Love’s Crossroads

Chapter 8

Richard’s POV

The house was quiet—too quiet, just how I like it.

I’d just come down from a long strategy call with a Singapore-based partner and decided to take a walk around the estate to clear my head. The Lagos sun had calmed into a golden hue, soft light filtering through the glass panels of the hallway as I made my way back in.

As I passed the lounge area near the east wing, I heard her voice.

Tracy.

Soft. Laced with laughter. Playful in a way that wasn’t rehearsed or calculated.

I slowed my steps.

“Nooo, Ray,” she said, her voice dancing with affection. “You always say that… but you’re the one who can’t survive a day without hearing my voice.”

I heard her giggle—light, real, the kind of sound that reached deep under your skin.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I found myself standing there, halfway behind the open archway, caught in something I didn’t expect to feel.

Jealousy.

Her voice continued, lower now. “I miss you too. I wish you were here… Lagos is beautiful but hectic, and Madam’s health has been my priority. You’d love this place, though. It’s… big.” She chuckled again.

My jaw clenched.

Ray.

I knew the name. I’d overheard it once, mentioned in passing by my mother, who referred to him as “the boy in South Africa she’s always smiling at her phone for.”

Apparently, the feeling was mutual.

I moved away before she saw me standing there like a fool.

By the time I returned to the main living area, I was annoyed—and I couldn’t explain why. Tracy wasn’t mine. She wasn’t anything to me.

And yet, I found myself questioning why her laugh for another man lingered in my chest longer than it should’ve.

⸻

An hour later, the estate gates opened to the sound of tyres humming across the marbled driveway. A security guard radioed the house, and within seconds, one of the maids opened the door.

Stephanie.

Of course.

I heard her before I saw her—heels tapping lightly against the glossy tiles, her signature vanilla scent wafting through the corridor like some expensive memory.

“Richard!” she called out, her voice all sugar and sunlight.

I watched from the velvet armchair and turned, offering a polite nod. “Stephanie.”

She walked in like she belonged, dressed in a creamy white silk dress that clung to her figure with the precision of a designer sketch. Her lips were painted nude, her hair long and straight, flowing behind her like a runway model.

“Aunty Regina told me you were back,” she said, coming closer and planting a kiss lightly on my cheek. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Been busy.”

She laughed, a soft, deliberate sound. “Still all business, I see. You haven’t changed at all.”

I didn’t respond.

My mother entered the room just then, her smile widening when she saw us together. “Ah! Two of my favorite people in the same room. This is perfect.”

“Perfect,” Stephanie echoed, glancing at me, then subtly at the space across the room where Tracy had just walked in, holding a glass of wine for my mother.

I caught the flicker of recognition in Stephanie’s eyes, but she smiled tightly and turned back to me.

“So…” she started, brushing invisible lint from my shoulder. “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime this week. Just the two of us. Catch up properly. Like old times.”

My gaze drifted, unintentionally, back to Tracy.

She was talking to my mother now, her posture relaxed, her eyes shining with sincerity. She looked… peaceful. Natural. Like she belonged, even when she didn’t know it.

Stephanie saw the glance, even if she didn’t say anything. Her lips pressed together briefly before she smiled again, sweeter this time.

I smiled back at her, then offered a clipped nod. “Sure. Dinner’s fine.”

A flicker of surprise passed through her expression, followed quickly by satisfaction.

“Great,” she said softly, stepping back. “I’ll make reservations. Tomorrow night?”

“Whatever works.”

As my mother beamed between us, Stephanie leaned in closer, her voice low. “I’ve waited a long time for you to say yes, Richard.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain delusions.

⸻

As the evening wore on, we sat together briefly in the lounge. Tracy had disappeared upstairs, and I noticed her absence more than I should’ve. Stephanie, on the other hand, stayed close—her hand brushing mine once, her conversation filled with curated charm and practiced smiles.

But her attention wasn’t just on me. I caught her watching the staircase a few times… watching where Tracy had gone.

I knew what she was doing—measuring herself against someone she hadn’t seen as competition until today.

Stephanie was smart. She picked up on things quickly. She knew.

She may not have said it, but she saw it. The way my eyes followed Tracy when she walked into a room. The way my expression shifted when she laughed. The way I was still thinking about her, even now, while sitting next to someone every mother in this house had practically chosen for me.

Stephanie saw it.

And now, so did I.