The First Crack

Friday mornings at LuxeThread always felt different.

People worked faster.

Meetings ended earlier.

Even the coffee tasted stronger.

Everyone wanted to finish enough work before the weekend.

Zai arrived just before eight.

For the first time since joining the company, she wasn’t thinking about Raymond.

She was thinking about her competition design.

She spread out several sketches across her desk.

A dress inspired by Lagos after rainfall.

Not the traffic.

Not the chaos.

But the way the city somehow still found beauty after every storm.

She smiled to herself.

“This one feels right.”

“You’re smiling again.”

Funke dropped a folder on the table.

“I hope that’s because of the sketch.”

“It is.”

“Good.”

She picked up one of the drawings.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you draw like this before.”

“In a good way?”

“In a brave way.”

Zai frowned.

“There’s a difference.”

Funke nodded.

“A lot of designers chase trends.”

She pointed at the sketch.

“This doesn’t.”

“It tells a story.”

Zai felt a quiet sense of pride.

Not because she had been praised.

Because someone understood what she had been trying to create.

Around ten o’clock, HR announced another surprise.

“Everyone, please gather in the conference room.”

Employees filed in, chatting among themselves.

At the front stood Raymond, Adanna, and the HR manager.

Raymond smiled.

“Good morning, everyone.”

A chorus of greetings followed.

“I’ll keep this brief.”

He stepped aside.

“I’ll let our Executive Director make the announcement.”

Adanna thanked him before facing the room.

“As LuxeThread grows, we have a responsibility to grow our people as well.”

She clicked a remote.

The projector lit up.

LuxeThread Emerging Designers Mentorship Programme

Several people murmured excitedly.

“The programme will select three young designers each year.”

“They will receive direct business coaching.”

“International exposure.”

“Leadership training.”

“And the opportunity to work closely with senior management.”

The room burst into applause.

One designer whispered,

“This is huge.”

Another nodded.

“People pay millions for programmes like this.”

Adanna continued.

“Applications will be open to everyone who has worked here for less than three years.”

Zai felt excitement rise inside her.

This was exactly the kind of opportunity she had dreamed about.

Then Adanna added something unexpected.

“To ensure fairness…”

She smiled.

“…the final selection panel will not include my husband.”

The room laughed softly.

Even Raymond.

“He has enough influence already.”

More laughter followed.

The mood remained light.

Only Raymond knew that this decision hadn’t been discussed with him beforehand.

He looked toward Adanna.

She met his eyes briefly.

Then continued speaking as if nothing unusual had happened.

After the meeting, staff gathered in small groups discussing the programme.

“This could change someone’s life.”

“I’m definitely applying.”

“Imagine getting international mentorship.”

Zai remained quiet.

She wanted it.

Desperately.

But she also knew people were already watching her.

Would they think she’d been given special treatment?

Funke noticed the conflict on her face.

“What are you thinking?”

“If I apply…”

She lowered her voice.

“…people will say I only got in because of Raymond.”

Funke folded her arms.

“And if you don’t apply?”

“I’ll always wonder what could have happened.”

Funke smiled.

“Then don’t let gossip make decisions for you.”

At noon, Zai received a message from her mother.

Can you come straight home today? We have visitors.

She replied.

Who?

The response came a minute later.

Your aunt from Ibadan.

Zai sighed.

That meant one thing.

Questions.

Marriage.

Children.

Why she was twenty-six and still unmarried.

She loved her aunt.

She just wasn’t emotionally prepared.

By four o’clock, rain clouds gathered over Victoria Island.

Employees hurried to leave before the downpour started.

Zai packed her bag quickly.

As she reached the lobby, she heard someone call her name.

“Miss Adebayo.”

It was the receptionist.

“Someone dropped this off.”

Another package.

Smaller than the perfume box.

Her heartbeat quickened.

“This one also has no sender?”

The receptionist shook her head.

“Just your name.”

Zai looked at it without touching it.

“I don’t think I should collect anonymous gifts.”

The receptionist looked uncertain.

“I can return it if you want.”

Zai thought for a moment.

Then nodded.

“Please do.”

“If the sender comes back, tell them I appreciate the thought.”

She smiled politely.

“But I can’t accept gifts from people I don’t know.”

The receptionist smiled.

“I’ll let them know.”

For the first time since receiving the perfume, Zai felt at peace with a decision.

She turned and walked toward the exit.

She didn’t notice a man in a grey cap watching from across the street.

The moment she disappeared into the rain, he pulled out his phone.

“It happened exactly as Madam predicted.”

He listened for a few seconds.

“Yes.”

“She refused the gift.”

He ended the call.

That evening, Adanna sat in her study reading the report.

No disappointment crossed her face.

Instead…

She smiled.

Then she wrote another note beneath Zai’s file.

Returned the second anonymous gift without hesitation.

Values boundaries.

Still believes integrity is more important than comfort.

She closed the file gently.

“Good.”

She whispered.

“So far…”

Meanwhile, Raymond stood on the balcony outside his bedroom.

He looked at the Lagos skyline, phone in hand.

He opened his contacts.

Scrolled to Zainab Adebayo.

Paused.

Then locked the phone without calling.

He frowned at himself.

Why had he even considered it?

There was no work to discuss.

No meeting to schedule.

Nothing urgent.

Yet, for a brief moment…

…he had wanted to hear her voice.

Inside the bedroom, Adanna appeared quietly with two cups of tea.

“You’ll catch cold standing out here.”

He turned.

“I needed some air.”

She handed him a cup.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Then Adanna asked gently,

“Have you ever noticed how easy it is to convince ourselves we’re doing the right thing?”

Raymond looked at her.

“What brought that on?”

She shrugged.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

She took a sip of tea.

“Most people don’t wake up planning to make terrible decisions.”

“They simply keep explaining away small ones.”

Raymond laughed softly.

“That’s unusually philosophical.”

“Maybe.”

She smiled.

“Or maybe experience is just another name for memory.”

She walked back inside.

Leaving Raymond alone…

…wondering why her words suddenly felt so personal.

Engagement Question

Do you think Raymond stopped himself because of loyalty to his marriage, or because he hasn’t yet admitted to himself that his feelings for Zai are changing?

To be continued…