The morning sun crept into the dim space, its rays slowly sneaking through the open window. Light bounced off the countless empty bottles and scattered cans of alcohol. Cryst's body lay in a lazy sprawl on the small entrance rug, partially covered by Ore's leather jacket. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was greeted by the glaring brightness reflecting across the room. Her body, curled like an S, felt heavy and disoriented.

With a groan, Cryst raised her hand to shield her face from the invasive sunlight. "God, where am I?" she mumbled, her voice scratchy. Slowly, she pushed herself up, her body protesting with every movement. The familiar smell of Ore lingered nearby. "Ow!" She winced, pressing her hand to the pounding ache on the left side of her head. "Why does my head hurt so much?" she muttered, rubbing her temple. Her fingers brushed against Ore's jacket, and she blinked in confusion, trying to piece together the previous night.

Her gaze shifted left, where Ore lay sprawled out on her couch, still sound asleep. Seriously? She frowned. He's on my couch, and I'm on the floor? Annoyed, she reached over and tapped his shoulder.

"Wake up! Shade will be here soon," Cryst warned, her voice sharp.

Ore stirred slightly, mumbling incoherently, "Who's that? Who's Shade?" He yawned, rubbing his eyes and stretching his stiff body.

"Wake up!" Cryst repeated, more urgent now. "My salesgirl will be here any minute!"

Ore slowly opened his eyes and shot her a tired look. "Is that why you're waking me up like I'm your employee? What's your problem, Cryst?" he grumbled, sitting up lazily.

Cryst held her head, her frustration rising. "What kind of man are you?" she snapped. "You made me sleep on the floor. Did you forget I own this place?"

"I'm sorry, but I had a cold last night. I couldn't sleep on the floor," Ore explained nonchalantly, still rubbing his eyes.

Cryst rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "I feel so sorry for your girlfriend," she muttered, walking over to her table to grab a bottle of water. Ore sniffed his shirt and winced, realizing how bad he smelled.

"I've got to get to work," he said, pulling on his sneakers. "But I need to go home and change first." He paused for a moment, glancing at her. "Oh, by the way, someone named Suzanne called you late last night. I didn't answer. You might want to call her back."

Cryst froze, her hand clutching the water bottle tighter. "That witch," she hissed under her breath. "After arguing with me, she wants to reach out?"

She shook her head, her mind swirling with thoughts. Suzanne-the same woman who had prevented her from going on that Miami trip. "Yes, Susanne," Cryst muttered bitterly. "She's my sister-in-law. Do you know her?"

Ore stood, shrugging on his jacket. "No, thanks," he said quickly. "I don't want to get involved with anyone from your rich circle. I'm good with my middle-class life." He gave her a quick nod before heading for the door. "See you later."

Just as Ore reached for the doorknob, it turned from the outside, and someone walked in. It was Aunty Funke. Ore greeted her briefly, "Good morning, ma'am," before slipping out, his impatience barely masked.

Auntie Funke's eyebrows pulled together as she watched the man rush past her. "Who was that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Oh, Aunty Funke!" Cryst exclaimed, her mood shifting to excitement. "What a surprise! How did you find my shop?"

"Your brother called me at five this morning," Aunty Funke replied, her voice soft but concerned. "He asked if you spent the night at my place. I could tell he was worried, so I figured you two had a fight. That's when I asked for your shop's address."

Cryst sighed, her shoulders slumping. "You didn't have to trouble yourself, ma. I'm fine."

"Nonsense," Aunty Funke said, dismissing her protest. "You're like a daughter to me. Of course, I'd come." She placed two large food flasks on the table, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I made your favorite-yam porridge and some freshly squeezed orange juice."

Cryst's eyes lit up with joy. "Oh my gosh, Aunty Funke, you're an angel!" she gushed, her earlier frustration forgotten. "I'm so hungry."

"I know," Aunty Funke laughed softly. "I even sliced some scent leaves and made the porridge creamy, just the way you like it."

Cryst opened one of the flasks, inhaling deeply before grabbing a spoonful. The moment she tasted the yam porridge, her eyes widened with delight. She quickly scooped another spoonful into her mouth.

"Do you like it?" Aunty Funke asked, her eyes twinkling.

"It's delicious," Cryst said, her voice muffled as she devoured the food despite it being hot.

Aunty Funke's gaze lingered on her for a moment before she asked, "Was that your boyfriend I just saw?"

Cryst chuckled to herself, rolling her eyes as she continued eating. "His name is Oreoluwa," she admitted.

Aunty Funke's smile grew even wider. "He seems like a gentleman. Not like your previous boyfriends. I like him. How did you two meet?"

Cryst playfully pointed her spoon at Aunty Funke, her mouth full of hot porridge. "Aunty Funke, you're worse than my dad," she teased.

"That's because I care about you," Aunty Funke said, pouring a glass of the orange juice for Cryst. "I want the best for you."

Cryst took a long drink, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. She let out a sigh, though a shadow of concern passed over her face. "It's been five years, and my dad is still in the hospital," she said quietly. "I worry about him all the time, but I don't want to disturb him. Mike... well, he scolded me. I don't know how to face him without feeling like I need to apologize. And the rest of the Balogun family... they couldn't care less about me."

Aunty Funke placed a comforting hand on Cryst's shoulder. "My dear, you're the brightest star in that family," she said gently. "You're brave, and you're stronger than you realize. You heal yourself every day. And I will always be here to take care of you."

Cryst's eyes softened at Aunty Funke's words. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Aunty Funke said, her voice full of warmth. "Now finish your food and be happy, my dear."

Cryst smiled, feeling a weight lift off her chest. She took another bite of the porridge, this time savoring both the food and the love in Aunty Funke's words.

Ore returned home to find his father, Mr. Shina, seated by the entrance, engrossed in the morning newspaper. He walked past without offering a greeting.

"And where have you been, young man?" Mr. Shina's voice cut through the stillness, sharp with disapproval.

Ore barely paused, tossing his jacket onto a chair in the living room before turning to face his father. Even from a distance, the smell of alcohol clung to him like a second skin. Mr. Shina's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing. "Did you spend the night drinking again?" he asked, his tone heavy with frustration. "How long are we going to run this marathon? You've turned your life into a downward spiral."

Ore's expression hardened. "You made me this way, Dad. So stop complaining," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "You make me miserable. I hope you understand the hell you put me through."

Mr. Shina shook his head, disbelief etched into his features. "I never raised a drunkard," he muttered, his voice softer now but no less firm. "And who are you drinking with? Is it some girl?"

Ore rolled his eyes, his patience thinning. Without another word, he stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it from the inside. The sound echoed through the house.

In the kitchen, Haddasah had been watching the exchange in silence, her hands busy with preparing breakfast. She shook her head subtly and returned to her work, her face betraying no emotion.

Outside the closed door, Mr. Shina's anger simmered. "Like seriously? You shut the door on me now, just like you've been ignoring my calls and WhatsApp messages?" His voice carried through the house, growing louder with each word.

He paused for a moment before continuing, more resolute than before. "Get ready this afternoon," he said, a command rather than a request. "Mr. Kosoko's daughter is back from South Africa, and I've arranged a date for the both of you. So man up!" His voice softened slightly but retained its edge. "And if you can't make it, don't worry. I'll just invite her to join us for lunch."

The house fell silent once more, the tension lingering in the air, thick and unresolved.

"Let's go to the airport and drop Camilla off, since Susanne isn't going," Kanye suggested, glancing at Michael as they stood by the car.

"I don't have the time," Michael responded, already walking towards the driver's side with a dismissive wave. Before he could get in, Grace stepped forward, her white silk gown flowing behind her like liquid. Her hair, perfectly styled in long, elegant curls, cascaded down her back, framed by a turban headwrap. The golden jewelry around her neck gleamed under the sun, making her look like she had just stepped out of a high-fashion photoshoot. Her makeup was subtle but flawless, enhancing her natural beauty.

Kanye nudged Michael's arm. "Here she is."

Michael, momentarily captivated, stared at Grace, his thoughts scattered before he shook himself out of it. "I thought you weren't coming. You made it clear you thought my relationship with Camilla was..." he paused, searching for the right word, "cheating."

Grace met his gaze, her expression calm. "I thought about it and decided I would feel better if I came along."

Without another word, Michael nodded and opened the back door, intending for Grace to sit with him. Instead, she gracefully slipped into the front seat next to Kanye, a quiet but deliberate choice. "Let's go," she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Kanye shot a quick glance at Michael through the rearview mirror, making a face as if to say, What now? But they all got in, and the car pulled away from the mansion, the tension hanging between them like thick air.

As they sped down the road, Michael buried himself in the morning newspaper, his face hidden behind the crinkling pages. Beside him, Camilla was glued to her phone, tapping away like she was replying to messages on her Facebook page. Kanye focused intently on the road, while Grace occasionally glanced at Michael and Camilla through the rearview mirror.

After a long stretch of awkward silence, Grace turned slightly in her seat. "From what I've heard, you two are best friends," she said with a small smile, breaking the tension. "I sat in the front to give you both some space to chat before Camilla leaves."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, but neither Michael nor Camilla responded. They remained silent, distant.

Grace shifted uncomfortably, muttering under her breath, "It's actually quite comfortable up here."

Kanye raised an eyebrow, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You think so, ma'am?"

Grace smiled faintly. "Oh, yes. See? You've even got a smile now."

Kanye chuckled softly, but the mood in the backseat remained cold. Michael and Camilla sat pale, avoiding each other's gaze as they approached the inevitable departure in silence.

Mrs. Nike scrolled through her daughter's phone, her eyes narrowing as she looked through the pictures Grace had sent. The photos showed Michael and Camilla at the airport, laughing and seemingly comfortable around each other, then another image of them at a hotel. They looked like they were enjoying their time together.

Just as Mrs. Nike was about to continue scrolling, Susanne, who had just emerged from the doctor's office, snatched her phone away. "Mum! Why are you going through my phone without asking?" she snapped, her voice edged with frustration.

Mrs. Nike's expression remained puzzled, her brows furrowed. "Who is that woman, Susanne? Tell me."

Susanne glanced down at her phone, her face falling into a cold, emotionless mask. Without answering, she turned away, burying whatever emotions were swirling inside her.

When they arrived home from the hospital, Susanne silently walked into her room, her fingers trembling as she slipped off her diamond wedding ring. Without hesitation, she flung it across the room. The sound of the ring hitting the floor echoed through the space, sharp and final.

Mrs. Nike, who had followed her in, quietly walked over to where the ring had landed. She picked it up carefully, her eyes softening as she saw the pain etched into her daughter's face.

"What happened between you and Michael?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Susanne let out a bitter laugh, her eyes hollow. "Mum, don't you understand? It's not just about what happened-it's everything. As if ruining my body with endless contraceptives isn't enough, Michael treats me like I don't exist. Like I'm worthless." Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. "No wonder he doesn't even want to share his bed with me anymore."

Mrs. Nike's face tightened, her tone sympathetic but firm. "That's why I left, Susanne. That family... Michael hurt me too. But revenge isn't the answer. It'll only bring more pain."

Susanne's expression hardened, her jaw clenching. "It's my turn to hurt him now. He deserves it."

The anger was clear on her face, transparent and raw, and Mrs. Nike could see her daughter spiraling deeper into resentment. She moved closer, her voice gentler now, yet pleading. "Susanne, what do you plan to do? You can't keep fighting like this, holding on to malice. Michael is still your husband. You can't bring a child into this chaos. If you won't fix things with him, maybe it's best to..."

"Abort it?" Susanne cut in sharply, her tone cold and biting. A humorless laugh escaped her lips, followed by a bitter smile. "Does it look like I care anymore, Mum? I don't even love him now. That's long gone."

She straightened her posture, a steely resolve in her eyes. "I will give birth to this child, and it will carry the Balogun name. When the time comes, I'll face Michael myself! He won't be able to run from this."

Mrs. Nike, still clutching the wedding ring in her hand, looked at her daughter with a mix of sadness and fear. She could see the determination burning in Susanne's eyes, but she also knew that this path would only lead to more heartbreak. But for now, she stayed silent, sensing that no amount of words could pull Susanne back from the edge she was so close to.