Chapter 2 After the Silence

Zara couldn't breathe in her own apartment anymore.

Everything reminded her of him-the scent of vanilla candles he used to light at night, the throw blanket they fought over during movie nights, the gold-rimmed wine glasses they picked out together in Paris. It was like walking through a museum of heartbreak.

She moved out three days after the papers were signed.

Rented a penthouse on the Island. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Neutral tones. Cold lighting. It was beautiful, sterile, and quiet-exactly what she thought she needed.

She stopped wearing her wedding ring.

She stopped smiling in photos.

She started seeing a therapist.

But even therapy couldn't drown the voices of the internet.

"I still can't believe Zara and Tyler are done."

"Love is a scam. If THEY didn't make it, who will?"

"This generation doesn't know how to fight for love."

She read the comments at 3 a.m., wrapped in a hoodie, sipping tea she never drank. Her phone buzzed constantly with messages she didn't want to open.

Except one.

Mum: "Do you want me to come stay with you for a few days?"

Zara almost said yes.

But she didn't.

Because she wasn't that girl. Not anymore.

She was Zara Martins, luxury queen, social media darling, boss lady-and even if her heart was in a blender, she refused to let the world see her bleed.

Tyler was losing focus.

He tried to bury himself in work-conference calls, investor pitches, product rollouts-but his mind drifted back to her. To the smell of her perfume on his hoodie. To the way she used to hold his hand during prayers. To the sound of her laugh when he teased her about her obsession with oat milk.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life.

He thought cheating would make him feel less stupid-less vulnerable, less played.

Instead, it made him feel like a villain in a love story he wrote himself.

Tyler's therapist called it self-sabotage.

He called it regret.

The tabloids had moved on, but people hadn't.

Random girls still flirted with Tyler in his DMs, acting like the divorce made him "free." But none of it felt real. None of them were her.

He tried to go on a date once.

The girl had overdrawn lips and forced laughs. She asked if he still talked to Zara.

He left halfway through the drink.

Three months passed.

Zara launched a personal brand-interior styling, luxury home curation, and wellness content. She was booked constantly, shooting campaigns and dropping vlogs about "healing and hustle."

But every win felt a little hollow.

At night, she scrolled through old photos. Him brushing her curls. Her feeding him cake. Their secret videos-her dancing in oversized shirts, him laughing in the background.

She missed him.

But she didn't text.

Tyler didn't either.

Pride is louder than pain sometimes.

Then came the gala.

The annual Lagos Creative Elite Gala-black tie, red carpet, champagne fountains, and enough cameras to make even celebrities nervous. Zara had no plans of attending. But her brand got nominated for "Design Visionary of the Year."

She couldn't stay home.

She wore a silver gown with a backless finish and a slit that could silence a crowd. Hair slicked, lips glossy, eyes lined with subtle drama. She looked like power.

But her heart was pounding.

Tyler was on the guest list.

He arrived in a sharp navy tux, no date, no smile. Just him. And his eyes-locked onto Zara the moment she stepped into the room.

Time slowed.

The photographers went wild. Whispers swirled.

"Is that...?"

"They're in the same room."

"Zara and Tyler... damn."

They didn't talk.

Not yet.

But their eyes did.

And for the first time in months, something stirred again.

Not drama. Not pain.

Just something quietly... unfinished.