･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Chibamba had thought that after downing nearly half a crate of Black Label, the strongest contender in the lager department, Constance would be completely gone, wasted.
But no, she leaned against the sleek Jaguar, tipsy, perhaps, but certainly not drunk, contentedly chewing the last bites of grilled goat kebab. The grease slicked her fingers.
It had been over two hours since he’d run into her. There hadn’t been much of a conversation between them, just an occasional, random story tossed into the silence.
Since it was past midnight and the bar was long closed, they were left with the dim streetlights and the cool night air.
“We should leave. It’s late.” He handed her a paper towel, a simple gesture of care.
“What’s the rush?” she slurred, wiping the grease off her hands, unhurried.
He tilted his head, looking up at the bruised-looking sky. “Looks like it might rain. Better be indoors when the first drops hit.”
“You are a spoilsport.”
He chuckled. The sound was warm, rich, and surprisingly comforting, bringing a genuine smile to Constance’s face, a smile that faded as quickly as it appeared.
Constance threw the keys at him. “You drive.”
“Sure. Destination?”
“The Ephraim Njolomba hotel.”
Riding shotgun, Constance leaned back, throwing her feet onto the dashboard. Her dress rode up, dangerously high, exposing her toned legs and thighs.
Chibamba, try as he might, couldn’t help but steal glances at her as she stared out her darkened window, lost in the city lights blurring past.
“Is it your husband again?” he asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road, the question hanging in the charged silence.
“Is it that obvious?” A sigh escaped her lips.
“Only love makes people act this irrational.”
She sighed again, a heavier sound this time. “He cheated.”
He shot her a sideways glance, his lips curling into a mocking, familiar smile. “He always cheats.”
The two had known each other for quite a while. Seven years, to be precise. He was her personal trainer-a confidant by proximity.
They first met in her first year of marriage, back when she was still soaring high from having married rich and living that opulent, gilded life. Her first three years of marriage had been utterly blissful.
Back then, Abel was on his absolute best behavior. He was loving and caring. She had honestly thought he had shed his skin of a playboy forever. He remembered her birthdays, their anniversaries. He took her out on romantic dates; they took vacations to the most amazing destinations.
It was the perfect marriage. The perfect illusion.
Even when she had first caught wind of his cheating, the whispers that turned into facts, she still had faith in them. In him.
Each time he cheated, a crisis averted, he would deposit large amounts of money in her bank account or send some exorbitant gift her way-a villa in Dubai, the latest model car, jewelry that blinded, you name it.
But no matter what, all those material things could not take away the sheer heartbreak. She foolishly waited for him to have a revelation: that she was the best thing that ever happened to him.
If he was willing, if they just made an effort to work on them; their relationship, their marriage, she had hope they could make it work. Be happy together.
Constance sighed, pressing the button to open the window. The cold, fresh air hit her face, a jolt of reality.
“But this time it’s different.”
“Oh?”
Constance smiled, but said nothing more. How could she tell him the woman in question this time around was her very own best friend, a betrayal so deep it felt physical, and that they had been entangled for a while?
She had foolishly guarded against every other woman in the world, unknowingly passing the biggest threat the closest to her heart.
“Why don’t you just leave him?” .
That seemed to finally take her by surprise. She turned to face him, the absurdity of the idea hitting her.“Leave?”
“Yeah, divorce him.”
She chuckled dryly, the sound devoid of humor. “Divorce?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what?” The fear was palpable in her tone.
Divorcing would mean walking away from this life of opulence, the safety net of extreme wealth. Yes, Abel cheated, and he had broken her heart repeatedly, but who would foolishly leave such a good life? She never wanted for nothing.
She was lonely and hurting, yes, but she still lived a good life.
“You are not willing? Despite all the humiliation?”
“What do I gain from divorcing him?” Besides the trauma.
She knew her mother-in-law, Easineya, too well, she would make sure she walked away with absolutely nothing.
She was vindictive.
“Your dignity.”
Constance burst out laughing, a hard, brittle sound. “Dignity? Chibamba, dignity won’t put food on my table.”
“At least you will safeguard your mental health,” he retorted, gripping the wheel tighter.
She clicked her tongue disdainfully, dismissing the sentiment entirely.
“There are better men out there.”
But none are richer than Abel.
She thought the words so loudly he almost heard them.
She shook her head, the finality settling in the car. Divorce was not an option.
D
ivorce meant going back to poverty. She could work all her life and live ten lifetimes and still fail to even earn a fraction of what marriage to Abel provided.
With the roads clear, the drive to the Empraim Njolomba Hotel took an hour from the Mapiri compound, where Constance had gone to drown her sorrows. Along the way, she dozed off. At some point, rain began to fall.
Chibamba killed the engine and parked in front of the lobby. The harsh honk of the car horn jolted Constance awake.
“We’re here?” she asked, voice thick with sleep.
“Hmm. Just got here.”
“What time is it?”
Chibamba glanced at the dashboard.
“1:40.”
She rubbed her eyes, hurriedly gathering her things. “You go back with the car. Pick me up at 10:00.”
Constance reached for the door handle. Chibamba’s hand shot out, grabbing hers. She turned, puzzled-until she saw the raw, eager look in his eyes.
How had she forgotten he cared for her? She never took him seriously, but now… that look was fervent, desperate, full of hope and promises.
Her heart sank like a stone.
“Won’t you even think about it?” he pleaded.
“Chibamba, I’m sorry.” The words were clipped, final.
The rejection hit him hard. The light in his eyes dimmed, fading away.
“Why?” he asked, the word heavy in the quiet space.
She turned toward the lobby, staring through the glass doors. Inside, warmth and luxury beckoned-a sanctuary. Even from outside, the glamour called to her.
“Maybe I’m too greedy.”
She opened the door and stepped out, walking through the glass doors without looking back.
･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
React to this chapter:
