Five Years Ago…
SHARON
I was in my office, flipping through files—signing a few, rejecting others.
Everything felt routine, mechanical… until the thought of him slipped into my mind.
Jide.
It's been a month since I last saw him.
A month too long.
I don't even know why, but I kind of… miss him. Everything about him.
Even the chaos.
When we were together, we fought like cats and dogs—constantly clashing, shouting, arguing over the tiniest things.
Yet today, all I can think about is him.
Ever since that encounter at my father's hotel in Japan, I haven't been with anyone else. Haven't gone to the bar. Haven't wasted my nights with random men.
It's as if… somehow, I've become his.
A month without sex. That's not me.
I don't know what Jide has done to me, but it's terrifying how much I worry about him.
He used to call, text, send gifts.
And all I did was push him away—block his number, decline everything, ban him from coming to my place or my office.
Maybe that's why he finally gave up.
But just the thought of him moving on—seeing someone else—makes my chest twist.
God, why does it hurt so much to imagine other women around my Jide?
Wait—did I just say my Jide?
Lord have mercy, this is not me anymore.
Last night, I even got a notification from my dating app—Consensual.
A buff guy with perfect abs, recommended as one of the "best partners for the service."
I scrolled through his profile for a second… then deleted my entire account.
That app used to be my outlet. My escape when I was burning.
Now, it just feels like noise—one more distraction from the one person I can't stop thinking about.
I wish I could see Jide right now.
But I won't go running to my father for help, not when Jide is the son of his closest friend.
If he truly wants this—wants me—he'll come.
My intercom snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Yes?" I answered blankly.
"Boss, you have an appointment with Mr. Barros. He's at the reception, ready to meet you," my receptionist, Kiara, said in her polished accent.
I sighed, already tired of the day. "Okay. Let him in."
Moments later, a knock sounded on the door.
"Come in," I said, without looking up.
No response. I repeated, sharper this time, "Come in."
The door creaked open—and a figure stepped in.
A man. Or… at least, I thought so.
He was dressed oddly, in an oversized plaid shirt, black trousers that stopped above his ankles, and scuffed old shoes. His tie was crooked. His cap shadowed part of his face. He clutched a large Bible to his chest like his life depended on it.
I blinked, confused.
This was not the kind of client I usually met.
My clients—home and abroad—were polished, elegant, high-class. This one looked… homeless.
Leaning back in my chair, I studied him from head to toe.
Under the cap was a clean face, faintly bearded, with a striking dark moustache and—oddly—a hint of softness around the eyes.
Something about him didn't add up.
"Good day, ma," the stranger greeted.
Wait. That voice—soft, lilting—sounded feminine.
"My name is Elizabeth Serena Rodriguez Barros."
I arched a brow. "You're bearing a woman's name, but dressed like a man. Care to explain?"
She—no, he—scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Em… well, I was born this way. My parents gave me a feminine name because I used to act… girly. But I'm a man, truly. You can call me Rodriguez—or Mr. Barros."
I wasn't convinced, but gestured to the seat in front of me.
"Have a seat."
He smiled, visibly relieved. "Thank you, ma."
I watched him carefully, trying to decode him.
When I was satisfied that he was harmless, I said, "So, Mr. Barros. How can I help you?"
He clasped the Bible tightly. "Well, ma, I came to share the Word of God with you."
I blinked. "The… Word of God?"
"Yes, ma." He nodded earnestly, revealing a neat tooth gap that somehow made his smile beautiful.
I caught myself smiling back. "You have a lovely tooth gap."
"Thank you, ma," he said, bowing slightly.
"So," I leaned forward, intrigued despite myself, "tell me about this 'good news.'"
He flipped open the Bible. "Let's read Isaiah 55, verse 4. 'Indeed, I have given Him as a witness to the people…'"
He went on—his voice calm yet powerful—as he spoke about Jesus: His purpose, His truth, His resurrection.
I couldn't remember the last time I listened to someone talk about God, but somehow… I couldn't look away.
Almost an hour passed before he closed the book. "I'd like us to pray."
I nodded and clasped my hands. "Okay."
As he prayed, I felt… strange.
Peaceful. Still. Like something soft was washing over me.
Then, his tone changed.
"I see you stepping into your perfect light of breakthrough," he said quietly.
I peeked one eye open. "...Amen?"
He continued, crossing himself with the rosary. "Yes, Lord. I see someone bringing you a gift soon. This will be the tenth gift. Please, accept it—it's a good one."
"What kind of gift?" I asked before realizing he wasn't really talking to me anymore.
He was caught up in the moment, eyes shut, murmuring, "A teardrop storm glass on a wooden plank… a bouquet of roses… and a custom coffee mug with your face on it."
I stared, speechless.
"Thank you, Jesus," he whispered, hands raised. "Congratulations, ma."
Before I could ask what that even meant, a knock came at the door.
"Yes?"
"Boss, you have a present," my assistant Mary said.
Rodriguez and I locked eyes. My heart skipped.
"Bring it in," I managed.
And there it was.
Mary entered, arms full—with a teardrop storm glass on a small plank, a bouquet of red roses in a clear globe, and a white mug—customized with my picture.
I froze. My mouth went dry.
Everything. Every single thing he described.
"Wha—" I looked from the gifts to Rodriguez. He just smiled faintly.
Was he an evangelist… or an angel?
I searched for a note, a card—anything that could explain who sent them. Nothing.
As Rodriguez turned to leave, I called, "Mr. Barros?"
He turned back. "Ma?"
"Do you have a job aside from… evangelism?"
He paused, thoughtful. "No, ma."
I hesitated. "Would you like to work for me? I mean, the position list is full, but I could squeeze out a role—as my chauffeur, maybe. If you can drive."
He smiled. "I can."
"Don't worry, I'll pay you triple what civil servants earn."
His smile deepened. "When do I start?"
"Today, if you please."
"Great," he said simply.
And somehow, I knew—this man's arrival was not a coincidence.