The coffee table still held the umbrella.
Sandra hadn't moved from the living room couch. James had left in a rush, answering a call that pulled his attention away from the storm building between them. But even after the door shut behind him, the weight of their conversation sat in the room like a presence.
She looked at the umbrella again. That same old pink one. Folded neatly. Clean, but clearly worn at the handle. Her fingers itched to touch it.
She didn't.
Instead, she whispered to herself.
"He remembered."
The boy from that muddy road.
The one who said nothing, but whose eyes held grief too big for his body.
She had offered him her umbrella. She never thought she'd see him again.
And yet here they were. Now. Grown. Changed. Facing each other across something neither of them knew how to name.
The maid returned with a quiet voice.
"Shall I call you a ride, madam?"
Sandra looked up. "Yes. Please."
"You left your bag in the corridor."
"Oh…"
She stood, shaky on her feet, and picked up her handbag with the sealed manila file still inside — the one Shinta had given her as a reason to come here.
Her fingers curled around the handle of the umbrella.
Then let go.
She left it there.
Kampala streets were quiet. The air was thick with after-rain humidity.
In the backseat of the Uber, Sandra didn't look out the window. She just sat there, staring at her hands.
The driver tried to make small talk, but gave up after she responded with short answers and long silences.
She wanted to think clearly, but James's words kept echoing:
> "You gave it to me. Fourteen years ago."
> "You're the only one who didn't ask questions."
> "And now, you're back… like a second storm I never saw coming."
What did it mean?
Why her?
Why now?
And why did his voice sound like he was mourning something he hadn't even lost yet?
James didn't go home that night.
He parked outside an old building in Ntinda. No one lived there now. It used to be a workshop. His father's. Long gone.
But he came here when his mind was loud.
He leaned back in the car seat, turned off the engine, and closed his eyes.
> You're not supposed to feel.
He told himself that again and again.
Not since the betrayal. Not since he learned that even family can steal, lie, and smile while breaking you.
But Sandra?
She brought back a part of him he had buried in silence.
And worse — she wasn't trying.
She didn't seduce him.
She didn't flatter him.
She just… existed.
And that scared him.
Monday morning at J&M Holdings.
Sandra arrived early, hoping the day would pass without whispers. But Kampala offices never stay quiet when gossip is fresh.
She could feel it — in the way the receptionist barely greeted her, in the way two interns paused their laughter when she walked past, in the way someone whispered "CEO's girl" under their breath as she walked into the finance department.
She sat at her desk, opened her laptop, and stared at the blank screen.
Then she heard the click of heels.
Shinta.
Sharp as ever. Dressed in a tight black skirt, her blouse pressed, her eyes fixed.
"Good morning," Shinta said, her tone sweet but stiff.
Sandra stood up automatically.
Shinta handed her a red staff badge. Executive tier.
"You've been reassigned."
Sandra blinked. "To where?"
"The 11th floor. CEO's office. You'll be his temporary assistant."
"But—"
"It's not a question, Sandra," Shinta interrupted, still smiling. "Mr. Mugeni requested it personally."
Sandra took the badge, confused, heart thudding.
"Why?"
Shinta leaned closer.
"Maybe he sees something in you." Her voice was quiet. Almost threatening.
"Just be careful, dear. Promotions in this company often come with invisible strings."
And then she walked away.
Sandra stood outside James's office, unsure whether to knock.
The new badge granted her access.
But access wasn't the same as permission.
She took a deep breath. Then pushed the door open.
He was at his desk. Typing.
As always.
Without looking up, he said, "You're late."
"It's 8:01," she replied.
He stopped typing. Looked up.
A small smile. Just one corner of his mouth.
"You remember."
"I remember everything."
He nodded to the chair beside his desk. "Sit."
For the next hour, she read his calendar aloud.
James corrected her twice. Quietly. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't criticize. But he noticed everything.
"Change that. The boardroom is being renovated."
"Add two hours for that. Victor talks too much."
And when she paused at an appointment labeled "Private – 9 PM, Wednesday," he simply said, "Skip that."
Her fingers itched to ask. But her tongue held back.
At lunch, he stood up.
"You eat late," he said.
She looked up. "I wait until others are done."
"Come with me."
"What?"
"To lunch."
She blinked.
He was already walking.
And in front of everyone — the executive secretaries, the assistant directors, Shinta who had been watching from a corner — James walked through the corridor with Sandra beside him.
In silence.
In command.
In full view.
He didn't explain himself.
He never did.
Sandra picked at her food.
James ate slowly, meticulously. He wasn't looking at her, but somehow... she felt watched.
"I didn't ask for this position," she finally said.
"I know."
"I don't know if I can do it."
"You already are."
She looked up.
He continued, "I don't promote for kindness. I promote for clarity. You see things clearly."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Even when they're blurry?"
He finally looked at her.
"Especially then."
That night, Sandra walked home with Immy.
Immy was silent for most of the walk. Then, near their gate, she stopped.
"I saw the way he looked at you."
Sandra lowered her head.
"He's not playing, Sandra."
"I know."
"You're not either?"
Sandra didn't answer.
And that said enough.
James stayed late.
He stood by the glass wall in his office, staring down at the city lights.
He held the umbrella in one hand.
An old symbol.
A simple gift.
And yet it felt heavier than anything he had built in his empire.
"Sir?"
Shinta's voice from the doorway.
He turned.
She stepped in, quiet. Calculated.
"You're keeping her close."
James didn't answer.
Shinta walked closer.
"She doesn't know this world. She doesn't know how sharp it gets."
James placed the umbrella on the table.
"She knew storms before I even learned how to walk in one."
Then he walked out.
And left Shinta staring at the umbrella.
Frowning.
Three days passed.
Sandra learned quickly.
She organized his calendar. Managed calls. Filed reports. She was efficient, quiet, professional.
And yet—
Every time their hands brushed when passing files…
Every time she entered and found him watching her from behind his screen…
Every time he said her name, low and soft—
The storm returned.
Inside her chest.
Inside the space between them.
Friday evening. A board dinner invitation.
"You'll attend," James said.
Sandra blinked. "Me?"
"You listen better than most directors."
"I don't have clothes for that kind of event."
He handed her a card. Elegant. Gold-stamped.
"Maridadi Boutique. Muyenga. They'll know what to do."
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
"You never do," he replied.
And somehow, that made her breath catch.
That night, she told Immy everything.
Immy sat quietly on the bed, arms crossed.
"Sandra."
"Yes?"
"Don't fall."
Sandra met her cousin's eyes.
"I already did."