AKANNI'S POV
The door closed.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a soft click.
And that was it.
I stayed on the floor long after her footsteps faded, my hands still stretched forward, fingers curled around nothing. The space where she had stood felt colder, emptier, like something vital had been ripped out of the room.
This was humiliation mixed with regret, regret soaked in love, and love poisoned by pride.
I had thought silence would protect me.
I had thought withholding myself would force the truth out of her.
Instead, it destroyed us.
"Impure…" I muttered bitterly, the word tasting like acid in my mouth.
Why did I say it?
I knew the moment it left my lips that it was wrong. I had seen it in her eyes—the exact second something shattered. Not cracked. Shattered.
I stood up slowly, my knees weak, my chest tight.
The house mocked me. Her scent lingered everywhere. On the couch. On the curtains. On the bed I had refused to share with her—not because I didn't want her, but because I was afraid.
Afraid that if I touched her, I'd lose control.
Afraid that if I slept with her, I would be lying to myself.
Because I knew.
I had known long before the confession.
The late nights.
The distance.
The way Demi's name hung in the air even when unspoken.
I just wanted her to choose me—without pressure, without wealth, without titles.
I laughed hollowly.
What a foolish test.
My phone buzzed.
Leke.
I ignored it.
Then Mira.
Ignored.
Then my mother.
That one—I answered.
"Akanni," her voice was gentle. "I heard."
Heard.
The word alone confirmed it—news traveled fast.
"She filed?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
Silence.
After the call, I finally broke.
I slammed my fist into the wall, once, twice, until my knuckles bled. The pain grounded me, but it didn't fix anything.
I sank onto the bed.
Our bed.
I remembered the night of our wedding. The way she had looked at me—hopeful, nervous, glowing. How she had reached for me, and how I had turned away.
I thought restraint made me noble.
It made me cruel.
The next morning, the lawyers came.
I didn't fight the filing.
That surprised everyone.
"She's emotional," Leke said. "Give it time."
"No," I replied. "She's done."
I could hear it in her voice. See it in her eyes. Bukky doesn't bluff when she reaches that point.