LYONIC

Lagos. The city that never stops, where contradictions meet in every corner, and today, it's all about pride, ambition, and unspoken grudges. But to me? It's just a battleground where I'll stand my ground.

I turn to Lyon beside me. Silent. Too silent. I know him long enough to recognize when he tries to keep something back. His silence speaks it all. And now, it says he is up to something.

"You think you're just going to waltz back into my life, Lyon?" I snap, my voice heavy with defiance. My hand tightens around the phone in my palm, glaring at the screen as if it's going to magically fix the mess in front of me. "You think one word from you is going to make the Obis bow down? Show me. Prove it."

Lyon's gaze flicks to me; for one swift, winged moment, his mask of confidence slips just a fraction. "Sommy, you know better than to challenge me like that." His voice is low, smooth-the kind of tranquility that presages a storm. "But fine, since you insist."

I push my phone at him. "Then show me what you've got. Now.

Lyon hesitates, his fingers brushing the screen of his phone before he looks up. "I gave them a month, Sommy. I'm not just going to ruin them for the sake of it. I want them to feel the weight of their actions. It's not just about proving something; it's about timing.

I roll my eyes, irritation welling. "See? You talk a lot but do nothing! Can't even show a little action when it counts!"

I fling the phone to the ground and hear the sharp crack as it shatters on impact. "You always do this. Big talk. But no substance. Maybe that's why you're always stuck in the shadows."

Lyon stares at me a moment before he turns to my parents. My father's eyes narrow, but he says nothing. My mother does little to mask her contempt. "Enough, Sommy. We've had enough of this back and forth. We're leaving."

"No, Mother. You can't push him away," I say, softer but firm, my hands tightening on Lyon's arm. "He's still my husband. I won't marry anyone else. Not now. Not ever."

They freeze. My parents share a glance, quite clearly unprepared for my defiance. After what feels like an eternity of silence, my mother sighs loudly. "Do whatever you want, but don't expect us to support this."

They turn, heading for the door. Lyon's face sets as he looks back at me, and for one moment, I see it-the weight of the years he's carried. The loss. The pain. And it isn't just for me. It's for him, too.

We should go to the family banquet now," I say, fetching the suit from my wardrobe and tossing it toward him. "Wear this. You're still my husband, Lyon. And I don't care what the world says. We're showing up tonight."

Lyon takes the suit, and I watch him-a little sense of guilt creeping in. I know what it means for him, for us. But he has never been one to back off from anything.

We finally arrive at the banqueting hall, and all eyes seem set on the tension. The Obis might be one of the most powerful families in Lagos, but they sure ain't a game in town. Whispers everywhere, eyes darting toward Lyon and me. The looks. The silent judgments.

My father leads us through to our table, but someone stops us as we go by. "No, Aaron. You can't sit here."

My uncle Henry, his smug smile plastered on his face, motions to an empty seat. "This table's taken. Your family doesn't belong here anymore."

I feel my blood boil. "What the hell are you talking about?" I snap.

"The seating is by contribution," Henry says, his voice superior. "The ones who contributed most to the family sat at the front. Your family. let's just say you're in the back now."

"Negative contributions," Maddison snarls, his wife. "You're lucky to even be here.

Forcibly shoved to the back, my gaze catches Lyon's, but he says nothing. He watches, waits, and just when I am about to blow my top, he moves forward, his voice slicing through tension like a knife.

"And where does a ten billion naira contributor sit?" Lyon says calmly but with a lot of weight behind the words as he inches closer toward Henry and Maddison, taking up room in the space.

Everyone falls silent. All eyes turned to him, and the room holds its breath for that one moment.

I feel the rise of heat in my chest, my pulse skyrocketing. This it is. Lyon's finally done it.

Henry bursts out laughing, but it is a hollow laugh. "Ten billion? Is this some kind of joke?" He snorts. "Even the Obis don't have this much money!"

The rest laugh too. But Lyon doesn't budge an inch.

"Ask your family if they've heard of me. Go ahead. Ask them. I've got the power, the wealth, and the connections. A simple word from me could change everything for you." Lyon stands taller, his gaze unwavering.

Laughter dies, but the skepticism remains. They're all watching, waiting for the punchline. But Lyon doesn't deliver one.

Instead, he steps back and looks at me. "Ready to take the next step?" His voice is soft, a contrast to the confrontation just moments before.

I swallow, unsure of how to respond. The eyes of the room are still on us, but it feels different now. They no longer look at us like we're beneath them. They're curious. Cautious. Maybe even a little fearful.

Except, of course, one. Fabian. The spark of our eyes should be enough to ignite the room. He doesn't like it one bit. He never did.

"Let's see what happens next," he mutters low under his breath, though said loud enough to hear for all in the room.

I squeeze Lyon's hand, my heart tapping out a tense rhythm in my chest. "Let's go make some waves."