17
Kingsley sat in his office, elbows resting on the desk, eyes flickering between spreadsheets and unread emails. He was trying, really trying, to focus, but his mind wouldn’t stop drifting. The silence in the room felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t the kind of silence that brought peace. It was the kind that echoed with tension.
A light buzz came from the intercom.
“Sir,” came the voice of his security officer, “your secretary’s on her way up.”
“Okay,” Kingsley replied, voice low.
Moments later, his secretary stepped into the room with a file in hand. “These are the updated security clearances for the Forbes team arriving tomorrow,” she said smoothly, laying it on his desk. “Is there anything else you need?”
He shook his head. “That’s all for now.”
She hesitated for a second, then smiled bashfully. “Sir… I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but… your wife is really lucky. I mean, wow.”
Kingsley blinked. “What do you mean?”
She chuckled softly, fiddling with the tablet in her hands. “I follow her on Instagram. I saw the post she made this morning. That flower arrangement? One million roses? That was… that was unreal, sir. So beautiful. You’re such a romantic. I wish my husband would do something like that.”
Kingsley’s heart dropped.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t even blink.
The secretary laughed awkwardly and started backing out of the room. “Anyway, sorry. I just thought it was sweet. You’re a good man, sir.”
As the door closed behind her, Kingsley slowly reached for his phone.
He opened Instagram. His heart beat louder with each swipe until he found the post.
There it was.
A professionally filmed video of Beth standing in the grand foyer of their home, tears in her eyes as a team of men wheeled in a breathtaking display, roses, a full million of them, if the caption was to be believed. Red petals poured from crystal vases, forming a path to a towering bouquet with glittering lights and a silver envelope tucked into the center.
The caption read:
“A million roses for the man who makes my world bloom every day. I love you so much, Kingsley. You never stop surprising me. #MyMan #LoveInLuxury #RomanceIsReal”
He stared at the video.
Watched her wipe away fake tears.
Watched her hold up a handwritten note and read it aloud like it meant something.
“To the woman I love more than anything. Forever isn’t long enough with you.”
Kingsley’s jaw clenched.
He hadn’t sent that.
He hadn’t written a note.
And just last night, they were fighting. Again. No resolution. No peace. Just tension.
And now this?
This façade.
This lie sold to the world in HD with perfect lighting and soft music in the background.
He dropped the phone on the desk like it burned him.
Everything in him boiled with quiet rage. Not because of the lie alone, but because of how easily she had weaponized image, how little she cared about the truth, about him.
It wasn’t about love anymore.
It was about how she looked to the world.
And how he was just another accessory in the perfect life she curated online.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temples.
“So this is what it’s come to,” he thought. “A marriage built on filters, likes, and pretend petals.”
He had never felt so unseen.
He remembered last night. The argument. The frustration. The pain in his voice when he had tried to explain how he felt unheard, unseen.
And this was her response?
Fake romance for likes. A public lie.
As if everything in their world was perfect.
He didn’t even remember leaving the office. The next thing he knew, he was standing at the doorway of their home, still in his work shirt, phone clutched in hand, jaw tight.
Beth was lounging on the couch in one of her silk robes, scrolling on her phone, probably replying to the thousands of likes and “goals!” comments.
“Beth,” he said, voice low.
She looked up, raised a brow. “Yes, baby?”
“Tell me why you did that.”
She blinked, then smiled faintly. “Did what?”
“The video. The flowers. That entire circus you posted online today. Why?”
Beth sighed. Rolled her eyes. “Kingsley, come on. It was just something sweet. Since you won’t do it, I decided to do it myself. Or is it a crime to show the world that my husband loves me?”
He stared at her. “We were arguing last night. I poured out my heart to you. Told you how hurt I was. And instead of talking about it, instead of fixing anything, this is what you do? A PR stunt to make it look like we’re okay?”
Beth stood now, slowly. “So what? I’m supposed to post that we’re fighting? Do you know what that would do to my image? People would talk. Speculate. Gossip. You think I want to give them that?”
“So your image is more important than your marriage?” he asked, disbelieving.
“You’re being dramatic again,” she muttered. “Stop being a baby. All you ever do now is complain, complain, complain. What am I supposed to do with that? I’m your wife, Kingsley. Not your babysitter.”
Kingsley flinched.
“I try to be understanding, but you just keep whining. God, I’m tired. If you can’t be a man, or a husband anymore, then maybe just let me be. Maybe you’re not ready for this.”
Silence.
A long, cold silence.
Kingsley could barely hear the air anymore. His ears rang from her words. His chest ached, not from anger this time, but from disappointment. Real, deep disappointment. The kind that eats through hope.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” he said quietly.
Beth looked away. “I’m done talking.”
And Kingsley, for the first time in months, had nothing left to say.
He turned. Walked out.
The door didn’t slam. It clicked shut softly. But it echoed louder than a gunshot in her ears.
He didn’t even take his car at first. He just walked. Down the street. Around the block. Thinking. Breathing. Trying to calm the storm in his chest.
As Kingsley walked through the cool night air, a painful memory crept back into his mind, one he hadn’t allowed himself to revisit in a long time.
It was Beth’s birthday. Months ago. Back when he was still trying, desperately trying, to hold things together.
He had flown in early from a business trip just to surprise her. The florist had barely made the last-minute order. He had spent the entire day making sure everything was perfect:
a massive bouquet of her favorite red tulips, imported, fresh, and fragrant;
a handwritten note that read, “To the woman who changed my world, thank you for being my light.”
He even arranged a private dinner in the garden with her favorite jazz band playing softly in the background.
He remembered walking into the house, carrying the bouquet in his arms, his heart beating fast, not from nerves, but from hope. He wanted to see her smile. To watch her eyes light up.
She was standing by the mirror, taking a selfie. Dressed to perfection. Camera ready.
When she turned to see him, her smile faltered.
She stared at the bouquet. Her face didn’t change.
Then she asked flatly, “What’s this?”
Kingsley blinked. “It’s your birthday. I wanted to surprise you.”
She took the bouquet reluctantly. Looked at it. Sniffed once.
Then, with a half-smirk, she said, “Just flowers?”
He stood there, confused. “I thought… they’re your favorite.”
Beth scoffed. “Kingsley, people are out here getting Rolexes, Chanel bags, luxury vacations… and you brought me flowers? Am I supposed to post a flower and expect my followers to care?”
He didn’t know what to say.
She waved the bouquet like it was a grocery bag. “This doesn’t even say married to a billionaire. Come on, be serious. Even if you’re not doing it for me, think of what this looks like to the world.”
That single comment had drained all the warmth from his chest.
He remembered forcing a smile. Nodding. Retreating quietly. That night, he didn’t eat dinner. He sat in the dark, on the edge of the bed, replaying her words over and over again.
“This doesn’t say married to a billionaire.”
From that day, he had silently promised himself:
No more surprises.
No more thoughtful gestures.
No more setting himself up for disappointment.
Because she didn’t want his heart.
She wanted a headline.
It was dusk when he stopped under a streetlamp and pulled out his phone.
He stared at the screen.
A name hovered in his contacts: Katherine.
He hadn’t spoken to her in months. He had pushed her out of his life when Beth came back. But in that moment, standing under the soft orange light, heart aching and soul tired, he missed her.
Missed her calm. Her honesty. The way she made him feel seen.
He didn’t call. Not yet.
But for the first time in a long time, he considered it.
He needed someone who would listen. Who would understand. Who wouldn’t call him a child for having emotions.
Kingsley put the phone back in his pocket. His chest rose and fell with a sigh that carried the weight of a thousand silences.
Maybe tomorrow he would call.
Or maybe… he already knew what he had to do.