Chapter 9
984 Words
Tracy’s POV
I should’ve ignored the voices.
But when you’re in a house full of staff who treat gossip like currency, it’s almost impossible not to hear something.
“…madam Stephanie and Mr. Richard looked perfect together,” one maid whispered near the corridor, unaware that I was arranging magazines for Mrs. Regina just around the corner. “Did you see her heels? That’s not an ordinary dinner. That one wants to collect ring.”
Another one giggled. “Ah, they’re already like husband and wife. Madam Regina was just beaming. She’s been waiting for this since forever.”
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and focused on the glossy stack of magazines in front of me. Vogue. Forbes. Tatler. All screaming perfection and wealth—everything I wasn’t.
Still, their words echoed in my head.
They looked perfect together.
I told myself I didn’t care. Richard’s life had nothing to do with me. I was just here for his mother.
And Ray loved me.
I loved Ray.
So why did it suddenly feel like I was losing something I never even had?
⸻
The moment I saw Richard that evening, something in me shifted again. He was dressed casually—white linen shirt, sleeves rolled just above the elbow, dark jeans, a simple watch. Effortlessly handsome. Effortlessly him.
Stephanie arrived looking like she was stepping out of a photoshoot—body-hugging red dress, heels that clicked like clockwork, her hair sleek and shining like satin. She smiled at him like they were already a couple, and his polite nod was enough to spark more whispers around the mansion.
Mrs. Regina clapped her hands with joy. “My babies are going out!” she beamed. “God, let this dinner lead to something beautiful.”
I stayed quiet in the background, clutching the wine glass I had just poured her, pretending my chest wasn’t twisting.
Richard’s eyes found mine for the briefest second.
He looked away.
They left.
And I couldn’t breathe.
⸻
The restaurant was one of Lagos’s most exclusive rooftops—low lighting, soft jazz, and a skyline that glittered like a sea of stars. But even with all the sparkle around them, Stephanie only had eyes for one man.
Richard sat across from her, arms folded loosely, quiet as usual.
“You don’t say much,” she said with a smile, sipping from her glass of white wine. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”
He raised a brow. “Still haven’t learned to talk just to fill silence.”
She laughed. “Touché.”
They talked. About childhood memories. About how their mothers plotted their future before they could even spell the word “marriage.” About her medical career in Canada and how fast time had passed.
But then, she dropped the bomb.
“I relocated to Lagos because of you,” she said, her voice calm but serious.
Richard looked up slowly. “What?”
“I mean, yes, I got the job at Brixton Hospital, but I could’ve stayed in Toronto. They begged me to stay. Offered more money. Better position. But I kept thinking about what my mother said… what your mother said. That maybe it’s time I stop pretending.”
“Pretending?”
Stephanie’s eyes glistened. “That I don’t still love you.”
Silence.
The waiter approached, but sensing the tension, quietly dropped the bill and disappeared.
Richard sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly.
“Steph…”
“Don’t ‘Steph’ me,” she cut in, her voice cracking slightly. “I’ve waited years. I thought maybe, if we had time together as adults—without the distance, without the pressure—you’d see me differently.”
He nodded once. “And I do.”
Hope flashed in her eyes.
“As a friend,” he added softly.
Her face fell.
“I care about you, Stephanie. I always have. But not in the way you want. I don’t want to lead you on… or waste your time. You deserve someone who looks at you the way you deserve to be looked at.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “And you don’t?”
He didn’t answer.
But the silence spoke volumes.
⸻
Tracy’s POV
By the time he returned home, it was past 11 PM. I was already in bed, pretending to sleep, even though my thoughts were loud and chaotic.
A soft knock came at my door.
I sat up quickly. “Come in.”
Richard stepped in, holding a small, velvet box.
“I saw this while we were out,” he said, voice low. “Thought you’d like it.”
I stared at him, confused. “Me?”
He nodded, walked over, and handed it to me.
I opened it.
A delicate rose-gold necklace sat inside. The pendant was a tiny star with a diamond center. Dainty. Thoughtful. Beautiful.
“I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, staring at me like he was trying to read between every line of my expression. “I just wanted to get it for you.”
“Why?”
He didn’t respond right away.
“Because I thought of you,” he finally said. “More than I probably should have.”
My breath hitched.
We stood there, a few feet apart, but the air between us felt too tight, too heavy. I wanted to say something. Ask him how the dinner went. Tell him I wasn’t listening earlier. That I didn’t care.
But I did care.
And maybe he knew that.
He turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Goodnight, Tracy.”
“Goodnight,” I whispered.
The door closed softly.
And I was left clutching a necklace I didn’t know what to do with… and a heart that no longer knew who it was beating for.
- Writer
