𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗔

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

The intense anger from the big meeting was gone, replaced by a terrible quiet. It felt like the calm before a storm. Days turned into weeks, and the phone stayed silent. OpalBridge Capital didn't call, email, or send any official message. This silence was like a physical weight on the offices of Adeyemi’s Holdings, especially for Kunle and Zara.

For Kunle, working at the company became an extremely careful, professional routine. He walked on eggshells, trying hard not to cause any trouble. He avoided Zara, only speaking to her when he absolutely had to, and always making sure his tone was respectful.

He buried himself in the hardest projects, working twelve-hour days and staying late. He wasn't just working to be seen; he wanted his results to be so perfect and faultless that even if the OpalBridge deal collapsed, no one could deny how valuable he was to the company. He wanted his firing to look like a professional mistake for Zara, not a personal win.

The burden of his family’s survival was constantly on his mind, like a desperate prayer. Late at night in his apartment and during his commute, he would close his eyes and silently beg the only person he thought could save him:

“𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘢 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.”

Every time his desk phone rang, Kunle's heart pounded. Every time an email popped up from a company he didn't recognize, he felt a cold panic.

Upstairs, Zara watched him closely. Her anger had turned into a cold, focused hate. She didn't talk to Kunle about OpalBridge, but her eyes tracked him—or, more accurately, tracked the reports of his movements and his work—like a hungry lion watching weak prey.

She hated him. She resented his age, his smarts, and especially the nerve he had to question her in public. His quiet, focused hard work now only made her angrier; it seemed like a way for him to show he was needed.

Zara would have happily taken any clear reason to fire him right now, but he gave her nothing. He was careful and annoyingly professional.

But as the weeks passed, a new, unsettling fear began to worry Zara, too. If OpalBridge Capital doesn't call back, she would lose even more.

This realization was tough to swallow. If they walked away completely, it would prove one of two things: either Kunle was right and the valuation was wrong, or, even worse, her dramatic loss of control had scared off the deal. Failure would make her look bad to the company board. Her threat to Kunle had become a risk to herself. She needed the deal to succeed—not just for the company, but to prove she was right and keep her absolute control.

The CEO and the Senior Analyst were now stuck in a terrible waiting game. Their professional futures were connected by one distant, silent phone call. Zara needed the deal to fire Kunle and win; Kunle needed the deal just to keep his job and survive.

Every day without a call turned the fancy offices of Adeyemi’s Holdings into a pressure cooker.

————————

Saturday afternoons were supposed to be peaceful. Zara kept telling herself this as she lay stretched out on the soft lounge chair by the pool at her parents’ house in Ikoyi. But peace would not come.

Her legs were crossed neatly in front of her. She wore a silk cover-up over her swimsuit. Her hair was down, loose for the first time in days, the soft wind gently moving the strands.

In her hand was a business magazine — but she had read the first paragraph five times without understanding a single word.

The sun sparkled on the pool water, casting ripples of light over the tiled floor, but Zara barely noticed. Her mind was replaying the same scenes: the fight weeks ago and the terrible silence that came afterward.

Two weeks. Two whole weeks without a single word from OpalBridge Capital.

"Ugh," she muttered, slamming the magazine shut out of frustration.

Footsteps sounded behind her—slow, casual, and easy. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. Only one person she knew walked like he owned the space while also giving off a calm feeling.

“Zee,” T.J drawled, pulling off his sunglasses and sitting on the lounge chair beside hers. “You’ve been frowning at that magazine for the past ten minutes. The magazine did not offend you.”

She glared at him gently, out of habit. “Did you come here to spy on me?”

“No,” he replied, picking up her wine glass, sniffing it, and making a face. “I came to rescue you. You look like your blood pressure is fighting for its life.”

“Leave my wine alone,” she said, snatching it back.

He laughed. “So. Start talking.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she snapped.

“Zara,” he said, leaning back, eyes locked on hers with that brotherly radar that saw through her walls like glass. “You’ve been in your head since Monday. Even Mum noticed. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She took a long sip of wine. Then another. Then sighed. “It’s work.”

T.J raised a brow. “Obviously. But which part? The numbers? The board? Or one tall, stubborn Senior Analyst with too much mouth?”

She stiffened. “Don’t start.”

“So it is Kunle,” T.J said, grinning slightly.

“I swear,” Zara muttered, rubbing her forehead, “that man will be the reason I develop high blood pressure.”

“Tell me what happened.”

She hesitated — then the dam burst.

She told him everything. The pitch meeting. Kunle's intervention. Her anger, her threat and the awful silence from OpalBridge since then.

T.J listened without interrupting. He folded his arms and nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. When she finally finished, breathing heavier than she realized, he let out a long, low whistle.

“Wow. You and this guy are really going at it.”

“It’s not funny.”

“I didn’t say it was funny.” He tilted his head. “I said it’s interesting. Interesting in the way two people who pretend to hate each other actually care too much. The tension is crazy.”

Zara burst into laughter — sharp, incredulous, and shocked. “Tunde-Joshua Adeyemi, have you lost your mind?”

T.J shrugged, smiling lazily. “I’m just calling it how I see it.”

“I despise him,” she said, her voice rising. “He’s rude, disrespectful, and thinks he knows everything.”

“And yet,” he replied calmly, “you talk about him like someone who gets under your skin.”

Zara shot up from her chair. “God forbid. There is nothing between me and Kunle except irritation. Pure irritation.”

T.J chuckled. “Relax. Calm down before you spill your wine.”

“Zee,” he said softly. “You’re stressed. You’re carrying too much. And this deal is eating both of you alive.”

She didn’t respond.

“So here’s what I think you should do,” he continued gently. “Reach out to OpalBridge again. Don’t wait for them to call. Email them, request a meeting, visit their office if you must. Show initiative.”

Zara stared at the pool, her expression tightening. “What if they’ve already made up their mind?”

“Then you’ll know,” he said simply. “And you move on. But sitting here biting your tongue won’t fix anything.”

“And Kunle?” she muttered.

T.J smiled knowingly. “Work with him. Not against him.”

Zara scoffed. “Impossible.”

“Try,” he insisted. “You don’t have to like him. But you need him. And he clearly knows what he’s doing. If you two stop fighting long enough to think, you might actually pull this off.”

Zara stared ahead, quiet.

T.J nudged her knee gently with his. “Zee-Baby… you’re strong. But even strong people need allies. Kunle doesn’t have to be your enemy.”

Her chest rose slowly… then fell.

For the first time in days, Zara looked like she was thinking instead of reacting.

“Just try,” T.J repeated.

Zara took a long sip of wine.

“We’ll see,” she whispered.