you choose me?”
That question landed deeper than the first.
It wasn’t about Tonia.
It was about him.
Okikiola wasn’t prepared for it. No woman had ever asked him that before.
He studied her face in the moonlight.
Why Abiodun?
The quiet one… yet the most dangerous in silence.
He exhaled slowly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know my heart did.”
The answer lingered between them—fragile, exposed, uncertain.
Before she could push further, he leaned in and kissed her gently.
Soft. Careful. Almost pleading.
Not dominance… but escape.
“Abiodun…” his voice dropped lower, heavier. “Let’s not turn this into an interrogation.”
Abiodun pulled back slightly.
Her expression did not change.
“Alright,” she said quietly.
But her tone carried something else.
Not submission.
Not acceptance.
Understanding.
And that was more dangerous.
Suddenly, the silence shattered.
Okikiola’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket.
The sound felt too loud for the night, too sharp for the moment.
His heart began to pound against his ribs.
Why now?
Why not yesterday… or tomorrow?
Can’t we just have one moment of peace?
He made no move to answer it.
The phone rang again.
And again.
He didn’t know who it was.
A client?
Chums?
Or worse…
Tonia.
His jaw tightened.
Abiodun’s gaze dropped to his pocket.
She didn’t speak, but her silence changed shape.
It became pressure.
“Pick it,” she said finally.
Calm.
Certain.
Unavoidable.
“It’s not important,” he said quickly. “Probably just work—”
“It is persistent,” she interrupted softly.
Then she turned her face away, giving him space—but it felt more like a challenge than mercy.
“Pick the call, Okikiola. Don’t keep them waiting.”
His fingers trembled as he slowly reached into his pocket.
The phone came out.
The blue screen lit his face in the darkness.
For a moment, everything disappeared.
The trees.
The night.
Even her eyes.
All he saw was the name flashing on the screen.
And his breath caught.
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