Kimberly POV
Enzo soon called to tell me it was time to leave. I was glad I came. It had been a good day already.
Luciana clung to my cargo pants as I tried to go.
"It's okay, she'll come visit another time," Emily said, trying to coax her daughter.
Lucy reluctantly let go, but the tears in her eyes nearly undid me.
"Babies...they're so sweet," I murmured, bending down to hug her.
"You'll come again, huh?" she whispered, her lip trembling.
"Pinky promise," she said, thrusting her tiny finger toward me.
I laughed softly and hooked my pinky around hers. "Pinky promise," I whispered, meaning it. I already saw family here, even if they weren't supposed to be mine.
Behind me, Enzo cleared his throat. I shot him to look sharp enough to cut glass. I understood their rules—emotions weren't encouraged. But was he really this heartless? I hissed under my breath and gave Emily a final hug before following him out the door.
In the car, I noticed the food flask beside me.
Emily had insisted I pack some Jollof rice for Leonardo, despite my protests that he'd be home late.
"He hardly eats Jollof from anywhere else," she'd said. "He's too picky about how it's made. But the one "you" cooked? It's a banger. No way he's missing out."
I chuckled as I scooped the rice into the flask she gave me. But now, staring at it in the car, the humour faded.
There was no way I'd tell Leonardo I made it. Just... no way.
To my surprise, his SUV was already parked when we pulled into the driveway.
He was back early. Only 7 p.m.
"I thought you'd sleep over there," he said as I stepped inside. His tone wasn't playful—it was sharp.
"What? It's just seven," I replied, kicking off my shoes.
Leonardo's gaze darkened. "What time did I send Enzo to pick you up?"
I hesitated. Truthfully, Enzo had come around 4 p.m., but I'd ignored him. I wasn't ready to leave Emily's warmth—not yet.
"I wasn't with a stranger, Leonardo. I was with your sister."
"These aren't your family," he snapped, cutting me off. "This marriage is fake, remember?"
The words hit harder than I expected, knocking the air out of me. My chest tightened, but I swallowed down the hurt. What was the point in arguing?
He continued, cold and sharp. "I gave you permission to go out. That doesn't mean you decide how long. And you don't tell me who anyone is to me. I make the rules. You obey them."
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood.
It was moments like these that chipped away at me, like water slowly eroding stone. I told myself it was fine. It wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.
As I turned toward the stairs, something heavy weighed my hands—the flask.
I sighed, retracing my steps back to where Leonardo was seated. I set it on the table without meeting his eyes.
"Emily said to give you this," I muttered, my earlier excitement at seeing him eat it gone.
"Open it," Leonardo ordered.
I glared at him. "I'm not your maid."
But I opened it anyway.
"Jollof rice?" His eyes lit up with childlike joy. For a moment, the sharpness in his expression melted away.
"Emily knows me too well," he murmured, already digging in without bothering to plate the food. He scooped a spoonful into his mouth and groaned with satisfaction.
"This is perfect. Emily is just the best."
I crossed my arms, trying not to roll my eyes.
"That's because *I* cooked it," I muttered under my breath.
Leonardo shovelled in another bite. "This is so good! Emily is really improving!"
A groan slipped from my throat, unintentional and loud. How did he not recognize the difference in taste? Didn't he know his own sister's cooking well enough?
I shook my head and left him to enjoy the meal, climbing the stairs to my room. I wasn't even hungry—Emily had already filled me up.
Inside the bedroom, I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the shower. Warm water poured over me, washing away the tension from the day. I tried not to think about Leonardo's words. If I let myself dwell on them too long, I feared I'd lose my mind.
After drying off and slipping into a nightgown, I grabbed my phone and tried Lan's number again. Still unreachable. Maybe it really was the weather, but something didn't feel right.
Pushing away the unease, I opened Instagram. I hadn't logged in for a while, Netflix had been consuming my free time, but curiosity got the better of me.
When the app loaded, I noticed I had a new follower.
No posts. No bio. Just a username: **@WaitingForYou**.
Something about it sent a shiver down my spine.
Against my better judgement, I followed back and sent a simple "Hi."
Almost instantly, a message popped up:
"Been waiting for you."
I froze, staring at the words.
Waiting? For me?
But... who?