“You don’t have to pretend with me, Yemi.”
Lola’s voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the tense silence of the penthouse. She stood in the doorway of his home office, arms crossed, watching him from across the room. Yemi was sitting at his desk, his head bowed over a stack of papers, but he hadn’t turned a single page in the last five minutes.
He didn’t look up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lola sighed. “Yes, you do.”
The air between them was thick, almost suffocating. For weeks, she had felt the shift. The growing distance. The carefully measured words. The way he avoided looking at her for too long, as if he was afraid of what she might see. But tonight was different. Tonight, his mask was slipping, revealing cracks in the armor he had spent years perfecting.
She
