CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
My heart dropped to my stomach as I looked into the horrified face of my husband.
What do I say?
My brain faltered, and my mind went completely blank. I was still trying to process Marcus’s confession—and now I was thrown into this. I wasn’t prepared for this.
Help me! What do I do?
My chest tightened as my thoughts went quiet. I kept scanning the room, searching for words, but nothing came. Realizing I was at a loss and couldn’t save myself, panic set in.
Heat flushed to my face and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. I stared into my husband’s eyes, completely dumbfounded.
“Is the celebration over?” Marcus stepped in, breaking the silence.
“No, we’re moving it to the club,” someone replied.
I looked away from my husband’s piercing glare, quietly grateful for Marcus’s assist. Like a ripple effect, the crowd dispersed and returned to their seats—except Kylian, who remained rooted beside Marcus.
“I know you, don’t I?” I turned toward the voice and found Kolo Muani. “Kylian’s party in Ibiza. Marcus’s girlfriend, right?”
“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s my friend,” Marcus corrected as he pulled on his clothes. “She was just my date at the party.”
I glanced at Kylian, who was still glaring at me.
Can you blame him? You shouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.
Oh, now you’re talking. Thanks for the assist, by the way.
“But you called her your girlfriend,” Dembele said, stepping forward with a frown.
What the hell is happening?
You did this.
“No, I didn’t. You morons assumed she was,” Marcus said firmly in his British accent.
“But you didn’t correct us,” Hakimi snapped.
“And let you lose money? Can’t let you hate me more than you already do,” Marcus joked, even though the situation was turning tense. He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“You’re not coming with us to the club?” someone asked.
“Can’t. I have an early flight.”
“But this is our first Champions League win, you want to ditch us?” Dembele pressed, voice hard.
Marcus let out a light chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I will think you actually want me here,” he replied and walked toward the door.
Is he seriously leaving me in this situation?
Well, he’s not your husband.
When he got to the door, he looked back at me. “Are you coming?”
Don’t you dare. Your association with him already put him in a bad spot with his teammates—don’t make it worse.
I nodded and followed after him. A few steps from the locker room, he stopped and turned to me.
“Wait here. Kylian will be out soon.”
“What?”
“I can’t exactly leave you in that situation,” he muttered.
How did I not know this man was in love with me?
What are you doing, Bewaji?
“I have to go,” he said, and turned to leave.
Is that it? He said all of that and he just walks away?
What else do you want from him? Be happy he isn’t asking for more. Do you want that headache?
“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” I shouted.
He stopped in his tracks and looked back with a raised brow.
What the hell are you doing?
“What?” he asked.
“You don’t get to tell me how you feel and then just walk away after burdening me with it!” I yelled, voice laced with frustration.
Kylian might hear you. Please stop.
I marched toward him, brows furrowed. “Do you think that makes you cool? Point of correction—it does not.”
“What do you want me to do? Beg you to be with me when I know that’s not going to happen?”
“Of course not! But we can talk.”
“About what?”
“How you feel, of course!”
“I already told you how I feel. What’s left to talk about?”
“How about you leave that to me?”
“Bewaji…” he said softly, a tenderness in his voice that stung.
This is dangerous.
I gave Marcus a faint smile. “I’m not ready. No…” My voice broke. “I don’t want to lose what we have. So I am not letting you leave without talking about your feelings and how we move forward.”
He gave me a lingering, sad look, then smiled wistfully. “Fine.”
He opened the door beside us and gestured for me to enter. I stepped into what looked like a storage room.
You’re in a storage room with Marcus, Bewaji. What are you doing?
“Talk,” he said, and closed the door.
Damn it.
How did I not see the imbalance?
The silent giving.
The silent sacrifice.
The 100% attention.
And then the guilt crushed me.
He kept giving. I kept receiving, needing, asking, taking.
It’s like I woke up in someone else’s memory and realized—I was the villain.
Was it ignorance?
Or selfishness?
How did I not see it?
Now, every moment feels tainted.
Every kindness rendered feels like a debt I have to repay.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
“What?” he looked at me, surprised.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” I said, voice cracking as tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Hey…” he gasped softly, reaching out instinctively.
“The doting. The attention. I should have seen it, but I just kept taking.”
“Please stop crying. It’s not your fault,” he said, wiping my tears.
“Yes, it is.” I stepped out of his reach. “You gave me a Lamborghini urus”
“Because I wanted to. You’re my friend.”
“Because you love me,” I argued. “You didn’t give the others a urus. You didn’t invite the others to Bali. But you invited me, I should have seen it.”
Bali.
“Of course I saw it,” I said bitterly, my voice rising. “And I acted on it. I kissed you because I thought you had feelings for me, but…”
The memory of New Year’s Eve returned with a sharp ache. I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my composure as tears fell freely again.
“You made me think it was all in my head. And now you tell me you love me?” I asked angrily.
I shoved him, making him stagger backward.
“Why would you do that?!” I yelled
I moved to push him again, but he caught my hands this time
“Because you’re hurting!” he yelled.
“What?”
“You just decided to divorce your husband, after fighting so hard for that marriage. You were not in the headspace for another commitment. I wanted to give you the space to make peace with it. But then, the next time we met, divorce was off the table,” he said quietly.
Realization hit me like a truck.
“That day?”
“Yes. That day at Madam Black’s. I was going to tell you I wanted to try things out with you,” he admitted, releasing my hands.
I laughed through my tears and stepped back. “So, where do we go from here? Because I love my husband..... And, I don’t want to lose you.”
“I just need time, away from you—to get myself back together.”
“How long?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But a while.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m moving to Madrid.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re moving to Madrid?”
I nodded.
“Then it’s official, Kylian’s going to Real Madrid?”
“Yes. But don’t tell anyone.”
“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Marcus,” I said through tears I couldn’t stop. “You’re my best friend.”
“You’re not losing me, Bewaji. I’m just not best friend material right now.”
“When will you be?”
“I don’t know. But if you need someone to talk to, I’m just a phone call away.”
“What about a friendly face? Can I come see you?”
Please say yes.
“No.”
Damn it.
“Not at the moment,” he added. “But maybe in the future.”
I nodded, my heart breaking in slow motion.
“So, this is goodbye?” I asked.
“I guess.”
I nodded again, trying to keep the tears at bay—but failing miserably. My heart shattered, not in a loud crash, but in a slow, cruel crumble. I held the weight of his goodbye in my chest, and it hurt with every breath.
“Bewaji…”
“Please, just go. If you say any more, I think I’ll break.” I wiped my tears. “Now I understand why I was thrown out of the friend group.”
I gave a broken chuckle. “They saw how much you loved me and probably thought I was using you.”
“Bewaji, I want you to know that the reason I’m letting you go is not because of Kylian.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If I fight for you, I know I will have you. I letting you go because of your child.”
“My child?”
“You may love Kylian, but I’m everything you want in a man and you know it.” He looked away and sighed. “But I know what it’s like to grow up with the love of two parent. I’m not going deny your child that privilege”
Gratitude bloomed in my chest like warmth after winter. I rushed into his arms, heart full, feeling deeply seen and undeservedly loved.
“I’m so sorry, Marcus,” I whispered, savoring the hug and committing it to memory. “Thank you for being a good friend… and goodbye.”
Minutes after he left, I stood still. Numb. Motionless. Stuck in the moment it all ended.
I lost a friend. My best friend. A soulmate.
I wanted to scream—but the pain was too thick in my throat.
So I stood in silence.
You can’t be standing like this, you’re pregnant.
So I moved. I opened the door. And there stood Kylian.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough,” he replied.
I tried to walk past him, but he held me back.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Bewaji,” he said, frustration in his tone.
“He told me he loved me.”
“What?” he exclaimed, frowning.
“And he said he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
His brow furrowed. “He said that?”
“Yes. Let go.”
I started walking, and behind me, I heard him say, “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
“No, you’re not,” I said sharply and walked away
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT SATURDAY 9.00 PM WAT
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