Pretend I'm Your's

Chapter 11 Rebuild

Two weeks later.

Cole Grand was dusty.

The chandeliers were covered. The chairs stacked.

The “For Sale” sign David planted at the gate was still there. Tunde refused to take it down.

“Let it remind us,” he said, “what we walked away from.”

We were standing in the main hall. Me in sneakers and Ankara. Him in a polo and jeans.

No suit. No board. No cameras.

“30 million budget,” I said, flipping my notebook. “Bride wants ivory and gold. 300 guests. In 6 weeks.”

“Can we do it?” Tunde asked.

I looked around. At the cracked tile. In the empty space.

“Yeah,” I said. “We can.”

He smiled. “Then let’s do it.”

The Work

It wasn’t glamorous.

I was calling vendors at 7 AM. “Yes, I know about the scandal. No, we’re not fake. Yes, we can pay a 50% deposit.”

Tunde was on the roof with electricians. Fixing what the board stopped paying for.

We ate Indomie at midnight on the floor of what used to be the bridal suite.

Nneka quit her job at Cole Holdings to work for us. “If Oga is crazy, I’m crazy too,” she said.

Amaka showed up with 3 bridesmaids and paint brushes. “You’re not doing this alone.”

The blog posts slowed. New headline: _“DISGRACED COUPLE STARTS SMALL BUSINESS.” _

The comments were mean. But the DMs?

_“I believe in you.” _

_“Please take my wedding too.” _

The Fight

One night, 2 weeks prior to the wedding, we fought.

“I can’t do this,” I snapped. I was covered in glitter and sweat. “What if nobody comes? What if we fail and everyone says ‘I told you so’?”

Tunde dropped the drill. “Then we fail together.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“It has to be!” He crossed the room in 2 steps. “Zara, for the first time in my life I’m not performing. I’m not the billionaire. I’m just a man trying to build something with the woman he loves. If that’s not good enough for you, then I don’t know what is.”

Silence.

My chest hurt. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said. Softer now. He pulled me to him. Glitter and all. “Me too. But we’re scared together. Remember?”

I nodded into his chest. “Okay. Together.”

The Wedding

The day came.

300 guests. Ivory and gold. Strings. Pepper soup that made people cry.

The bride’s dad hugged me and said, “Thank you for giving us hope.”

Tunde stood at the back in his black shirt, watching.

When I walked past him to check the cake, he grabbed my hand.

“You did this,” he whispered.

“We did this,” I corrected.

After the last guest left, we sat on the stage. Exhausted. Broke. Happy.

Tunde pulled out a small box. Not a ring box. A key.

“What’s this?”

“New office,” he said. “Small. Wuse 2. Above a bakery. Smells like meatpie. It’s ours.”

I started crying. “Tunde—”

“No contract,” he said quickly. “No 50 million. Just... a place to start again. With you.”

I kissed him. Right there on the dirty stage.

Not because of a deal.

Because I wanted to.

Later That Night

We were in the new office. One desk. Two chairs. A sign on the door:

*ADEYEMI & COLE EVENTS*

_Real Love. Real Weddings._

My phone buzzed. David.

_“Cute. You got one wedding. I have 10. You’ll be begging me in 6 months.”_

I blocked him.

Tunde came up behind me, arms around my waist. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said. “The past.”

He kissed my neck. “And this is the future.”

Outside, Abuja was loud. Inside, it was quiet.

No billion-naira deals. No scandals.

Just us. Rebuilding.