I did not tell Chinedu about the flower.
I did not tell him Onyeka had cornered me in the hallway or that her words echoed louder than any scream.
I did not tell him because i knew how it would end.
He will protect me.
And in doing so, he will break something.
Maybe in himself.
Maybe in her.
Maybe in both of us.
And somehow i did not want to be the reason for either.
"Don't be late again," Madam Nkechi snapped the next morning, throwing a damp towel onto the cleaning cart beside me.
"Yes ma," i murmured.
She eyed me with narrowed suspicion. "You are moving like someone with secrets. Keep it up and you will be replaced."
I nodded again.
She walked away without another word.
The walls seemed to close in.
Later that day, i was called into the upstairs parlor the one no one used unless guests were around, It had velvet curtains, polished mahogany, and a piano i have never once heard play.
Onyeka sat on the arm of the sofa, scrolling through her phone.
A white porcelain teacup balanced beside her.
"Close the door behind you," she said, without looking up.
I obeyed.
"Tomiwa," she said slowly, as if savoring my name. "I believe you have been confused."
"Ma?"
She finally looked up. "About your place."
I swallowed hard. "I understand my role."
She stood, teacup in hand, and walked toward me. "No. You understand your job. But your role? That is something else entirely."
I stayed still, i didn't dare breath.
"I was you once," she said, taking a sip. "Pretty, obedient, eager to be noticed."
Her words burned more than the tea.
"But i rose above it, i married the right man, gave up the pretense of love for the reality of power."
She circled me, slowly.
"You think he cares about you?" Her voice was now a whisper. "He will get bored. They always do."
Her heel tapped against the floor, sharp and threatening.
"When he does, don't say I did not warn you."
Then, with a smirk, she walked out, the scent of her perfume thick in the air behind her.
I did not cry.
Not when she spoke.
Not when she left.
But later, as i scrubbed the marble floors with blistered hands and a throat full of silence, I let the tears fall.
Not because she was cruel.
But because somewhere, I believed her.
That night, Chinedu came to the kitchen.
He did not say a word.
Just stood in the doorway, watching me stir a pot of egusi soup like my life depended on it.
"You are avoiding me again," he said softly.
"I'm working."
"That's not what I asked."
I kept stirring.
He walked up behind me and gently took the wooden spoon from my hand. His fingers brushed mine.
"Tomiwa…"
"I'm scared," I whispered.
"I know."
"And I can not be the reason you lose everything."
He turned me to face him.
"You are not."
"But you could."
He paused. "Would that be so bad?"
I looked into his eyes.
It would.
It really would.
"You deserve more than stolen moments and late night whispers," I said.
"So do you."
He touched my cheek, brushing away a tear I did not know had fallen.
"I will fix this," he said.
But even he did not sound convinced.
The next morning, I saw something strange.
Onyeka and Madam Nkechi talking in hushed tones.
Their backs turned, their heads tilted close.
And then they looked at me.
I pretended not to notice, but a knot formed in my stomach.
Something was happening.
Something I was not supposed to see.
That evening, after cleaning up the guest room, I found another note under my pillow.
This time, it was not a flower.
It was a folded napkin with two words scrawled in red lipstick:
"Leave now."
No name.
No explanation.
No second warning.
I stared at it for a long time, fingers trembling.
Then i lit a match and watched it burn in a metal bowl by the window.
If i left i will lose everything.
But if I stayed
I might lose myself.