Chapter 9 The Answer
1118 Words
I didn’t sleep.
I sat on my apartment floor, staring at nothing while Tunde’s proposal kept playing over and over in my head.
“Marry me. For real. One year.”
My phone had been going off since 6 a.m.
Amaka: IS THIS REAL???
Mama: Zara my daughter, is it true?
Blog alert: COLE HEIR PROPOSES. WEDDING IN 4 WEEKS.
And then there was David.
You’re really going to sell yourself? Call me.
I deleted his message.
By noon, Nneka was at my door with three garment bags and a folder tucked under her arm.
“Madam said you should wear this to the press conference,” she said. “Oga is waiting.”
I stared at her.
“Press conference?”
“Tunde didn’t tell me—”
“He will,” Nneka cut in gently. “He just wants you there.”
The Conference
Cole Grand was packed.
Cameras. Bloggers. Investors.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for something.
Tunde stood on the stage in a black agbada, looking calm and completely in control, like his entire world wasn’t hanging by a thread.
Then I walked in.
His eyes found me immediately.
And for just a second, I saw it.
His whole body relaxed.
Barely an inch.
But I noticed.
That was when I knew he was scared too.
“Thank you for coming,” he said into the microphone. “I’ll keep this brief.”
He looked at me.
“The rumors are true. Zara and I are engaged. The wedding is in four weeks.”
A wave of murmurs moved through the room.
“And to everyone asking if this is about business…”
He paused.
“Yes. It started that way.”
My heart dropped.
“But it stopped being about business,” he continued, his voice quieter now, “the night I held her hand in the dark and realized I didn’t want to let go.”
The room went completely silent.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” Tunde said. “We signed a contract. To protect our companies. To protect our families. But contracts don’t make you stay awake all night because someone had a nightmare. Contracts don’t make you choose someone over a billion-naira deal.”
He stepped down from the stage.
Then he walked straight toward me.
Camera flashes exploded around us.
He took my hand.
“Zara,” he said, looking directly into my eyes, “I’m asking you again. Right here, in front of everyone.”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“Marry me. Not for six weeks. Not for the venue. For real.”
He took a breath.
“One year. And then…”
A small smile touched his lips.
“We see.”
My throat tightened.
This was it.
The answer.
I opened my mouth—
“OBJECTION!”
Everyone turned.
David.
He walked into the room with a lawyer beside him and a tablet in his hand.
Chiamaka followed behind them, wearing a smug little smile.
“Sorry to interrupt the movie,” David said. “But before anyone starts booking a wedding hall, you should probably see this.”
He raised the tablet.
My stomach dropped.
On the screen was our contract.
Page one.
FAKE ENGAGEMENT AGREEMENT.
₦50,000,000.
6 WEEKS.
Signed by me.
Signed by Tunde.
Gasps spread through the room.
Bloggers started typing furiously.
David looked around, clearly enjoying every second of it.
“See?” he said. “She’s for sale. And he’s desperate. This whole thing is fraud.”
Heat rushed to my face.
My eyes burned.
Every rule.
Every lie.
Everything we had tried to keep private was now sitting on a giant screen in front of everyone.
Tunde didn’t let go of my hand.
He looked at the tablet.
Then at me.
Then back at David.
“You’re right,” Tunde said calmly.
David smiled.
“That was the contract.”
Tunde turned toward the cameras.
“But this…”
He lifted our joined hands.
“This isn’t.”
The room went quiet again.
“That contract is terminated. As of now.”
David laughed.
“And the land deal? You lose everything.”
“I know.”
Tunde didn’t even hesitate.
“I’d rather lose everything than lose her because I was too scared to tell the truth.”
Then he turned back to me.
And before I could understand what he was doing, he dropped to one knee.
Right there.
On the conference floor.
No grand stage.
No ring.
Just him.
“Zara Adeyemi.”
His voice was softer now.
“Forget the contract. Forget the fifty million. Forget the rules.”
He looked up at me.
“Do you want me?”
My lips parted.
“The real me. Not the billionaire.”
His eyes held mine.
“Me.”
The room disappeared.
The cameras.
The bloggers.
David.
Everyone.
It was just Tunde and me.
And the answer I’d been trying so hard not to give.
My hands were shaking.
“This is insane.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Only I could hear him.
“Say yes anyway.”
I thought about the debt.
My company.
The months of struggling.
What it felt like to be alone.
Then I remembered his hand holding mine in the dark.
The way he had made me feel safe.
The way the word home had started to feel less like a place and more like a person.
Tunde.
I nodded once.
“Yes.”
The room erupted.
Tunde got to his feet, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me.
Not because the cameras were watching.
Not because we had to pretend.
Because this time, he meant it.
After
We escaped through the back entrance.
For the first ten minutes of the drive, neither of us said a word.
Finally, I broke the silence.
“You just threw away a billion-naira deal.”
“I did.”
Tunde looked exhausted.
But lighter somehow.
“Worth it.”
I looked down at my phone.
“My company is going to get dragged online.”
“I know.”
He reached for my hand and squeezed it.
“So we’ll rebuild it. Together.”
I looked at him.
“No contracts this time.”
“No contracts.”
My phone buzzed.
Amaka:
I’M SCREAMING. YOU SAID YES???
I laughed at myself.
Then I looked at Tunde.
His hair was messy.
His tie was loose.
And his eyes were on me like I was the only thing that mattered in the room.
“Okay,” I whispered.
I squeezed his hand.
“Okay. For real.”
Rule 3:
No falling.
Apparently, we had both broken that one.
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