Chapter 34 #3
No interviews. No press wall smiles. No awkward small talk with people I’d outgrown years ago. Just three photos—exactly enough to break the internet.
Then Imanio leaned down, close to my ear, his hand warm in mine.
“We’re done,” he whispered. “Let’s go inside.”
We stepped through the entrance, and it was like the room inhaled.
Conversations paused. Heads turned. People shifted. Guests parted like waves, and women with expensive attitudes gave me slow once-overs—then looked away when they realized nothing in their closet could outshine what I was wearing: peace.
We walked past them like royalty with a schedule, then took our seats at the front, right next to his father, who looked proud in that quiet, stern way men like him did.
Imanio’s fingers rested lightly on the small of my back under the table.
“You good?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded.
I sat back in my seat slowly, eyes scanning the room.
Everywhere I looked, people shimmered in shades of white—silks, satins, tailored suits, sequins, and tulle. The chandeliers above glittered like frozen stars, and soft jazz floated through the air like a lullaby for the rich. But the biggest shock? Imanio’s mom wasn’t there.
I crossed my legs and leaned in just enough that my shoulder brushed against his.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked quietly.
Imanio didn’t even glance at me; he just took a slow sip of his drink, eyes forward, jaw tight, cool as ice.
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he answered flatly.
That was it. No follow-up. No breath behind it. Nothing.
But Giselle not being there? That meant something.
She struck me as someone who thrived in the limelight—especially at events drenched in camera flashes and filled with speeches heralding legacy.
Although I was relieved that she wasn't there, I couldn't deny that I wasn't a bit curious as to why she wasn't in attendance.
But knowing what happened at that family dinner… maybe we were the reason.
I barely had time to gather my thoughts before my eyes were drawn to the entrance, where Chi and Dessign made their grand appearance.
Late as always… but fashionably , because that’s just who they were.
Chi stepped in wearing a clean white tux with a sharp, tailored fit, open collar, and loafers that gleamed just enough to say "money, but hood money." He moved through the room with the swagger of someone who had borrowed the carpet merely for his entrance.
And then there was Dessign—a sight to behold.
She rolled in like a flashbulb was following her.
Her dress was dazzlingly white—crisp and smudge-free, a shade that could only be described as ‘don’t-breathe-on-it’ white.
The fit was sculpted, with a dramatic slit slicing up her leg, and long gloves covered her arms like royalty. Every accessory was precise.
And yes—they matched perfectly, looking as if they had coordinated every detail during playful pillow talk.
I could tell by the way Chi kept sneaking glances at Dessign that she made him wear it, and how he leaned into her with that smug little grin that he enjoyed every moment of being dressed to impress beside her.
Chi walked and Dessign strolled over, smooth as ever, then took seats beside us, smooth as ever.
Dessign and I spoke, exchanged a quick hug and a few compliments, but that’s about all we got out before Imanio’s father leaned over and whispered something in his ear. In that instant, the spotlight shifted once again, pulling our attention elsewhere.
Imanio’s father rose from his seat with purpose.
The chatter gradually faded, and the room settled into a hushed reverence as he stepped up to the polished glass podium, mic in hand.
His voice filled the space with this calm power.
“Good evening, family, friends, colleagues… legacy,” he opened with a warm smile that hinted at years of experience and wisdom. “After thirty-five years in this industry, tonight marks my last gala as your CEO and primary shareholder of Kors Luxe Development."
A collective gasp rippled through the audience, swiftly followed by polite applause that echoed softly off the gilded walls.
“I’m not dying,” he chuckled, his voice rich with humor.
“Though some of you looked at me like I just read my own obituary. I’m simply ready to live .
I’ve spent almost three decades building, sacrificing, and maintaining…
but I want to wake up without a schedule, fish on Wednesdays and travel without a laptop for once. I want peace.”
A gentle wave of laughter flowed through the crowd, but I sensed a deeper shift in the room—a profound moment that demanded attention.
He scanned the audience, his gaze landing squarely on his son, Imanio.
“When I gave my son Imanio the COO title at twenty-six, I had people to tell me that I was crazy. Some even said he was too young, too untraditional, a little too…” Robert paused, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips as if he was toying with a secret. “ Grumpy even.”
The crowd erupted in laughter again, this time softer, filled with a knowing familiarity.
“But he exceeded every expectation. He built taller towers, secured younger investors, and never lost the soul of our company in the process. So tonight, I’m formally stepping down and promoting him to Chief Executive Officer. It’s his ship now… fully.”
The applause was thunderous.
My chest warmed as I glanced over at Imanio, who was already rising to speak.
Then his father raised his glass and added, “To the man my legacy lives in. And to the woman beside him… may the world learn to lead with more grace.”
My eyes widened in surprise—I wasn’t expecting such heartfelt words from him or for him to acknowledge me at all.
I blinked rapidly, my heart racing, and reached for my water, attempting to steady my trembling hands.
At that moment, Imanio took the microphone, and the room fell silent, every eye turning to him.
“And tonight,” he said, voice deep and clear throughout the hall, “with my father officially stepping down, I want to say I don’t take any of this lightly. I’ve accepted the full transition. Every deal, risk, and legacy move… now starts with me.”
He let the weight of it hang, just long enough for the room to catch its breath.
“This next chapter will be defined by innovation, discipline, and unwavering integrity—principles that my father instilled in me, and I believe they can coexist even as we grow. We will expand our horizons, but we will also stay rooted in our core values. I am dedicated to preserving not only the legacy we’ve built but also the people who played crucial roles in that journey. ”
The applause that followed was a mixture of respect and admiration—hard-earned and well-deserved. But he raised a hand—stopping it.
“There’s one more thing I wish to address—because I refuse to engage in baseless speculation.”
The subtle shift in his tone was palpable. It became firmer, quieter—a deliberate contrast to the earlier excitement.
“There have been rumors swirling around, whispers and half-truths about my personal life. Speculations on whether the woman—my wife—is with me against her will. Whether she has been silenced or isolated. So let me make this clear, and I want it heard directly from me, not from the blogs, not from whispers in a comment section. I’m addressing it here, in public, so no one can twist it—so everyone can see and hear it coming straight from me. ”
Imanio turned to me, his gaze steady and intentional, locking eyes with me in a way that felt both protective and challenging.
“Does she look like a woman who’s been held captive?”
As he spoke, all eyes in the room—every camera, every curious face—turned toward me, capturing a moment filled with tension and anticipation.
I straightened my spine, lifted my chin confidently, and let the luxurious silk of my flowing white dress cascade around me.
I held my gaze steady, refusing to blink or flinch. My soft smile radiated warmth and strength, silently communicating, “I’m good. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll tell you what she is,” he announced, pivoting to face the crowd that had gathered in the opulent ballroom.
“She’s brilliant and one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”
As he spoke, my throat tightened with emotion, a mix of pride and vulnerability swelling within me.
“She lives with Tourette Syndrome. It’s a condition that many people still don’t understand, and even more quietly judge. But she carries this challenge with a grace and dignity that most individuals couldn’t hope to replicate, even on their best days.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with contemplation and respect.
“I would deeply appreciate it if everyone in this room—and those who speak when the cameras aren’t rolling—didn’t treat her differently because of something she didn’t ask for and can’t control. She’s not broken, nor does she need your pity. She just deserves your respect.”
Imanio scanned the crowd with a fierce determination, daring anyone to challenge his words.
“If you’re part of our world, you will respect her. You will respect what she endures every day, and if you can’t… there’s the door.”
There were no laughs, only solemn nods and hushed expressions of admiration from the audience, the weight of his words resonating deeply. His expression softened just a fraction, revealing the affection he held for me.
“I don’t post about my love life. But just know, what I have with Naji is real. And I stand beside her proudly, in this room, in this life, and in front of every camera to let that be known.”
His words hung in the air like an oath—final and unshakable.
“We are stepping into a new era,” he continued, lowering the microphone slightly, “as a business… and as a family. I thank everyone of you willing to walk that path with us.”
Imanio ended with a nod and stepped back from the mic.