The soft hum of the hotel's air conditioner filled the silence between me and Alexandra as we sat across from each other in the conference room. Papers were spread out, his laptop open. The scent of coffee and expensive cologne lingered in the air neutral, cold, professional. Just like him.
"This collaboration could redefine our presence in the industry," he said, voice firm and composed. "Lagos Fashion Week isn't just a show. It's a gateway."
I nodded, sitting up straighter in my seat. My curls were pinned up neatly, makeup light but intentional. You wouldn't be able to tell I cried myself to sleep the night before.
"I understand, sir."
He looked at me with that unreadable expression. "I picked you for this because of your pitch during the internal review three months ago. Your sketches showed vision. You saw what no one else did. I want that same fire now."
I unlocked my tablet and swiped to one of my older collections the ones I'd designed when I still believed in something more than survival. Each design carried a piece of me, a silent rebellion in bold colors and African silhouettes.
He leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the screen, lingering longer with each swipe. "You didn't prepare for this trip," he said, "but these are good. Very good."
I didn't know whether to smile or just nod. "Thank you," I said quietly.
Then it happened.
A soft notification popped up on the top right corner of my screen.
Tunde: Please, I'm sorry. Let me explain. I made a mistake…
My body went still.
Alexandra's eyes shifted just for a second but he said nothing. Instead, he pushed his chair back slowly and stood.
"I don't want to know what that is," he said coolly, "but whatever it is, fix it. Fast."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It won't be a problem, sir."
"It better not be. I don't do emotional chaos. Not on projects that could make or break years of work."
He picked up the print portfolio beside him and tapped the cover once.
"You'll be presenting our creative angle at tomorrow's private showcase. You'll have twelve minutes. That's all. Walk them through the designs, the story behind each piece, and how it aligns with the Lagos Fashion Week theme Bold Narratives in African Fashion."
Twelve minutes. That was all I had to prove myself to some of the most powerful names in the industry. No pressure.
"I'll be ready," I told him.
"You don't have to impress them," he said as he closed his laptop. "You just have to make them remember your name."
When he left the room, I stayed seated, staring at the designs glowing on my tablet. Something shifted inside me.
Maybe I didn't just belong in this room.
Maybe I was meant to lead it.
Back in Abuja…
Tunde.
He stood outside my gate at Suncity Estate, pressing the buzzer like a man running out of time.
The security man at the end of the street shrugged. "Madam don travel since yesterday."
"You sure?" he asked.
"I dey sure pass sure. One black car carry her comot. She no dey house."
Tunde cursed under his breath and returned to his car. His calls had gone unanswered, his texts ignored. He'd even tried stopping by her office, only to hear she had traveled for a company assignment. He knew he had messed up. He just didn't realize how much until he lost access to her.
Inside his car, his phone buzzed again. He glanced down at the message.
Efe: She'll get over it. She always does. And let's not pretend you didn't have a part to play. Maybe this is for the best. She was too emotional anyway.
Tunde stared at the text, his chest tightening. Was Efe seriously trying to make this about Bernice being the problem? He didn't reply.
A minute later, another message came in.
Efe: She's not as innocent as she pretends, you know. She's probably already sleeping with that boss of hers. Don't beat yourself up.
Tunde gripped the steering wheel. The gall, the lies, he knew Bernice. At least he thought he did. But Efe? She was proving to be something else entirely
Later That Evening
I sat in the hotel room, scrolling through my phone again, half-numb. Notifications, tags, random DMs. I didn't care for most of them.
Then her name popped up again.
Efe: I made a mistake. But we were friends, Bern. That has to count for something. You shut me out like I was never there. Like the good times didn't matter.
I stared at the message for a moment before closing it.
I wasn't the same Bernice who forgave too easily anymore.
In the mirror, I studied my reflection. My eyes were tired, but something inside them was different now clearer.
Tomorrow would be a big day.
And I'd show everyone who I was becoming.