SHARON
Five Years Ago…
I was angry. Furious. Annoyed. Irritated—name it.
I didn't even know what was wrong with me or why I felt that way, but I knew one thing for sure: Jide was the reason behind every wave of chaos in my chest.
How did he just appear out of nowhere, strolling back into my life like he never left? I'm not some lost puppy who runs back to its old master—or worse, a fool who revisits her vomit. I don't do the past. I bury it.
But Jide?
He was testing every limit I thought I had.
I tried to resist him with every shred of willpower, but the moment he touched me, my body betrayed me. There was a spark—unwanted, uncontrollable—and I gave in far too easily.
This wasn't supposed to be me.
I've always been the tough one. But when it comes to Jide, controlling my emotions, my body, even my sanity feels impossible. He drives me insane—and the worst part? A piece of me doesn't even mind.
You wouldn't believe this, but he flew us all the way from Osaka to Wrocław—an exhausting eighteen-hour flight.
That was yesterday.
And he stayed at my place.
All day.
You can guess what happened next.
Sex.
Every single time he's around, it ends the same way.
I can't believe how intimate we've become—how easily I let him in. I don't even know who gave him my number. Or my address. He just shows up, does whatever he wants, and leaves—like he owns the place, like he owns me.
Because of him, I even missed a major business meeting yesterday afternoon.
So this morning, I woke up early and told the house staff and the security team not to let him anywhere near me again. I don't know what kind of spell he's cast, but whatever it is—it's turning me into something I barely recognize.
I took a quick shower and dressed in something sharp, businesslike. I fixed a dark red wig to my shoulders, slipped in my green contact lenses, and skipped breakfast. I'd grab something light at the office later—two slices of bread, bacon, veggies, and a mug of hot chocolate.
At exactly 8 a.m., I left the villa. The drive was smooth, thanks to my chauffeur, Julius, and my usual security escort—two black SUVs trailing close behind.
My personal assistant, Jasmine Jones—a blonde American nerd who reminded me of old Jide—had arrived early so we could head in together.
Old Jide, because the new one looked nothing like him. Ever since that laser eye surgery, he'd changed—no glasses, no nerdy air. Just sharp features, confidence, and that maddening, magnetic calm.
By the time I arrived, the office was alive with morning buzz. My heels clicked against the polished white floor as I made my way to the elevator. Jasmine hurried behind me, juggling a heavy stack of files.
"Good morning, boss," my secretary Mary rushed over. "You've got a 9:30 a.m. tea with Mr. Dansville, an 11 a.m. meeting with Greystone Oil, lunch with Mr. Fox at 2—"
"Put it all on my desk," I cut in, barely slowing my stride.
"Boss, the chief called!" another staff member gasped, breathless as she caught up.
I froze mid-step.
"My dad?"
"He called your phone—fifteen times. You didn't pick up, so he rang the office line. He was here earlier but left for HR."
Fifteen missed calls.
I checked my phone. She was right.
I knew he must be worried—or angry. Probably both. But it wasn't my fault. Running his empire was no small job. I had to prove I could handle it. It was his legacy—and now mine.
I barely slept last night. Worked until dawn, grabbed only two hours of rest. Concealer hid the dark circles, red lipstick masked the fatigue, and fake lashes did the rest. No one could tell.
I pushed through the hallway, straight to my office—only to stop dead in my tracks.
There he was.
Jide.
Sitting on my couch like he owned it—one leg crossed, gum chewing lazily between his teeth. He didn't even glance up until I entered, followed by Mary and Jasmine. Then, with that calm arrogance that infuriated me, he gave a brief look… and went back to his phone.
What the hell was he doing here?
How did he even get in?
I had two mysteries now: who gave him my number—and who the hell handed him a spare key.
My blood boiled.
"Jide," I snapped, storming into the room. "What the hell is this? Why are you stalking me? Who gave you my spare passkey?"
He didn't answer. Just kept chewing that damned gum, gaze traveling lazily over me from head to toe before sliding toward my assistants.
"Can you two give us some privacy?" he said smoothly. "I need a little time with my woman."
My woman?
Oh, he's definitely lost his mind.
Hands on my hips, I bit back a laugh. "Since when did we become a thing? And stop calling me your woman, Mr. Jideofor Tristan Ejiofor Okafor."
That got his attention. He pocketed his phone and stood, tall and unshaken—towering over me.
Even in four-inch heels, I barely reached his shoulders, but I didn't flinch.
"I said, leave," he repeated, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.
Mary and Jasmine froze, unsure who to obey.
"Don't go," I ordered sharply. They stayed rooted.
His jaw flexed. "Fine. Stay and watch how I make love to my woman."
My jaw dropped.
Before I could even curse, both women bolted, faces burning, and the door slammed behind them.
"What's wrong with you?" I shouted, backing away.
He shrugged, went to the mini-fridge, and poured a glass of water. "Nothing."
He drank it all in one gulp, then met my glare.
"Jide, I can't do this anymore," I said, voice trembling between anger and exhaustion. "You show up, sleep with me, disappear—what's your goal? To destroy me?"
His voice broke. "No, Sharon. You destroyed me, Pelumi!"
The name froze me. My middle name. He'd never used it before.
"You used my innocence against me," he said, eyes sharp with pain. "You made me fall in love with you, then threw me away like trash when you got bored. You slut—"
"Don't you dare call me that!" I snapped when he spat the word slut.
He stepped closer, pain flashing through his anger. "You knew I wanted to focus on my studies. You were the distraction I couldn't escape. You seduced me, Sharon. I failed my exams because of you."
"Jide, it was consensual!"
He shook his head. "You don't get it."
I rubbed my temples. "Jide, that was five years ago. I'm sorry, truly. But I can't fix it. Move on."
"Of course you can."
I looked up—and saw something raw, broken, real.
God. Was he still in love with me?
"Jide," I whispered, "I can't fix your heart."
He started walking toward me. My heart pounded harder.
"Jide, I'm on my period," I said quickly, panic tightening my throat. "If you want, I can prove it—"
He didn't stop. His hand brushed my waist, slipped lower—checking for himself.
I gasped, frozen.
He pulled his finger back, stared at the blood, then washed his hand calmly.
"I wasn't going to touch you," he said quietly. "I just wanted to take you out for breakfast."
My mind spun. "How did you know I missed breakfast?"
He smirked. "Four years as roommates, remember?"
He stepped closer, tilted my chin up, and looked into my eyes—deep, dark, steady.
"I want to date you, Sharon. Please. Just one chance."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"…Jide, I—"
"I want to make you mine. Forever."
And then he kissed me.
It wasn't like before—no rush, no heat. Just soft, sincere, almost reverent. His hands framed my face, his breath warm against my skin.
"…So, what do you say, my love?" he whispered.
I almost melted. Almost.
But reality snapped back. I pulled away, breathless. "Jide, I can't date you. I don't do commitments."
He smiled faintly. "Then learn. Because, princess, you'll have to."
"Are you trying to force me into this?"
"Call it what you want," he said softly. "I just want a chance to show you how much I love you."
"Love?" I laughed bitterly. "I don't do love, Jide. I'm focused on my life—on building my father's empire."
"I know," he said, voice low, eyes fierce. "But I'm not giving up. I'll wait."
"God, you're impossible."
"Maybe," he said, stepping closer. "But you're mine, Sharon."
"To hell with you!"
I don't know who moved first, but the next second we were kissing—rough, wild, desperate.
He lifted me onto the desk, my legs curling around him as papers scattered to the floor. His lips burned against mine, stealing air, reason, everything.
"Tell me to stop," he breathed.
"No. Don't you dare."
Then—
"Jide? Sharon?"
Fuck.
I shoved him away. He stumbled, hit the floor with a groan.
I turned—and froze.
My father stood in the doorway.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes cold.
Like he'd just walked into a war zone.
Or maybe… into the ruins of his daughter's dignity.