Fate untold, Fate Retold

It had been four days since Kene left the Adebayo estate, but the silence he left behind echoed louder with each passing hour.

Zara felt it in the empty front seat.

In the quiet drive with a new driver who didn't ask if she'd eaten.

In the stillness of mornings without coffee-fueled banter.

Her father noticed her mood. He thought silence meant surrender.

He was wrong.

That evening, Zara entered his study.

He barely looked up from his tablet. "Zara."

"I want him reinstated," she said calmly.

Mr. Adebayo set the tablet down slowly. "You're referring to the boy?"

"Kene. His name is Kene. And yes."

"No."

Zara took a step forward. "Why?"

Her father's jaw tightened. "Because he was becoming a distraction. And frankly, you're beginning to prove my point."

"That's not your decision to make."

"Oh, but it is," he said. "As long as you live under this roof, your image reflects on this family. You can't be seen fraternizing with drivers."

Zara's eyes narrowed. "You mean poor people?"

"I mean people with no future," he said coolly.

The words landed like a slap. Zara stared at her father in stunned silence.

"You've always judged people by their bank accounts," she said. "It's why Mum left."

The room went cold. Mr. Adebayo's face darkened, but Zara turned before he could respond.

She didn't want to hear more.

She wanted to *do* something.

***

By the weekend, Zara found Kene's address through an old contact at HR. It was a modest flat in Surulere—quiet, plain, and far from the polished glass of her world.

She knocked twice.

Kene opened the door shirtless, a towel slung over his shoulder, hair wet from a shower. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"Zara?"

"Hope I'm not interrupting your… glamour life," she teased with a crooked smile.

Kene blinked. "You shouldn't be here."

She stepped inside anyway.

"Nice place," she said, scanning the small room with cracked paint and a secondhand couch. "Very... minimalist."

Kene sighed. "What are you doing?"

"Checking on a friend."

"You know your father would—"

"I don't care what he thinks."

Silence.

Zara sat on the couch and crossed her legs. "I brought food."

Kene stared at the nylon bags she held up. "You're unbelievable."

"You'll eat it," she said. "You're too polite not to."

And he did.

They sat on the floor, eating rice and peppered chicken from takeout plates. Kene told her he was okay. That he was trying to figure things out. That he'd applied to some delivery services.

Zara frowned. "You can't just waste your life like that."

Kene smiled faintly. "I'm surviving."

"That's not enough."

There was an intensity in her voice he hadn't heard before.

Then, suddenly: "What if I told you I could help you get something better?"

Kene laughed. "You mean pity-hire me?"

"No," she said firmly. "I mean offer you what you deserve."

He blinked. "Zara—"

"I found out something," she interrupted, pulling out a form she had seen on his shelf earlier. She waved it. "You have a degree in Economics?"

Kene hesitated. "Yeah. From Unilag. Second class upper."

Zara's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

"It *does*! Why didn't you say anything?"

Kene shrugged. "People see what they want. Most rich folks hear 'driver' and assume I'm barely literate."

Zara's heart ached. "But I'm not most people."

His eyes softened. "No, you're not."

A silence passed between them, tender and charged.

Zara reached across the space between them, her hand brushing his.

"Let me help," she whispered.

Kene hesitated, then slowly pulled his hand back. "I don't want to be the reason your father throws you out."

"You're not," she said. "*He's* the reason I want out."

***

Over the next two weeks, they met often.

Sometimes at her friend's beach house.

Sometimes in quiet restaurants tucked away in Ikoyi.

They didn't always talk about serious things. Sometimes they argued over the best suya spot in Lagos or whether jollof should be spicy enough to hurt.

But other times… it got deeper.

Kene told her about Amaka—his sister now studying nursing because of his sacrifices.

Zara told him about her panic attacks when she was younger, hidden behind closed doors because 'Adebayo girls don't break.'

They were becoming inseparable.

And everyone noticed.

Especially Zara's ex.

***

His name was *Tofunmi Olateru*. The heir to Olateru Holdings and a golden boy in her father's eyes.

Zara had dumped him a year ago after catching him cheating with his secretary—twice.

But Tofunmi never really went away.

And when her father called her in for a "family discussion," she knew something was off.

Tofunmi was there. In a crisp navy suit. Grinning like a cat.

Zara froze. "What's going on?"

Her father gestured toward the seat. "Sit."

She remained standing.

"Tofunmi has proposed. Again," Mr. Adebayo said.

Zara blinked. "What?"

"And I've said yes."

She stared at him, incredulous. "You don't get to say yes for me."

Tofunmi chuckled. "Babe, don't be dramatic. We used to be good together."

Zara turned to him. "You used to be faithful too. Things change."

Her father cut in. "His father just invested another 2.8 billion into our tech subsidiary. We're talking future, Zara. Not teenage rebellion."

"So I'm a bargaining chip now?"

"You're my daughter," he snapped. "And you'll act like it."

"I'm also a human being," she said, stepping back. "And I will *not* marry a man I don't love."

Her father stood. "Then choose wisely, Zara. Because if you choose that boy again… you'll lose more than your allowance."

She stared at him—seeing not a father, but a man who'd traded empathy for equity.

***

Later that night, she went to Kene's place again. This time, she was shaking.

He let her in. Her makeup was smudged, her shoulders hunched.

"They want me to marry Tofunmi," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Kene's face darkened. "Why?"

"Because of a business deal."

He clenched his fists. "Your father is insane."

Zara laughed bitterly. "It's not funny."

"I didn't mean it is," Kene said softly. "I just… I don't get it. Why you're even telling me this."

Zara looked at him, tears threatening. "Because I don't want to lose *you*, too."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kene took a step forward. "Zara…"

She closed the space between them. "Don't tell me not to care."

Kene didn't.

He just pulled her into his arms.

And for the first time, she let herself cry.

Not like the girl who wore designer heels.

But like a woman fighting for the one person who made her feel seen.

***

But not all wars end in tears.

Some begin with a knock.

The next morning, there was a letter slipped under Kene's door.

It was sealed with the Adebayo logo.

Inside was an offer letter from one of the company's subsidiaries.

*Head of Financial Strategy.*

A job he was more than qualified for.

Kene stared at the paper for a long time.

Zara must've done this. Pulled strings. Risked everything.

But scribbled at the bottom was a note—not from Zara.

*"This offer is conditional. You will not contact my daughter again. Not socially. Not privately. Not ever."*

—Mr. Adebayo.

Kene's breath caught.

It wasn't a job.

It was a trap.

And now, he had a choice.

Take the job and lose Zara forever.

Or walk away from everything again…

...except her.