Ayo doesn't rise when I approach. He only watches me, head tilted like he's been expecting this reaction. The woman beside him trails manicured nails over his wrist, smirking like she's won some lottery.
It's the same lady from yesterday.
I slide into the chair across from them, forcing a smile. "Didn't realize this was a group event."
Ayo's lips curve. "You never minded sharing before."
The words hit harder than they should. My fingers clench under the table.
I arch a brow. "Is this your idea of negotiation? I'm disappointed."
His companion laughs, leaning closer. "She's bold," she murmurs. "I see why you liked her."
Liked. Past tense. Good. Let him believe that door is closed.
"I'm not here to impress you," I say coolly. "You wanted to talk. So talk."
For a moment, Ayo just studies me, searching for weakness. Then, without looking at her, he says, "Leave us."
Her smile falters. "Ayo—"
"I said leave."
Her heels click against the marble as she stalks away. I don't watch her go. I only watch him.
"Still jealous, Zara?"
I laugh, sharp and bitter. "You wish."
His gaze drags over me, slower this time. "Maybe I do."
The air thickens. Too much, too familiar. I shift in my seat. "Let's cut the games. What do you really want?"
His smile fades. "An apology."
I blink. "What?"
"You left without a word. No explanation of any sort. If you want me to drop the lawsuit, you owe me an apology."
Anger flashes hot. "You think this is about your bruised ego?"
"I think it's about unfinished business," he says smoothly. "And I'm not letting you walk away again without answers."
This is a trap—I knew it the second I came. But I didn't expect this.
I grip the edge of my chair. "You want me to apologize? For leaving you?"
Ayo leans back, rolling his sleeves. "You heard me. You owe me that much."
I almost laugh. Almost.
Instead, I inhale sharply. "I don't owe you a damn thing."
His expression remains unreadable. "You walked out without a word. You didn't even fight for us."
Something snaps inside me. I'm no longer in this restaurant—I'm back in that tiny apartment, watching the man I loved look at me like I was nothing.
"You want to talk about what happened?" My voice trembles—not with fear, but fury. "Fine. Let's talk."
I catch the flicker of unease in his eyes, but I don't stop.
"You woke up one morning and decided I was cheating. No proof. No reason. Just suspicion. And from that moment, everything changed."
His jaw tightens. "I had my reasons—"
"Reasons?" A bitter laugh escapes. "Because I stayed late at work? Had friends who weren't you? You didn't trust me. And when I tried to fix it, you shut me out."
I remember it all—the cold silences, the way he stopped touching me like I mattered.
"You think I left you?" My voice drops to a whisper. "You left me long before I walked out that door."
For once, he has no comeback.
"And then, after months of acting up, you tell me your father doesn't want you marrying a 'cheat.'" My throat tightens. "And do you remember what you said next? That if I didn't mind being your dirty little secret, maybe we could still work."
I meet his gaze head-on. "And you wonder why I left?"
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything we never said.
Ayo doesn't speak. Doesn't even move. And for the briefest second, I see it—the truth buried beneath his pride.
"You almost broke me," I say softly, the words tasting like fire. "I gave you everything, and you made me feel like nothing. So no, Ayo, I won't apologize for choosing myself."
Still, he says nothing.
I should feel relief. Triumph. But all I feel is a dull ache in my chest.
Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "Is that what you think?" It's quieter now, lacking its usual edge. "That I wanted to break you?"
I swallow. "It doesn't matter what you wanted. It matters what you did."
For a moment, I think he'll say something real. But instead, he straightens his sleeves, as if none of this touched him.
"You're still the same," he murmurs. "Still so damn stubborn."
I stand, pulse hammering. "And you're still the same. Always needing control. Always needing to win."
I grab my bag and turn before my eyes betray me.
"Zara." His voice is softer now.
I pause, hand on the door.
"We're not over," he says. "You know that."
"It was over a long time ago, Ayo. You just never noticed."
And with that, I walk out.
But even as the doors close behind me, I know the truth.
I left him once. This time, it won't be so easy.
⸻
By the time I push open my apartment door, my hands are still trembling. I barely remember the drive home—just flashes of city lights blurred by unshed tears.
Tola is already inside, leaning against the kitchen counter. I had texted her on my way home.
"I came as soon as I saw your message," she says, voice softer than usual. "What happened?"
I drop my bag. Shake my head. "Not now, Tola."
She doesn't push. She never does.
"Okay." She walks over, looping an arm around my waist. "Let's get you out of these clothes. You look like you fought a war."
In a way, I did.
A war with my past. With Ayo. With myself.
I let her lead me to my room. Slowly, I remove my wig, then my heels—one by one—until I stand there in my slip dress, exposed in more ways than one.
Tola rummages through my drawers, finding an old sweatshirt and soft leggings. The moment I pull them on, my body caves into hers, like a dam breaking.
And just like that, the tears come.
"I hate him," I choke out, fists curling into her shirt. "I hate him so much."
She rubs my back. "I know, babe. Let it out."
I do.
I barely notice the first time my phone rings.
Or the second.
By the third, Tola pulls away, fishing through my bag. "Want me to turn this off?"
I nod, too tired to care.
But when she looks at the screen, she stills.
"It's your mom," she says, already swiping to answer. "I'm putting it on speaker."
I sit up, wiping my face. My mother never calls this late.
"Mom?" My voice is hoarse. "What's wrong?"
"It's Ayo," she says. A pause. Then, softer—"He just called."