LINE DRAWN
1494 Words
Blessing woke up with a heavy heart. The night had been long and restless. She had tossed from side to side, her mind replaying every single moment of the gala ,Samuel’s wounded eyes, Rakeem’s strong arm around her waist, the way people stared as if they were the perfect couple.
As she sat at the edge of the bed, her feet touching the cold tiles, she whispered to herself, “I cannot continue like this. I’m not a piece of furniture in this house.”
Her chest rose and fell quickly. The silence of the room pressed on her ears until she couldn’t take it anymore.
She tied her wrapper tightly around her chest and stepped out of the room, her heart beating fast as she marched down the corridor. The housemaids greeted her quietly, but she barely noticed. Today, she was determined to face him.
Rakeem was in the living room, reading the morning papers. A glass of black coffee sat beside him on the table. He looked calm, too calm, as if last night’s drama had never happened.
When Blessing entered, he raised his eyes slightly, scanning her from head to toe, then returned to his paper. That alone made her blood boil.
“Good morning,” she said stiffly.
He hummed in reply, not even looking at her again.
That was the last straw.
Blessing stepped closer, her voice trembling but firm. “Rakeem, I can’t continue like this. I won’t live in this house like a ghost wife. I won’t pretend in public while you treat me like nothing in private.”
This time, he dropped the paper slowly. His lips curved into a half-smile that wasn’t friendly at all.
“Oh?” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “So you’ve finally found your voice. Interesting.”
Blessing’s fingers clenched at her sides. “This marriage may have been forced on me, but I am still a human being. I deserve respect. I deserve to be seen.”
Rakeem gave a short, low laugh, shaking his head. “Respect? Seen? Blessing, this is not a love story. This is survival. You are here because our families wanted it. You are here because it suits my reputation. That’s all.”
His words hit her like a slap. But she refused to back down.
“I am not your decoration,” she shot back. “I will not spend the rest of my life being silent in a house where I am supposed to be a wife.”
Rakeem’s eyes sharpened. He stood up slowly, his tall frame towering over her. He came so close that she could smell the faint scent of his cologne ,strong, commanding, just like him.
“Wife?” he said with quiet mockery. “Blessing, don’t deceive yourself." You are only my wife in name. Nothing more.”
Her heart sank, but at the same time, anger lit a fire inside her chest. She raised her chin, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall.
“Then you should know,” she said softly but firmly, “I will not live like this forever. I would rather walk away than die in silence under your roof.”
For a moment, Rakeem’s expression shifted, as if her words touched something deep. But just as quickly, he masked it with that same cold smirk.
“Walk away?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “Blessing, in case you don’t know, nobody walks away from me. Not even you.”
Her breath caught. His words were not a threat shouted in anger; they were whispered like a promise. And that scared her more than anything.
She turned quickly, her wrapper swaying as she marched back toward the staircase. But her hands were shaking. Her mind was racing. What kind of man have I married?
Behind her, Rakeem picked up his paper again, but his eyes didn’t move over the words. Instead, he sat still, thinking. For the first time, Blessing had pushed back and that stirred something inside him he wasn’t ready to admit.
Blessing climbed the stairs with quick steps, but each foot felt heavy. By the time she reached her room, her legs were trembling. She shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it as if trying to block out his words.
Her chest rose and fell. “Nobody walks away from me,” he had said. The voice kept echoing in her head like a drumbeat.
Blessing sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands. They were shaking. She tried to steady them but couldn’t.
“God,” she whispered, “what kind of life is this? Am I a prisoner or a wife?”
She remembered her mother’s words before the wedding: “Endure, my daughter. Marriage is not always sweet. Sometimes you just have to bend.”
But now, facing Rakeem’s coldness, Blessing felt something break inside her. She wasn’t just bending, she was almost snapping.
Later that afternoon, the house was unusually quiet. Blessing decided to go downstairs for lunch. She wanted to pretend, even if it was just for a while, that she could live normally.
The dining table was already set. A bowl of jollof rice with fried plantain was steaming hot, the rich aroma filling the air. The maids had done their work well.
Blessing sat down and forced herself to eat. Each spoonful tasted heavy, almost bitter. She was chewing food, but in her heart, she was chewing pain.
Just then, her phone buzzed on the table. It was her mother calling. Blessing hesitated, her stomach tightening. She already knew what her mother would say prayers, advice, and that old line about patience.
Still, she answered. “Mummy, good afternoon.”
“Afternoon, my daughter,” her mother’s voice came warmly, but soon it turned serious. “How are you managing? I’ve been praying for you. Your husband, is he treating you well?”
Blessing swallowed hard, blinking away tears. “We are fine,” she said quickly, though her voice cracked.
Her mother sighed deeply. “Blessing, don’t cry. You are in his house now. Even if things are not smooth, try to use wisdom. Men like him, with money and power, you cannot drag with them. If you fight him, you will lose.”
The words made Blessing’s heart tighten. She nodded silently even though her mother couldn’t see her. “Yes, ma.”
They prayed briefly, and when the call ended, Blessing sat still, her food forgotten. So this is my fate? To endure and endure until I disappear?
Evening came. Rakeem returned home later than usual, his suit still crisp, his face unreadable. Blessing was in the living room, pretending to watch TV. The tension between them was like smoke in the air.
He walked in, glanced at her, and without a word, removed his jacket and handed it to a maid. His silence cut deeper than insults.
Blessing couldn’t hold it in anymore. She turned off the TV and faced him.
“Rakeem,” she said, her voice trembling but loud enough. “I meant what I said this morning. I can’t live like this. I will not allow you to treat me like furniture.”
He froze, then slowly turned his head towards her. His eyes narrowed, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The silence was louder than shouting.
Finally, he walked toward her, each step deliberate. “And what will you do, Blessing?” he asked in a low, mocking tone. “You think you can threaten me? You think you can pack your bags and leave just like that?”
Blessing stood her ground, though her knees felt weak. “I may not have your money. I may not have your power. But I have my dignity. And I refuse to let you break it.”
For a second, something flashed in his eyes anger, surprise, maybe even respect but it disappeared quickly. He gave a dry laugh.
“Dignity?” he repeated, shaking his head. “My dear, the sooner you learn that dignity cannot feed you, the easier your life will be.”
Blessing’s hands curled into fists. “Then I will rather starve than lose myself in this house.”
At that moment, one of his aides rushed in, holding a tablet. “Sir, there’s a problem. You need to see this.”
Rakeem snatched the device, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the screen. Blessing leaned slightly, curious.
Her heart skipped.
On the tablet was a gossip blog headline, bold and merciless:
“Senator Rakeem’s New Bride Already in Secret Romance? Mystery Man Spotted with Her at Gala!”
The photo underneath was blurry but clear enough Blessing, at the gala, with Samuel by her side before Rakeem intervened.
Rakeem’s eyes lifted slowly from the screen, locking onto Blessing.
The silence in the room turned deadly.
- Writer
