The restaurant was luxurious—floor-length curtains, glittering chandeliers, and walls that smelled of wealth and class. Brian didn't belong there. Not in his worn-out sneakers, not with his old watch, and certainly not with the woman on his arm—his wife, Lisa, dressed in silk and shining like a diamond meant for another man.
"Don't embarrass me tonight," Lisa hissed, her fingers digging into Brian's arm like talons. "This dinner is important."
Brian nodded silently.
He didn't ask why she insisted he come. He never did. She treated him like a driver, like an object she could parade and discard at will. And tonight, it felt like she needed a clown to complete the circus.
They entered the private lounge. There were only three people seated—Jason, Lisa's lover, flashing his designer suit and smug grin, a blonde girl on his arm laughing without reason. And then, the man of the hour—Mr. Harold Langston, seventy years old, but his money made him desirable to people like Lisa. Wrinkled fingers held a cane in one hand, a wine glass in the other.
"Lisa!" Langston's voice boomed as he stood to kiss her hand. "You're looking stunning."
Lisa giggled, completely ignoring Brian. "Thank you, Mr. Langston. This is my... husband," she added like it was an afterthought, barely glancing at Brian. "But don't worry, he won't be in the way."
Brian bowed his head slightly. No handshake offered. No chair pulled for him. He remained standing, like a servant.
"Brian," Jason said mockingly, lifting his glass. "How's the mechanic shop?"
"He doesn't work there anymore," Lisa said sweetly. "He cleans cars for a living now."
Laughter erupted.
Brian's fists clenched beneath the table. But his face didn't move.
Langston chuckled. "Well, at least you're not unemployed. Lisa, you've always been kind to lost puppies."
Lisa laughed along. "Someone has to feed them."
Jason leaned over and whispered something into Lisa's ear. Whatever it was made her burst into laughter again. Brian could feel everyone's eyes on him—laughing, mocking. But the worst part wasn't the laughter. It was how Lisa enjoyed it.
The waiter approached. Langston ordered the most expensive wine on the menu. Lisa didn't even ask Brian what he wanted. She ordered for herself and told the waiter, "Just get him water."
Brian stared at his glass, silent.
Langston raised a brow. "Tell me, Brian. What do you think of a man who can't provide for his wife? Who lets other men enjoy what should be his responsibility?"
Lisa smirked. "He thinks it's normal. That's the joke."
Brian didn't reply.
Langston took a sip of his wine and leaned closer to Lisa. "And you're still with him... why?"
Lisa tilted her head, smiling. "Pity? I'm used to him. Like an old shoe. Ugly but comfortable."
The words hit Brian harder than a slap. Still, he kept his face still. His silence—his shield.
Then Langston leaned back and did something that broke the room's balance.
He put his hand on Lisa's thigh.
Right there. In front of everyone.
Jason smirked, clearly aware and unbothered. Brian felt his body stiffen, but Lisa—she didn't even flinch. She only smiled.
"I like bold women," Langston said, his voice low. "And I think you're wasting your time with that... mop of a man."
Lisa placed her hand on Langston's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You might be right."
Brian stood. Quietly.
But Lisa saw it and laughed, loud. "What? Don't tell me you're jealous. You? Jealous of a man who owns five estates and three private jets?"
Jason clapped. "Careful, Brian. She might trade you in for someone older, but richer."
Langston laughed hard, then stood and raised his glass. "Let's make this night memorable!"
Lisa, laughing, turned to Brian. "Oh wait! One more thing."
She pulled something out of her handbag—a receipt. She handed it to him with a grin.
"That's the dry cleaning bill for my dress after you spilled coffee last week. Pay it. It's the least you can do."
Brian stared at the bill. ₦47,000.
He folded it, placed it back on the table, and looked her in the eyes for the first time all night.
"You really enjoy this, don't you?"
Lisa smirked. "What, watching you suffer? A little."
The old man laughed again, then raised his glass. "Now this is entertainment."
Lisa stood and went to Langston's side, wrapping her arms around him like Brian didn't exist.
"You want to see real money, Brian?" Lisa asked. "Watch me get a new car next week. Courtesy of someone who isn't a joke."
Brian looked at the crowd one last time. Then he turned to leave.
But Lisa wasn't done.
She called after him. "Hey! Aren't you forgetting something?"
He turned.
Lisa walked up to him, took out a folded napkin, and dabbed his forehead.
"There. Now you look less pathetic."
The room erupted in laughter again. And Brian?
He walked out.
---
Outside the restaurant
The night was quiet. Cold.
Brian stood under the streetlight, his hands shaking—not from shame, but from something growing inside him.
Something ancient.
Something broken.
Something angry.
He walked away without a word. Not because he had nothing to say, but because his silence was his final scream.
And somewhere inside him, a storm finally opened its eyes.