The silence in Sandra's bedroom was no longer peaceful. It pulsed with tension. She stared at her phone, the name "Ezra" still glowing like a curse. The past was no longer behind her—it was at the door, knocking, demanding to be remembered.
James stood at the foot of her bed, watching her reaction closely. "Tell me what I need to know."
Sandra blinked, as if waking from a trance. "He was my first... before everything. Before my father disappeared. Before the shame. He knew me before I was broken."
James nodded slowly. "And now Victor's brought him back."
She nodded. "He won't know he's being used. Ezra's the kind of man who fights for what he lost. If Victor's told him anything—he'll come running."
James walked to the window and looked out into the night. "Then we prepare. If he comes, we confront him together."
Sandra exhaled shakily. "You don't understand. Ezra isn't like Victor or my father. He doesn't plot. He doesn't lie. He believes people. That's what makes him dangerous now."
James turned to her. "Dangerous?"
She nodded, tears in her voice. "He'll believe whatever Victor tells him. If Victor paints you as the villain, Ezra won't question it. He'll come for you thinking he's saving me."
James stayed quiet for a moment. Then said, "Let him come. I'm not afraid of a man who's ten years late."
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Victor met with Ezra in a high-rise office dimly lit by amber sconces. Ezra stood tall, rugged, dressed in a well-worn jacket, his eyes full of unfinished memories. The past clung to him like a second skin.
"She's in pain," Victor said smoothly, placing a file on the glass table. "James broke her. She won't say it, but she's not the same girl."
Ezra opened the folder. Inside were candid photos of Sandra. One in a hospital hallway. One at a grave. Another looking pale and shaken outside J&M Holdings.
Victor poured two glasses of whiskey. "She needs someone who remembers who she was before the world broke her."
Ezra stared at the photos, his fingers tightening. "What do you want from me?"
Victor smiled. "Nothing. I just thought you deserved to know. After all, you were once everything to her."
Ezra looked at him. "Where is she now?"
Victor handed over a note. "She's in Ntinda. Staying at a guesthouse with Mugeni. But I hear she likes walking by the old footbridge."
Ezra pocketed the note. "If what you say is true, he'll answer to me."
Victor raised his glass. "To old love—and unfinished business."
---
The next morning, Sandra stood under a cold shower, letting the water wash over her face like it could rinse away the ghosts. But some stains go too deep.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Unknown number.
> "Can we talk? — Ezra"
She froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then:
> "Where?"
A minute later:
> "The old footbridge in Ntinda. 4 p.m."
James entered with a knock, holding tea and bread.
She showed him the message.
He stared at it, then at her. "Are you going?"
She nodded. "I have to."
"Do you want me there?"
She shook her head. "No. I need to face him alone. Not as the girl he used to love. As the woman I've become."
James nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. "Just be careful. Victor plays long games. This isn't a coincidence."
---
At 3:45 p.m., Sandra arrived at the footbridge. The air was thick with nostalgia. The wood beneath her feet creaked the same way it had in her youth.
She remembered the nights she and Ezra would sneak out, hold hands under this sky, dream of a future that never came.
Ezra stood at the far end, leaning against the rail.
He turned.
And for a moment, time bent around them.
"Sandra," he said, almost like a prayer.
She didn't smile. Her expression was unreadable. "You look the same."
He stepped closer. "You don't."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's not necessarily a compliment."
He laughed lightly. "I meant stronger. Wiser. Fiercer."
She didn't soften. "Why are you here, Ezra?"
"I had to see you. Victor said—"
She cut him off. "Victor said? That's why you're here?"
Ezra looked pained. "He showed me things, Sandra. Photos. Stories. He said you were being used."
"And you believed him?"
He hesitated. "I believed you were hurting. That you were alone."
She shook her head. "You should've called me. Not come through him."
He stepped forward. "I didn't know how. I've thought about you every day. Wondered where we'd be if I'd fought harder."
"You want to know where I've been?" she asked, voice rising. "I've been climbing out of holes I didn't dig. Fighting for air while the world poured dirt over me."
He said nothing.
She continued. "I don't need rescuing, Ezra. Not from Victor. Not from James. Not from anyone."
He nodded slowly. "Then tell me what to do."
"Start by cutting ties with the man trying to destroy my life."
"I trust you, Sandra."
"Then act like it."
She walked past him, her shoulder brushing his lightly. She didn't look back.
---
That night, Sandra sat across from James, her arms crossed, face unreadable.
She relayed the entire conversation.
"He still loves you," James said quietly.
"It doesn't matter."
James paused. "It does to Victor. Ezra was the last piece of your heart you hadn't locked away. Victor wants to use that crack to break you."
Sandra leaned back. "Then I won't crack. I've cried enough over men trying to define me."
James poured her another cup of tea. "We move forward. Together."
She smiled, small but real. "Together."
---
Elsewhere, Victor threw a glass against the wall.
Ezra had gone quiet.
He paced his office, Immy sitting silently on the couch.
"She's stronger than I thought," he muttered. "But she'll bend. They always do."
Immy's voice was quiet. "What if she doesn't?"
Victor turned sharply. "Then she'll break."
He pulled out his phone.
"Plan B," he whispered.
The call went through.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Make her choose. Ezra or James. Publicly."
A voice on the other end chuckled.
"It will be done."
---
Back in Ntinda, Sandra couldn't sleep. She sat by the window, watching raindrops race down the glass.
James joined her quietly, wrapping a shawl over her shoulders.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"That I'm tired of being moved like a chess piece."
He nodded. "Then maybe it's time you became the player."
She turned to him. "I think I already have."