BUKKY'S POV
A week had passed since our wedding.
On the surface, everything looked fine—too fine. Guests still called to congratulate us. Flowers still arrived. People still smiled at us like we were proof that love survived ambition.
But I knew better.
Akanni had changed.
Not loudly. Not cruelly. Just enough to hurt.
He still spoke gently. Still smiled when necessary. Still slept beside me every night. But he didn't *touch* me. Not once. And the distance between us felt heavier than anger—because anger would have meant he still cared enough to fight.
On our wedding night, he said he was tired.
The second night, stress.
The third, work.
After that, silence.
No matter how flirtatious I became, how revealing my clothes were, how deliberately I tried to draw his attention—there was nothing. No reaction. No desire. Nothing.
At first, I told myself the problem was physical.
*Maybe he can't,* I thought.
That thought terrified me.
When he begged me not to tell anyone, I respected his wish—at first. But when the excuses kept repeating, frustration replaced sympathy. I went to Mira and Leke, hoping for clarity.
Mira laughed softly.
"Ah, Bukky, you shouldn't say that. If only you knew how manly Akanni was with his ex—"
"Okay. Okay," I cut her off.
Of course she would defend him. He was her boss.
Leke wasn't different either.
I considered asking his mother—but Akanni had pleaded with me not to involve family. And despite everything, I still loved him.
What complicated everything was Demi.
I had been seeing him again.
I hated how much comfort I found in his presence. How seen I felt. How easy it was to forget the cold silence waiting for me at home.
I knew it was wrong.
But I was already drowning.
Then Demi crossed a line—showing up at my parents' house with gifts demanding, they should cancel our engagement. my father rejected outright.
"It's too late," I told him. "We're already married."
That didn't stop the tension.
My father believed Demi was trying to intimidate Akanni with money. To counter it, he proposed making Akanni deputy director and appointing me director of the company.
Akanni refused.
"I'm fine managing the studio," he said.
He even turned down managing his own father's business.
I didn't recognize the man I married anymore.
AKANNI POV
"Bukky said you haven't touched her," Mira said one evening, casually.
I looked up slowly.
"And how does that concern you?"
"If people hear—"
"And who gives a damn what they say?" I snapped.
She sighed. "They'll paint you as someone who can't perform."
I laughed coldly. "Let them."
I wasn't going to tell anyone the truth—not Mira, not Leke. Not yet.
I was waiting.
Waiting for Bukky to come clean.
A week passed. Then two. Then five.
Nothing.
I heard she was still seeing Demi.
And still—nothing.
I was ready to forgive her. I *wanted* to forgive her. But forgiveness needed honesty. And honesty was the one thing she refused to give me.
I even considered revealing myself—Convergence Group, my wealth, my power. But what would that prove? She had said she wasn't moved by money.
Or was that a lie too?
I distanced myself further. Had Mira return to cook. Stopped going out. Made sure the only time we shared a room was to sleep.
Until she spoke, I would remain silent.
This went on four about five weeks, Bukky did not even plan to tell me anything.
It was a Sunday evening when she finally broke.
"Akanni, please," Bukky said, her voice trembling. "What is going on?"
I thought—*finally*.
"Nothing," I replied calmly.
"Don't pretend," she snapped. Tears welled up. "You weren't like this. You said you loved me."
"I still do," I said honestly.
"This isn't love," she cried. "You changed immediately after our wedding. Where did I wrong you?"
I stepped closer and wiped her tears instinctively.
"I'm sorry," I joked weakly. "You don't look good crying."
She slapped my hand away.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
I turned away. "Go and rest. I need some air."
"That's exactly what *they* said," she yelled.
"I don't care what people say."
"He told me you're not meant for me," she shouted. "My father said you're just a poor, arrogant fool."
I opened the door.
Then she said it.
"I want a divorce."
Something inside me shattered—quietly, irreversibly.
"You're joking… right?" I asked, turning back.
"We can go our separate ways," she said coldly. "You have a beautiful maid who suits you better. I'm done with this drama."
I swallowed hard.
"You slept with Demi, didn't you?"
Silence.
Then—
"Yes," she said. "I did."
The words cut deeper than I imagined.
"He satisfied me when you wouldn't."
That was it.
Not anger.
Not rage.
Just clarity.
The barrier shielding my heart finally collapsed.