Pretend I'm Your's

Chapter 8 One Roof

Tunde’s house was glass, wood, and too quiet.

The driver dropped us off at 9 PM. Rain had started. Soft at first.

“The guest room is upstairs,” Tunde said, grabbing my bag. “Second door on the right.”

“Thanks.” My voice was small.

We didn’t talk while he made tea in the kitchen. Two mugs. No sugar for me. He remembered.

We sat on opposite ends of the couch. The TV was off.

“This is stupid,” I said finally. “We shouldn’t be here alone.”

“I know,” Tunde said. “But after tonight, I didn’t want you going home to an empty apartment and David’s texts.”

He was right. My phone had 4 messages from David. He's lying to you._

The lights flickered. Then I went out.

Complete darkness. Then the generator kicked in, dimmer.

“Storm,” Tunde said. “It knocks out NEPA sometimes.”

Thunder rolled. I jumped.

Tunde glanced at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Lie.

Another flash of lightning. The power died again. This time, no generator.

“Stay here,” Tunde said. “I’ll check the fuse box.”

He left. I sat in the dark, listening to rain hit the glass.

10 minutes later, he was back, soaked. “It’s the whole estate. Could be hours.”

He handed me a blanket and a candle.

We ended up on the floor. Backs against the couch. Close, but not touching.

“Talk to me,” Tunde said into the dark. “So I don’t do something dumb.”

“Like what?”

“Like kiss you again and mean it this time.”

The air got thick.

“Tunde...”

“Rule 3 is gone, Zara,” he said quietly. “Chiamaka saw to that. So can we at least be honest?”

I pulled the blanket tighter. “I’m scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of this.” I gestured between us. “Of how much I want it to be real.”

He went still.

Then his hand found mine in the dark. No cameras. No audience.

Just his fingers lacing with mine.

“I want it to be real too,” he whispered. “God help me, I do.”

We sat like that. Listening to the rain.

At some point, I fell asleep. On his shoulder.

Morning

I woke up to sunlight and Tunde’s arm around me.

We were still on the floor. His chin in my hair.

He woke up the second I moved.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning.” My face was hot. “We should—”

His phone buzzed. Then mine. Then his again.

Nneka: _Oga, the blogs. Now._

We scrambled up.

Headline: *TUNDE COLE SPENDS THE NIGHT WITH FIANCÉE. SOURCES SAY ENGAGEMENT IS REAL.*

Photo: Us. Coming out of his house this morning. Me in yesterday’s dress, hair messy. Him holding my bag.

David commented under it: _Told you she was for sale._

I felt sick.

“I’m sorry,” Tunde said. “I should’ve taken you home.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I chose to stay.”

He looked at me. Really looked. Hair a mess, no makeup, wearing his blanket.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Simple.

My breath caught.

“Tunde—”

The doorbell rang.

Nneka. With clothes. And a folder.

“Investors want a statement in 1 hour,” she said. “And your mother called 6 times.”

Tunde took the folder. Read it. Jaw tight.

“They’re pulling out if we don’t prove it’s real,” he said. “With a date. And a venue.”

My stomach dropped. “So what now?”

Tunde looked at me. Then at Nneka.

“Book the venue,” he said. “Cole Grand. 4 weeks.”

He turned to me. “Zara. Marry me. For real.”

The world stopped.

“What?”

“Not fake,” he said quickly. “Real. A real wedding. A real marriage. 1 year. Then we can... figure it out. But it saves your company. It saves the deal. And it’s the truth.”

My heart was pounding so loud.

“You’re proposing because of business.”

“No.” He stepped closer. Took my face in his hands. “I’m proposing because last night, holding your hand in the dark felt more like home than any deal ever did.”

Tears burned my eyes.

“This is insane.”

“I know,” he said, thumb brushing my cheek. “Say yes anyway.”

Outside, the rain had stopped.

Inside, my whole life was about to change.