Just for you

Chapter three

Two days passed in a quiet, suffocating blur.

I spent most of my time tucked away inside the guest room, staring at the ceiling as the ceiling fan spun in lazy, repetitive circles. Two days of picking apart every single detail, trying to make the math of my life add up.

My mind kept rewinding to eight months ago. December.

I could still hear his voice coming through the phone, low and heavy with that familiar ache that used to pull me under. “I miss you,” he had whispered across thousands of miles. “God, Joanna, you have no idea how much I miss you.”

I had clung to those words for months. I had built an entire future around that single late-night phone call.

And now? The cold, sickening truth hit me right in the chest.

He was already married when he called me.

He had sat in the dark, looking at a golden ring on his finger, married for over a year to a woman who looked like a shadow of me, and still reached out to drag me back into his orbit. How could he do that? How could he lie so effortlessly? How could he claim to miss me while waking up beside her every single morning?

The white-hot rage flared up again, making my throat tight and my hands tremble against the bedsheets.

"Hey, sleepyhead."

My thoughts snapped in half. I blinked, looking up to see my sister-in-law leaning gently against the open doorframe. She offered me a soft, warm smile, holding two steaming mugs of tea in her hands.

"Mind if I come in?" she asked softly.

I pushed myself up against the headboard, forcing a small, neutral smile onto my face as I smoothed down my shirt. "Of course not. Come in."

She walked over, handing me one of the mugs before settling down at the foot of the bed. She took a slow sip, her kind eyes searching my face with genuine concern.

"You've been so quiet since you got here," she began, her tone sweet, devoid of any pressure. "I just wanted to check on you. How are you really doing?"

I held the warm mug between both hands, letting the heat seep into my cold fingers. If only you knew the war inside my head. "Just trying to adjust, honestly. Seven years is a long time to be away."

She nodded in understanding, taking another sip before looking at me intently. "I get it. But now that you're back home... what's next? How are you planning to go on with life? What’s your plan from here?"

"I was actually thinking of starting my own business," I said, leaning back against the pillows and taking a slow sip of the warm tea. "While I was away in Nigeria, I took the time to properly train and learn how to do pedicures and manicures. I really got into it."

My sister-in-law’s face lit up, her eyes wide with genuine interest. "Really? That’s amazing! You've always had a creative touch."

"Yeah," I continued, setting the mug on my lap and looking at her. "Now that I'm back here in the UK, I don't just want to do house calls or work for someone else. I want to get a proper shop. Set up my own space. But honestly... I’ve been out of the country for so long, I don't even know where to start looking for commercial places to lease."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, staring out the window for a second as she ran through options in her head.

Then her eyes snapped back to me, bright with sudden inspiration.

"Wait," she said, setting her mug down on the bedside table. "Favour’s parents! They actually have a property for lease right on the high street. It’s just a shop space, perfect size for a boutique salon, and the location gets great foot traffic."

The name hit me like a quiet punch to the gut.

Favour.

"His parents?" I repeated, my grip tightening slightly around my mug.

"Yes!" she said, completely oblivious to the sudden tension knotting in my chest. "They've been looking for a reliable tenant for a few weeks now. Since you guys go way back, I'm sure they'd give you a great deal. I can ask your brother to talk to Favour about it, or even call his mom directly!"

I took a slow breath, hiding the sudden spark in my eyes behind the rim of my mug.

A shop space. Favour's parents.

It was perfect. It was the absolute best excuse I could ask for to pull him into a room alone, away from his new wife and my brother's watchful gaze, and force him to explain that phone call from last December.

"That... actually sounds like a really good idea," I said, keeping my tone light and casual. "Do you think you could get me his contact or have him meet me to show me the place?"

"I can definitely set that up!" she said, smiling as she stood up to leave me to rest.

The moment the door clicked shut, the fake innocence drained from my face.

The only obstacle standing in my way now was Jonathan.

My brother had always been the giant puddle in the middle of whatever Favour and I tried to build. Seven years ago, Jonathan was the main reason I had packed up and moved back to Nigeria in the first place. He had stumbled onto us, caught wind of the intense, messy line we were crossing, and completely lost his mind. He pulled every string he had to put an ocean between us.

Back then, I had tried to convince myself it was about the age gap—that Jonathan was just playing the protective older brother who thought I was too young to handle a guy like Favour. But over time, the truth became painfully obvious. It was never about the age gap. Jonathan just couldn't stand the thought of his best friend having anything to do with his little sister. He viewed our bond as a betrayal, a stain on their friendship.

And yet, despite Jonathan's best efforts to tear us apart, Favour had still dialed my number last December. He had still whispered that he missed me while wearing another woman's ring.

I stared at the closed bedroom door, a cold, dangerous determination settling in my chest. Jonathan thought he had solved the problem by sending me away seven years ago. But now I was back, Favour’s family owned the key to my future, and I was going to get my answers—whether my brother liked it or not.

Jonathan’s pov

I stood in the kitchen, leaning over the counter as the quiet drip of the coffee maker filled the room. The dark liquid pooled slowly into my mug, but my mind was miles away, stuck on the look that had crossed Joanna’s face two days ago.

The look when she saw Maya.

It was brief—a flicker of shock, confusion, and raw, unfiltered pain before she forced her polite mask back into place. I hadn't missed it. I knew my sister better than she thought I did.

Seeing her like that hurt, but it was for the best.

Favour was my brother, my best friend, but he was never good for Joanna. What they had wasn't love—it was a storm. It was chaotic, reckless, and toxic in a way that pulled both of them under. Seven years ago, I did what had to be done. I severed the tie and put an ocean between them because if I hadn't, they would have completely destroyed each other.

Seeing Favour married now, settled down with a woman who brought peace into his life, was proof that I had made the right choice. It had ended the way it was supposed to. They were both alive, moving on, and safe from each other's fire.

Or so I hoped.

"Good morning, babe."

I blinked, pulling myself out of my head as my wife walked into the kitchen. She smiled softly, coming up beside me to pour herself a glass of water before leaning back against the counter.

"I was just in Joanna's room," she said, taking a small sip. "We were talking about her plans now that she's back. She told me she learned how to do manicures and pedicures while she was away, and she wants to open her own salon here."

"A salon?" I picked up my coffee mug, taking a slow sip. "That's good. It'll keep her busy."

"Yeah," she continued casually. "She was wondering how to find a commercial space, so I remembered that shop property Favour’s parents have for lease on the high street. I told her we could reach out to Favour and get her set up with it—"

"MELODY!"

The scream ripped right out of my throat before I could stop it, echoing off the tile walls like a gunshot.

Melody gasped, her body flinching in pure shock. The sudden, violent burst of my voice sent a tremor straight through her hands—the ceramic mug slipped right through her fingers, crashing onto the hard kitchen floor and shattering into a dozen sharp pieces with a deafening CRACK.

Hot tea splashed across the tiles.

Melody stood frozen, her chest heaving, her wide, frightened eyes fixed on me in complete horror. She had never heard me yell like that. Not at her. Never at her.

I set my mug down with a heavy, metallic clack against the granite counter and immediately rushed over to her.

"Melody, baby, I'm so sorry," I breathed, my hands hovering over her trembling shoulders as I tried to check for stray shards or splatters. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to yell—"

"What is going on in here?"

Joanna’s voice cut through the air, cool and sharp from the kitchen entryway.

I turned my head. She was standing in the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her dark eyes darting from the glittering ceramic shards on the floor to Melody, then settling squarely on me. Concern was written across her face, but beneath it lay that quiet, calculating vigilance she had brought with her all the way from the airport.

Melody didn't say a word. She swallowed hard, her eyes still wide with lingering distress, and hurriedly brushed past both of us. She hurried out of the kitchen, her bare feet retreating into the quiet sanctuary of the living room, where she sank onto the couch with her head bowed.

The heavy silence left in her wake was suffocating. Hot, spilt liquid pooled near my shoes, creeping toward the edges of the shattered mug.

Joanna took two slow steps into the kitchen, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice dropping into a low, measured register. "Why on earth did you scream like that?"

She paused, stepping closer, until she was looking right up into my eyes with a chilling, familiar stare.

"Nathan?"

Nathan.

The name hit my chest like an ice-cold blade. She only ever called me Nathan when the sister persona slipped—when the sweet, returning traveler was dropped, and the girl who remembered every single thing I had stolen from her stepped forward. It was her way of reminding me that beneath the brotherly affection, there was an unresolved score between us.

I straightened my posture, holding her gaze, refusing to let my hands shake.

"Everything is fine, Joanna," I said, my tone flattening into an unyielding wall. "Just an accident."

She knew. Looking into her eyes over the broken glass on the floor, I could see it clearly: she knew exactly why I had panicked, and she wasn't going to back down.