Poor Guard Saved Woman From Death Unaware She is His Rich Boss

His coffee turned cold in his hand.

He barely noticed when someone bumped into him.

All he felt was that roaring silence, the sharp sting of betrayal.

That night, Tunday did not go home. He wandered through the city long after the neon lights faded. He ignored all of Ifyoma’s calls and texts. He could not bring himself to answer.

Somewhere between the trust they had built and her secret, something in him had shattered, and he was not sure it could ever heal.

Outside Tunday’s apartment door, Ifyoma stood in pouring rain, her hair plastered to her face, her clothes drenched, but she did not care. She had knocked for thirty minutes. No answer.

She tried again, softer.

“Tunday, please,” she whispered against the door. “It’s me.”

Silence.

Her heart twisted.

All the calls. All the texts. Nothing.

In a diner across town, Tunday sat hunched in a booth, his plate untouched. He did not want to face her. He did not want to hear her explain. Inside, he was afraid that if he looked at her again, his anger would melt and only pain would remain.

He stirred his coffee, inhaling the bitterness.

He told himself she did not trust him, that she treated him like everyone else—rich, entitled.

But the real truth, the one he did not want to admit even to himself, was plain.

He missed her.

He missed her laugh filling his tiny apartment, the messy cooking sessions, the way she held a chipped mug by the window, smiling at nothing.

And he hated himself for missing her, because missing her did not change the fact that she lied.

Days passed, and it did not get better.