Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
NAJI
I made my way to the sunroom, my soft-soled sandals gliding quietly over the polished hardwood floors; my nerves felt loud in comparison.
My outfit was simple—a soft olive-green sundress that gently hugged my curves without being overly revealing.
The thin straps rested softly on my shoulders, and the modest neckline framed my collarbone perfectly.
I had chosen gold hoop earrings that caught the light with every movement, a few delicate rings that adorned my fingers, and I had pulled my hair into a high bun that somehow looked effortlessly elegant, even though inside I felt anything but.
I didn’t want to overdress, but I still wanted to present myself as someone who belonged in that life—next to him.
After that relaxing bath, my skin radiated a warm glow, adding an extra touch of vibrancy.
The real truth? I hated getting out of that tub.
Ms. Shirley had truly outdone herself with that setup; it was pure bliss, and I could have easily spent the entire day relaxing in the warmth and tranquility it provided. Instead, I was now stepping back into reality—nerves twisted up in my stomach like they were tying bows in my intestines.
I’d been tempted to check social media— so tempted . My fingers hovered over the login screen more than once, itching to see what everyone was saying.
When it came to social media, I had a routine: once a month, I’d quietly reactivate all my accounts.
No posts, no likes—just lurking, scrolling, and absorbing the world I once used to be part of.
I kept them live for twenty-four hours, tops, and took screenshots of things that moved me—funny captions, quotes that felt like they knew me, pictures of places I might want to visit.
I told myself I’d post them someday—when I was brave enough.
That wasn’t the day, though. Still, the curiosity still clawed at me.
However, the second I stepped into the sunroom, though… it eased. The room was bathed in gold—the morning sun flooding through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the backyard in a soft shimmer. The green outside was alive, breezy, and peaceful.
And there he was.
Imanio sat on the sofa, freshly changed into a short-sleeved red button-up, and crisp khaki shorts. He turned when he saw me, eyes scanning me slowly, lips curving.
“Damn,” he murmured, “you look like peace on purpose.”
I smiled, a little blush rising to my cheeks. “You clean up well yourself, hubby. I almost didn’t r-recognize you without the violence and s-sarcasm.”
Imanio chuckled low, the sound vibrating in my chest in a way I’d grown to crave.
“How you feeling? Did the bath help any?” he asked.
“Better. Still a little… tender.” I glanced at him. “Your fault, obviously.”
He smirked. “Keep blaming me. But recovery requires food, so eat.”
We were seated side by side on the sofa near the sunroom windows, a tray table in front of me with my breakfast. I looked down at the spread—sautéed spinach with scrambled egg whites, grilled turkey bacon, sliced avocado, a fresh fruit medley, and a glass of fresh orange juice.
Before I could pick up my fork, the doorbell rang.
My spine stiffened, and my hand jerked violently against the edge of the tray.
“Zebra zipline!” I blurted, breath hitching, my body tensing without warning.
I clenched the cushion under my thigh, trying to breathe through it, trying to focus.
Imanio placed a steady hand on my knee.
“Breathe. It’s just Saroya. She’s good people.”
I nodded fast, then again… slower.
“I-I know. I’m just?—”
“Nervous,” he finished for me. “I get it. But I promise, she’s not here to judge you. She’s just here to help me clean up the internet mess. You don’t gotta be perfect, just be you.”
“Right,” I whispered. “Just me.”
But the tic still buzzed under my skin like electricity looking for somewhere to escape. Because being me wasn’t always the easiest thing to carry in front of strangers.
As Imanio stood to go answer the door, I took a deep breath.
“P-please let this woman be normal. No long stares. No fake sympathy. No tight-lipped smiles that scream pity,” I prayed just before a loud outburst slipped, “Birthday cake with no candles!”
I pressed my palms to my cheeks, holding them there as I rocked slightly in place. The pressure grounded me—it always did. The sunroom still smelled like peace, but the world was stepping in, and I had to meet it head-on.
Saroya walked in with the poise of a woman who didn’t beg for respect; she expected it.
“Good morning,” she greeted, setting her Michael Kors tote on the side table. “This space is stunning. I see why you hide her here.”
“Trap-door princess!” I shouted, hand twitching slightly.
I cleared my throat, trying to collect myself, heart stuttering as I wondered if that had offended her.
Saroya just glanced my way and smiled—genuinely.
“I meant that in a good way. You’re gorgeous,” she clarified.
My shoulders eased a little, but I still kept my fingers curled tight in my lap just in case the next tic decided to get rowdy.
“Th-thank you. You too, bitch!”
Saroya chuckled lightly and took a seat across from us.
“I’m honored to finally meet you, Naji. I know about your past… although I’ve only heard of you through rumors, the media, and Imanio’s genuine concern—which, for the record, is terrifyingly rare.”
I glanced at Imanio. He set his cup down and met Saroya’s eyes.
Something wordless passed between them.
Saroya continued, slipping into full professional mode as she tapped swiftly on her tablet.
“I just wanted to give you both a quick update.”
She looked at me first, her tone even but kind.
“First, none of your tics were recorded. The phones that were filming caught your face, some of your expressions, yes—but thankfully none of your vocal outbursts. And the actual cafe security footage was conveniently lost in a fire that occurred sometime late last night—early this morning, to be exact.”
Her eyes flicked to Imanio with a hint of suspicion.
I raised a brow. “F-fire?”
“Strange coincidence. Gas leak, maybe. Shame.”
Imanio’s wicked smile and response were way too calm and nonchalant for my liking.
I eyed him dubiously.
He definitely did it.
Saroya didn’t push, but her smirk told me she wasn’t fooled either.
“Well… I suppose some things work themselves out.”
She simply adjusted her glasses and went back to scrolling.
“Anyway, the bigger takeaway is this: news has officially broken that you’re his wife. It’s mostly whispers and blogs right now, but it’s gaining too much traction. I think it’s time we confirm it.”
I stiffened slightly. My hand gripped the edge of my cup.
Saroya—obviously had taken notice—added gently, “Not for shock value or to flaunt. But to shut down these rumors before they snowball.”
“Rumors like what?” Imanio asked, his voice low—both of us already bracing for impact.
Saroya glanced between us, her brows arching in surprise and concern.
“Oh my God… have neither of you seen the comments online?”
Imanio shrugged casually. “I barely looked at them. As for her? I’m sure she hasn’t seen anything.”
He wasn’t wrong; I had intentionally steered clear of the tumultuous sea of opinions swirling around our lives.
Saroya let out a deep sigh, her eyes shifting to the tablet in her hands.
“Well, some people are making wild assumptions. They think she’s lying about the marriage—that it’s all staged. Others believe she’s being held hostage against her will, or that she’s mentally unstable and you’re just allowing her to cling to your last name without correcting her.”
In an instant, her serious gaze landed on me. “None of that is true. But silence speaks volumes in situations like this, and people tend to fill the void with their own narratives.”
My chest tightened painfully as I blinked slowly, trying to absorb her pointed words, but my thoughts raced ahead, almost overwhelming me.
Hostage.
Mentally unstable.
Clinging.
They were tearing me apart without ever knowing who I truly was, mercilessly prodding wounds I hadn’t even finished healing from.
Before I could bring it under control, my tic emerged: a sharp twitch of my shoulder, sudden and jarring, like a wire pulled too tight.
Tightening my eyes, I tried to stave off the embarrassment flooding my face, warmth creeping up my neck, and burning hot behind my closed lids.
But then… I felt him.
Imanio’s hand slid over my thigh—steady, warm, certain. A quiet presence, not demanding, just there. With a deliberate rhythm, his thumb traced slow circles against my skin, not to silence me but to ground me in the reality of his companionship.
“So what do you suggest?” Imanio asked, his tone sharp but curious.
Saroya leaned forward, folding her hands neatly on the table as she considered our options.
“I suggest we make a public post—specifically, a photo of the two of you that you can share on your official platform. It should be accompanied by a thoughtfully crafted caption—something that conveys intent and sincerity. Keep it clean and unapologetic, yet grounded in authenticity.” She looked between us, her expression shifting from thoughtful to expectant.
“Do you two have any recent pictures together that could capture this moment?”
Imanio and I glanced at each other, then both shook our heads no.
She nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. We’ll make something work. If you really want my professional opinion, it needs to be a high-quality image. Nothing casual. A professional shot—done today —so we can release it today . The longer the internet speculates, the harder it is to control the narrative.”
“And how do you expect us to do that?” Imanio asked, raising his brows skeptically, arms crossed over his chest.
I was wondering the same, given the short notice.
Saroya let out a soft chuckle, her confidence flickering like the light from a nearby lamp.