After The Flash
618 Words
The press conference ended in chaos.
Reporters shouted over each other.
“Mrs. Adewale, do you love him?”
“Mr. Adewale, is this legal?”
“Did you pay her family?”
Damien’s grip on Amara’s hand never loosened as he pulled her through the side exit. Security cleared a path, but the cameras followed, flashing until her vision blurred.
The car door slammed shut. Silence.
Amara yanked her hand back.
Her fingers felt hot where he’d held her.
“That wasn’t the plan,” she said, voice low and shaking. “You said we’d tell the truth. Not all of it. You just told them you love me.”
Damien didn’t look at her. He was staring out the window, jaw tight.
“Because if I didn’t, you’d be destroyed by morning.”
“So you lied?”
“I controlled the narrative.” He finally turned to her. “There’s a difference.”
Amara stared at him. The man who’d been cold, calculated, untouchable since day one.
And now he’d just declared her his wife on live TV like it meant something.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because Chioma’s story doesn’t matter if the public believes ours.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Damien exhaled, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, he looked tired. Not CEO tired. Human tired.
“Because if they think this is real, they can’t use you against me. And I won’t let them.”
The car stopped at the penthouse.
Neither of them moved.
Amara swallowed hard. “What happens now?”
“Now we live it,” Damien said. “For real. Cameras will be watching. If we slip, Chioma wins.”
“And if I can’t?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second before meeting her gaze again.
“Then I’ll make sure you don’t have to do it alone.”
The driver opened the door.
Amara stepped out, legs unsteady.
Inside, the penthouse was quiet. Too quiet after the storm outside.
Damien followed, closing the door behind them.
For a long moment, they just stood there. Two feet apart.
The same distance as last night.
But it didn’t feel the same anymore.
Her phone buzzed.
Chioma: _Cute performance. Let’s see how long it lasts._
Attached was a photo.
Amara and Damien’s hands under the table.
Circled in red.
Amara looked up at Damien.
“He’s not done,” she whispered.
“No,” Damien said. “But neither am I.”
He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough that she could feel the heat of him.
“Amara, if we’re going to do this, we do it together. No walls. No lies between us.”
Amara’s throat was dry.
“And if I say I’m scared?”
“Then I’ll be scared with you.”
The air between them shifted.
Before either could move, the penthouse intercom buzzed.
Security: _Mr. Adewale, there’s a woman downstairs claiming to be your mother. She says she’s here to meet Mrs. Adewale._
Amara’s blood ran cold.
Damien’s mother.
The woman Chioma said would “eat her alive.”
Damien’s jaw tightened.
“Send her up.”
Amara looked at him.
“Damien—”
“Too late to run now,” he said quietly.
The elevator dinged.
But before the doors opened, Amara’s phone buzzed again.
A new message.
Unknown number.
Unknown: _If you walk out of that elevator with her, your father’s next dialysis bill won’t get paid. Choose wisely, Mrs. Adewale._
Amara’s hands shook.
The elevator doors slid open.
And standing inside was a woman in silk and diamonds, eyes cold enough to freeze Lagos.
[To Be Continued…]
- Writer
