Chapter 37 Chapter Thirty-Seven
Leon didn’t move for a long time.
The apartment had gone quiet after Charity stormed upstairs. The television screen had dimmed into its idle loop, the game long forgotten. Crushed tacos smeared the floor beneath his shoes, the mess settling into the room like proof of how badly everything had unraveled.
He finally sank back onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
His phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
Dad.
His chest tightened. He already knew this wouldn’t be a gentle call.
Leon answered.
“Where are you?” his father’s voice cut through the line, sharp and impatient.
“At my apartment,” Leon replied quietly.
“You will come home today,” his father said coldly. “Both families are gathering. Charity’s parents are already on their way. The lawyers too. We are finalizing the marriage agreement.”
Leon closed his eyes. “Today?”
“Yes, today,” his father snapped. “And don’t start with that defeated tone. You’re a man—start acting like it.”
Leon swallowed hard.
“You embarrassed yourself at the engagement party,” his father continued. “The drinking. The disappearing. The little emotional performance you put on there—don’t think for one second it went unnoticed.”
Leon’s jaw tightened. “Dad—”
“I will not hear excuses,” his father cut in. “You will not whine. You will not resist. You will show up and sign those documents. This marriage will proceed exactly as planned.”
Silence throbbed on the line.
“And let me make this very clear,” his father added coolly. “That drunk show you put up will not slide again. If you try to sabotage this family with sentiment, you will regret it.”
The call ended.
Leon stared at the dark screen of his phone.
Finalizing.
Today.
The weight of it pressed so hard against his ribs it felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Across the city, Charity sat on the tiled floor of her bedroom, surrounded by opened packages and torn plastic wrappers. Foam belly pads lay scattered around her like discarded props from a cheap movie set.
She pressed one to her stomach and turned sideways in the mirror.
Her face twisted in disgust.
“This one makes me look fat.”
She yanked it off and tossed it aside.
Anjola, perched on the bed with her arms folded, sighed. “Charity… you do realize being pregnant actually means being big, right?”
Charity groaned dramatically and collapsed back against the vanity. “Not this kind of big. This is ugly big. It looks like I swallowed furniture.”
She grabbed another belly pad, adjusting it beneath her tank top. She studied her reflection.
Too round.
Too stiff.
Too fake.
“Ugh!” She ripped it off again. “None of them look right!”
Anjola raised an eyebrow. “You ordered fake stomachs with money you could’ve spent on real clothes. That alone should be your first sign.”
Charity shot her a glare. “Don’t start.”
Anjola shrugged. “I’m just saying—once you lie this deep, you have to commit fully. Pregnancy is not a slim aesthetic.”
Charity groaned even louder and flopped back onto the floor. “Why does everything about this have to be uncomfortable?”
Her phone rang suddenly.
She froze.
Then smiled.
Leon’s mum.
She answered instantly, voice sweet and controlled. “Ma’am.”
“Charity, hello,” Leon’s mother said warmly. “I hope you’re resting well.”
“Yes, ma. I am,” Charity replied, forcing softness into her tone.
“We’re meeting today to go over the marriage agreement,” Leon’s mother continued. “Both families will be present. I wanted to make sure you were informed personally.”
Charity’s heart skipped. “Today?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “We’ll send the details shortly.”
“Thank you so much, ma. I’ll be there.”
The call ended.
Charity stared at the phone.
Then she laughed—sharp and breathless—and flung the belly pad across the room.
Anjola blinked. “You were just crying about stomach pads. Why are you suddenly behaving like you won the lottery?”
Charity pushed herself to her feet, excitement lighting her features. “Because the agreement comes first. That’s the real lock.”
She walked over to the mirror and smoothed her hair.
“Once his name touches paper, everything else becomes easy.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to the discarded foam on the floor.
Her smile widened.
Leon arrived at his family’s house in silence.
The compound was already full.
Luxury cars lined the driveway. The house buzzed with low conversation and tension masked beneath polite greetings. The lawyers were seated in the sitting room. Charity’s parents sat opposite Leon’s mother, already deep in discussion.
Everyone looked up when Leon entered.
No one asked how he was.
No one asked where his head was.
Only where his signature would land.
His father motioned him forward.
“Sit.”
Leon obeyed.
The papers were slid across the table. Thick. Heavy. Permanent.
The words blurred on the page.
Marriage agreement. Assets. Expectations. Accountability.
Charity walked in minutes later, looking calm, radiant—every inch the perfect bride-to-be. Not a trace of the stomach struggles from earlier. She didn’t look at Leon immediately. When she did, her eyes held quiet triumph.
Leon’s chest tightened painfully.
His father leaned in. “Sign.”
Leon picked up the pen.
His hand shook.
Across the room, Charity held her breath.
The pen hovered.
And then—
Leon signed.
By the time he got back to the apartment, night had already settled.
The silence met him like judgment.
He dropped his keys on the table and stood there for a long time, staring at nothing.
His phone buzzed.
A picture notification.
Charity.
A photo of her smiling inside his family’s house.
Finalized.
Leon’s chest collapsed inward.
Somewhere else, Felicity sat on a bus speeding farther away from everything that once felt safe, staring out at the rushing road with a heart that refused to quiet.
And in two different corners of the city, two people believed—differently—that they had finally gained control.