Charity couldn't even recall the drive home.
A moment ago, she was storming out of Leon's study, her heels stabbing into the marble, and the next minute, she was in her car with the city lights streaking past windshield. Her chest ached, not just from anger but from the sharp pain of humiliation she felt.
By the time she arrived at her apartment, the air felt heavier.
She tossed her bag onto the couch, took off her earrings and dropped it on the counter, and began pacing around across the living room. The silence was unbearable, filled with all the things she wished she'd said to him.
Her phone rang.
For a split second, hope flickered—maybe it was Leon. Maybe he'd followed her, like he always used to when she pulled away. But when she looked, it was Anjola.
Anjola: "Girl??What happened?! I saw you leave dinner. Your dad looks like he's about to faint."
Charity let out a bitter laugh and typed back quickly.
Charity: "Ask Leon. He's the one who turned it into a show."
Three dots blinked, then disappeared. A moment later, her phone rang.
"Talk to me" Anjola said the second Charity answered. "You sounded like a hurricane when you left."
Charity dropped onto the couch, her voice low and unsteady. "He's cheating, Anji. Again."
"What? With who?"
"I don't kniw" she said, running a hand through her wig. "Some girl. Her name popped up on his phone. He nearly broke his neck trying to hide it."
Anjola hissed through her teeth. "You're kidding me."
"I wish I was"
There was a pause, the kind that filled with unspoken things. "who do you think it is?"
Charity swallowed hard. "It doesn't matter who it is. The point is—he's doing it again. After everything I've done for him."
Anjola hesitated. "You mean…the pregnancy?"
Charity stiffened. "Yes, that."
The lie hung between them like a ghost neither of them wanted to touch.
"Babe, maybe you should cool off first." Anjola said gently. "Don't make a move yet. He'll come to his senses once he realizes you're not begging."
"I'm not begging." Charity said, her tone hardening. "I'm done playing nice. He wants to make a fool out of me? Fine. But he's not walking away clean this time."
"Charity—"
"I'll call you later."
She hung up before Anjola could respond and sat in the dark, staring at the city below. Every light in those skyscrapers felt like an eye watching her. Judging her.
Leon—her almost-husband, her second chance at power and status--was slipping through her fingers. And for what? A text message from some girl who didn't even know how to play the game.
Her mind spun faster. Maybe Leon was with her right now. Maybe that's why he hadn't called.
She stood up abruptly, went to the mirror, and stared at her reflection. Her mascara had smudged, her lipstick was gone, and for the first time in years, she didn't look composed—she looked scared.
"No" she whispered, "not again."
She picked up her phone, scrolled to Leon's number, and hovered over the call button. Her thumb shook. But she couldn't press it. Pride wouldn't let her.
Instead, she opened Instagram. Leon hadn't posted in weeks, but his tagged photos told stories he didn't. There he was at a company gala, at that rooftop bar, at his penthouse.
Every picture, every woman beside him, blurred into one cruel reminder: she wasn't so special anymore.
Charity's heart thudded painfully as she typed a new post—something simple but sharp enough to sting.
"Sometimes loyalty is another word for wasting time."
Within minutes, the likes started rolling in. The comments followed—heart emojis, fire emojis. "You okay, girl?" and "He doesn't deserve you."
Good. Let them wonder. Let Leon see it and panic.
Across town, Leon sat in his car outside the family estate, phone in hand, staring at Charity's latest post. He didn't have to read between the lines—he knew exactly what he was trying to say.
With a quiet groan, he let his head fall against the steering wheel. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. It never was.
He wasn't even sure what he and Felicity were anymore—something real, maybe, but too fragile to name. Then there was Charity, the kind of chaos he could never seem to leave behind. No matter how many times he tried to end it, she always found a way to pull him back. Every fight, every pointed word, dragged him right into her fire.
His phone buzzed again. Mark this time
Mark: "Bro, what's going on with Charity? She's posting like she just buried you alive."
Leon ignored it. He didn't have the energy to explain.
Inside the house, he could hear muffled voices—his father's deep tone, Eleanor's clipped replies. The fallout from dinner, no doubt. He'd had to face it eventually, but not tonight.
Leon unlocked his phone again, staring at the unread messages from Felicity sitting right at the top. Just seeing her name made his chest tighten. He wanted to answer—to tell her everything before she found out some other way—but Charity's voice from earlier wouldn't leave his head.
"You really want to say that to my face while another girl's name is lighting up your screen"
With a quiet curse, Leon flung his phone unto the couch and leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. The air in the room felt colder, heavier—like the night was pressing in on him from all sides.
Back at her apartment, Charity sat with a glass of wine she didn't really want. The city hummed below her balcony, but all she could think about was Leon's silence.
Each minute that passed without a message felt like proof. Proof that he didn't acre. Proof that maybe the fake pregnancy, the late-night arguments, the calculated smiles—it was all for nothing.
She finished the glass in one gulp, her throat burning. "You'll see." She muttered to herself.
Then she opened her phone again, her mind already working. There were still ways to remind Leon what was at stake. If he wanted to play games, she'd raise the stakes until he couldn't breathe.
The city lights blurred her reflection as she whispered, almost like a vow, "If I can't have you no one will."
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance, low and unsteady—like the warning of a storm that hadn't yet broken.