Mimi Writes

SALT IN SUGAR

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Ifunanya could barely breathe.
The message glared at her phone screen, the letters sharp as knives.

Last warning. Tomorrow, I’ll send it out. — Kemi

Her hand trembled so badly she almost dropped the device. She sank onto the edge of her bed, the small room spinning around her. The video. The stupid, terrible video — that brief, reckless moment in Kayode’s office where the air had been charged enough to burn, where she had leaned too close, where his face had hovered inches from hers. They had not even kissed. But Kemi’s camera angle told another story.

A story that could ruin her.

If the footage ever left Kemi’s hands, the whispers would spread like wildfire. Debtor girl turned boss’s plaything. Sleeping her way up. It would reduce her entire fight, her sweat, her dignity, into a cheap, ugly lie.

Ify pressed a fist against her chest, as if she could physically hold her heart together. She couldn’t go on like this. The threats had chipped away at her pride for weeks. Tonight, something inside her cracked.

She picked up her bag and headed out.

---

Imade looked up from her desk when the knock came. The office was quiet; most of her staff had gone home. Ifunanya stood in the doorway, eyes wide and glistening, her whole body trembling like she’d walked through a storm.

“Come in,” Imade said gently. She gestured to the chair opposite.

Ify sank into it, clutching her bag like it might anchor her. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. Then the words tumbled out, broken, rushed, each syllable laced with desperation.

“Kemi… she— she’s been threatening me. She has a video. From your brother’s office. She says she’ll send it to the board, to the staff. She wants me gone, Imade. She says I have to resign.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. A tear slipped free, sliding down her cheek. She swiped it away furiously, ashamed.

Imade’s face darkened, fury flickering in her eyes though her tone stayed soft. “Show me.”

With shaking fingers, Ify handed over her phone. Imade read the message, lips pressed into a thin line.

“That girl,” Imade muttered. “I should have known.”

Ify’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t fight her. I don’t have anything. If that video goes out, everything I’ve worked for—my mother, my siblings—” Her voice broke completely. “It will destroy me.”

Imade rounded the desk and crouched before her. She took Ify’s hands, squeezing firmly. “Look at me.”

Ify lifted her wet eyes.

“You are not alone. Do you hear me? Kemi will not win. I will not allow it. You are stronger than she thinks. And I will fight for you.”

The conviction in Imade’s voice was a lifeline. Ify clung to it, nodding, though fear still churned in her stomach.

---

Kayode could not sleep.

It was past midnight, but he was still in his office, staring at the city lights through the glass. The unease gnawed at him. Ifunanya had looked different today. Pale. Exhausted. There had been no fire in her eyes, only a dim flicker struggling to stay lit. And Kemi — always lurking with that smug smile.

Something was wrong.

With a growl of frustration, he pulled up the CCTV archives. It was instinct more than reason. He searched the feeds from his office floor, eyes scanning the timelines. And then he saw it.

The footage played in silence, but Kayode felt the roar of blood in his ears.

There she was. Ifunanya. Standing in the corridor, pressed against the wall. And Kemi, leaning in, phone in hand, her lips twisted in a poisonous smile. Ify’s body was tense, her face etched with distress, her arms wrapped around herself. She wasn’t flirting. She wasn’t complicit. She was trapped.

The whiskey glass in Kayode’s hand shattered against the desk.

For a long time, he just stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched until his knuckles burned white. Rage coursed through him, hotter than anything he had ever known. Rage at Kemi for daring to touch what was his. Rage at himself for not seeing it sooner, for letting it get this far.

---

The next morning, the office was quiet when Kemi strutted in, her perfume sharp, her smile triumphant. She thought she had won.

She didn’t notice Kayode waiting.

“Close the door,” he said. His voice was soft, lethal.

Kemi blinked, surprised. “Sir?”

“Close it.”

She obeyed, suddenly wary.

Kayode rose slowly from his chair, every movement controlled, deliberate. “You’ve been busy,” he said, his tone icy calm. “Threats. Blackmail. Cornering my staff in corridors.”

Kemi’s painted lips curled. “I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. He stepped closer, towering over her. “I saw the footage.”

Her face drained of color.

Kayode leaned in, his words venom. “You thought you could use my office, my cameras, to destroy her? To destroy me?”

She stammered. “Sir, I— it was a joke—”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” His eyes blazed, black fire. “You’re finished here. Pack your things. And listen carefully—if that video appears anywhere, if I even hear a whisper of it, I will personally make sure your career is over. Not just at Skyline. Everywhere.”

Kemi’s bravado crumbled. She swallowed hard, nodding, her hands trembling.

“Get out,” Kayode hissed.

She fled.

---

Ifunanya sat in Imade’s office, fingers twisting in her lap. Every tick of the clock scraped her nerves raw.

Then the door opened.

Kayode stepped in. His presence filled the room instantly, tall and coiled with restrained fury. His eyes found hers, pinning her in place.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low, rough, shaking with suppressed emotion.

Ify’s throat closed. She forced herself to speak, though her voice trembled. “Because you already broke me once. I couldn’t survive you breaking me again.”

The words hit him like a blow. His chest rose and fell heavily, guilt flickering across his face before he masked it.

He moved closer, slowly, as though fighting himself with every step. “Ifunanya…” His voice cracked. He dragged a hand through his hair, raw desperation leaking through his composure. “I should have protected you. I failed.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

But it did matter. The way her voice wavered told him it mattered more than anything.

The silence between them thickened, charged, the air alive with everything unspoken. His hand twitched at his side, aching to reach for her. To pull her close. To swear she would never be hurt again.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, breathing hard, chained by his own guilt, while she blinked back tears, chained by her pride.

The distance between them had never felt smaller. And never more impossible.

SALT IN SUGAR

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Kayode sat alone in his office long after the building had gone quiet. The lights of Lagos bled through the glass wall behind him, streaks of gold and red flickering against the polished floor. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the edge of his desk, its amber glow catching the city’s reflection, but even the burn of liquor could not steady him tonight.

His tie lay discarded, his shirt collar open, but nothing eased the weight in his chest.

He had seen the footage.

The still image of Kemi, leaning in too close, smirking like a vulture while Ifunanya shrank against the wall, was seared into his mind. Ify’s eyes had not held complicity; they had held fear. And yet she had carried it alone. She had endured days of that torment without once coming to him.

Why?

He knew the answer, though it scalded him. Because he had taught her not to trust him.

Her words from Imade’s office replayed on a cruel loop: “Because you already broke me once. I couldn’t survive you breaking me again.”

Kayode dragged a hand down his face, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Guilt tangled with anger, desire with shame. He wanted to fix it, to undo every choice that had led them here, but the truth was bitter: he had made this bed of thorns, and now both of them bled on it.

The clock ticked past nine. The building had emptied hours ago, the echo of heels and chatter long gone. But Kayode could not leave. He rose abruptly, pacing the length of his office, restless, a man hunted by his own thoughts. His reflection in the glass wall looked back at him with hollow eyes.

Finally, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode out. He told himself he was going home. But his feet betrayed him, carrying him down the silent corridor, past the sleeping floors, until he found himself on Imade’s level.

The light spilling under one office door stopped him.

He already knew.

He pushed it open without knocking.

Ifunanya was there.

She sat at her desk, hair loose and curling around her shoulders, blouse wrinkled from the long day, her face illuminated by the pale glow of her laptop. She looked tired, yet stunning in a way that hit him square in the gut — the raw kind of beauty that did not need polish.

She looked up, startled, her eyes widening before shuttering quickly. “Sir,” she said, her tone clipped, guarded.

The word burned. After everything, she still kept that wall.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

“I had work to finish.” She lowered her gaze back to the screen, fingers moving on the keyboard with a determination that felt forced.

He took a step inside, the door closing softly behind him. “Work.” His tone sharpened. “Or avoiding me?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing. “Why would I avoid you?”

“You tell me,” he shot back, his voice low. “You’ve done everything possible to erase me. Except in meetings, when suddenly you’re fire and steel, and I can’t take my eyes off you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Raw. Dangerous. True.

Ifunanya’s breath hitched. She straightened in her chair, spine stiff. “Don’t twist this. I erased nothing. You’re the one who decided I didn’t exist.”

Her voice trembled, but her eyes did not flinch.

Kayode felt something splinter inside him. He moved closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I decided? I tried to keep control, Ifunanya. I tried to keep my distance. But you…” His jaw tightened, fury and longing colliding. “You’re in my head every damn second.”

Her lips parted, her chest rising sharply. “Then why treat me like I’m nothing?”

“Because if I didn’t,” his voice broke, “I’d want too much.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the building’s air-conditioning was the only sound, and even that seemed to fade.

Kayode stood inches from her desk now. He could see the pulse fluttering at her throat, the way her fingers gripped the edge of her notebook as though it could anchor her. Her eyes locked with his, blazing with anger, hurt — and something else. Something that mirrored the fire burning in him.

His hand moved before he thought. He reached across the desk, his fingertips brushing hers. A jolt shot through him at the contact. She didn’t pull away.

“Tell me to leave,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Tell me, and I’ll walk out that door.”

Her lips parted. No sound came.

The last thread of restraint snapped.

Kayode rounded the desk in two strides, pulling her up from the chair. His hands framed her face, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was nothing like the controlled man he had always been. It was brutal, hungry, desperate — weeks of denial combusting in a single, scorching moment.

Ifunanya gasped, the sound swallowed against his lips. Her hands pushed at his chest for a fraction of a second before clutching his shirt, dragging him closer. Papers scattered across the floor as her hip bumped the desk.

Kayode deepened the kiss, groaning against her mouth, tasting the fire that had haunted him for so long. His hands slid down, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him. She arched into him, her body trembling, her lips parting wider to meet his hunger with her own.

It was war and surrender all at once.

His jacket fell, forgotten. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, urging. His mouth left hers only to trail along her jaw, down the slender column of her neck. She shivered, a soft whimper escaping before she could stop it.

Kayode’s control dangled by a thread. His hand traced the curve of her spine, pressing her tighter against him. The heat between them was unbearable, consuming.

Then — reality slammed into him.

He stilled, breath harsh against her skin. His forehead pressed to hers, his eyes squeezed shut. Every nerve screamed to keep going, to lose himself in her completely. But he forced the words out, each one jagged, torn from his chest.

“If I don’t stop now,” he rasped, “I won’t stop at all. And you… you deserve better than to be ruined in my office.”

Ifunanya’s breath shuddered. Her eyes opened, wide, dark, her lips swollen from his kiss. “Maybe I don’t care,” she whispered.

The sound nearly undid him. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, before pulling away like a man tearing himself from a fire.

He grabbed his jacket from the floor with shaking hands, forcing himself toward the door. He didn’t look back. If he did, he would never leave.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Inside the office, Ifunanya sank back into her chair, her chest heaving, her fingers trembling as they brushed her lips. Her whole body ached, her mind spinning, her heart both shattered and soaring.

Across the city, Kayode gripped the steering wheel of his car, his knuckles white, his breath ragged. He whispered her name once, low and raw, like a curse and a prayer entwined.