chapter 5
1525 Words
The silence after Adrian left felt unbearable.
Not peaceful.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
Like the entire Bello mansion had inhaled anger and forgotten how to breathe again.
Guests resumed talking eventually, but the atmosphere never fully recovered.
Amara barely heard any of it.
Because all she could think about was the look in Adrian’s eyes before he walked away.
Calm.
Controlled.
But hurt.
And for some reason, that bothered her far more than it should have.
“Amara.”
Her mother’s voice snapped her back immediately.
“We need to talk.”
Wonderful.
Teni, who had been hiding near the dessert table for survival purposes, gave Amara a silent prayer gesture as she followed her parents into her father’s study.
The moment the door closed, the tension exploded.
“How long?” Mrs. Bello demanded.
Amara blinked. “How long what?”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“I’m not seeing him.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“Yes, because it’s true.”
Her father stood near the window, strangely quieter than her mother.
Which honestly worried her more.
“We met accidentally,” Amara continued carefully. “Twice.”
“Twice too many,” her mother snapped.
Amara’s patience cracked slightly. “You’re acting like he committed murder.”
Mrs. Bello laughed once without humor. “You know nothing about that family.”
“Then tell me.”
Silence.
Interesting.
Her father finally spoke. “It’s complicated.”
“That means somebody is hiding something.”
“Amara,” her mother warned.
“No. Seriously. What exactly did Adrian do?”
“Not Adrian,” her father said quietly.
“The family.”
Something in his tone made her pause.
Not anger.
Disappointment.
Old disappointment.
Her mother crossed her arms tightly. “Nathan Cole destroyed your father’s business partnership years ago.”
Amara frowned. “Business partnership?”
“We built a company together,” Mr. Bello said. “We trusted each other.”
“And then?” she asked softly.
Her mother answered bitterly. “And then the Coles chose money over loyalty.”
The room fell silent again.
Amara looked between her parents carefully.
There was more to this story.
Way more.
But before she could ask another question, her mother stepped closer.
“You will stay away from him.”
There it was.
Not a request.
An order.
Amara straightened immediately. “You can’t decide that for me.”
“Watch me.”
“I’m twenty-four years old.”
“And still my daughter.”
Her jaw tightened.
This was exactly why she hated family conflicts.
Everything became control disguised as concern.
“You barely know him,” Mrs. Bello continued. “Men like Adrian Cole are dangerous.”
Amara almost laughed at that.
Dangerous?
Adrian looked more likely to recommend tea flavors than commit crimes.
“He owns a bookstore café,” she muttered.
Her mother looked unimpressed. “Exactly.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means he doesn’t take life seriously.”
That irritated Amara more than expected.
Because maybe Adrian did take life seriously.
Just differently.
Her father finally looked at her directly.
“Amara.”
Something softer entered his voice now.
“Please.”
And somehow that was worse than anger.
Because her father almost never asked for things emotionally.
“We don’t want you involved in this.”
Involved.
Like feelings were accidents people simply tripped into.
Amara exhaled slowly. “Nothing is happening.”
Not technically true.
Not technically false either.
Her mother studied her carefully.
Then her expression shifted slightly.
“You like him.”
Amara froze.
And unfortunately, silence answered for her.
Mrs. Bello looked genuinely alarmed now.
“Oh no.”
“I barely know him.”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” her mother said sharply. “Attraction makes intelligent women stupid.”
Amara stared at her in disbelief.
“Wow.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“And you’re naïve.”
That did it.
Amara stepped back immediately. “I’m done with this conversation.”
“You will end whatever this is.”
“There is no ‘this.’”
“Good,” her mother replied coldly. “Keep it that way.”
Amara left before she said something unforgivable.
—
By midnight, Lagos shimmered beneath her balcony like a restless sea of lights.
Amara sat wrapped in silence, replaying the evening over and over in her mind.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
TENI:
Are you alive?
AMARA:
Barely.
TENI:
Your mother looked two seconds away from declaring war on national television.
AMARA:
That’s because apparently Romeo owns a tragic last name.
TENI:
Still fine though.
AMARA:
Teni.
TENI:
Sorry. Continuing prayers.
Amara smiled despite herself.
Then another message appeared.
Unknown Number.
Her stomach flipped immediately before she even opened it.
ADRIAN:
You survived the interrogation?
Ridiculous.
Why did one text affect her nervous system this much?
AMARA:
Depends. Are emotional damages survivable?
Three dots appeared instantly.
ADRIAN:
Your mother hates me.
AMARA:
My mother hates everybody.
ADRIAN:
Fair.
A pause.
Then:
ADRIAN:
You okay?
The question caught her off guard.
Simple.
Genuine.
No teasing this time.
Amara stared at the screen longer than necessary.
AMARA:
I should probably stay away from you.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned again.
Finally:
ADRIAN:
Probably.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
That wasn’t the answer she wanted.
Which was deeply concerning.
AMARA:
That was easy.
ADRIAN:
Easy doesn’t mean correct.
Silence.
Rain began falling softly outside her balcony.
AMARA:
My parents think you’re dangerous.
ADRIAN:
Are you asking if I’m secretly a criminal?
AMARA:
Honestly, maybe.
ADRIAN:
That hurts. I seem trustworthy.
AMARA:
You flirt like a man with legal issues.
ADRIAN:
And yet you keep replying.
Amara hated that she smiled immediately.
Hated it.
ADRIAN:
You know what your problem is?
AMARA:
I have several. Be specific.
ADRIAN:
You think every feeling needs permission first.
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because maybe that was true.
Maybe she did measure emotions carefully before allowing herself to feel them.
Maybe loving someone had always seemed dangerous because she grew up watching love turn ugly.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
AMARA:
And what’s your problem?
This time his reply came slower.
ADRIAN:
I pretend not to care about things when I actually care too much.
Amara stared at that message quietly.
For the first time since meeting him, she saw beyond the teasing.
Beyond the confidence.
There was loneliness there.
And suddenly she wanted to understand him.
Which felt like the beginning of something catastrophic.
Her phone buzzed one last time.
ADRIAN:
Goodnight, Amara.
She should not have replied.
Absolutely should not have.
But still—
AMARA:
Goodnight, Adrian.
- Writer
