Two weeks after the trial, Lagos was quieter for them—but only on the outside.
The newspapers had already moved on.
The headlines were fading:
"Goriola Sentenced."
"Justice for Agnes Lewis."
"SMG Announces New Ethical Restructure."
But behind the triumph and closure was something else—the awkward, hesitant beginning of peace.
Majek now lived in a small flat near Lekki Phase 1. Courtesy of a one-year corporate apartment voucher Agnes had arranged discreetly.
He refused to take it at first.
"I don't want charity."
She smiled that day. "Then take it as repayment. For silence endured."
Eventually, he accepted. But even in that clean white room with its glossy floors and steady light, Majek felt out of place.
He had lived so long on edge that peace felt like punishment.
At SMG Headquarters
Agnes sat at her desk, flicking through new leadership proposals for the upcoming "Integrity and Innovation" campaign. Her office was larger now. Sleek. Hers. The nameplate on her door read:
Agnes I. Lewis
CEO, SMG Conglomerate
The board had voted in her favor. Twice. Even Mr. Smith had finally stepped down, retreating into a quiet, advisory role—leaving her with power, legacy, and a thousand expectations.
And strangely, it didn't scare her anymore.
What scared her was what came after triumph.
The quiet.
The space where heartbreak echoes louder.
She stared at her phone.
Majek hadn't called today.
Meanwhile – Majek's Apartment
Majek stood barefoot in the living room, staring at a canvas he'd half-finished.
Since childhood, he'd painted. Never told anyone. He didn't think he was good. But he liked the silence that came with a brush in hand.
Lately, though, the silence was too loud.
He hadn't returned to SMG, despite being reinstated as Strategic Advisor. He said he needed space.
The truth?
He didn't know how to be with Agnes without the battle.
Without the danger.
Without needing to protect her.
What was left when the storm passed?
Was there still… them?
His phone buzzed.
Agnes.
Agnes:
Come to the bridge tonight. Just us. I need you. Not for war. Just for air.
7:18 PM – Falomo Bridge
Agnes stood by the waterline, the bridge lights gleaming like fireflies across the lagoon.
She heard his steps before she saw him.
When he appeared, in his plain black shirt and quiet gaze, something inside her softened.
He stopped beside her. "You look tired."
She laughed. "You always say that when I look worried."
"You're the boss now. You're allowed to be both."
They watched the water in silence for a while.
Then she asked, "Do you think we were only meant to survive pain together?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"I've asked myself that too," he said.
"And?"
He looked at her.
"I think pain brought us together. But we stayed because it felt like home."
She turned to him, eyes suddenly bright with vulnerability. "But what if we don't know how to be happy together?"
"Then we learn. Slowly."
She sighed. "Everything about us was always a fight."
"Maybe that's why it matters."
They sat on a concrete slab near the edge of the water. She took off her shoes. He did too. Their toes barely touched the ripples.
"I saw you painting," she said.
He froze. "How?"
"I asked Kola. He sent me pictures. Said you've been doing it at night. Alone."
"I didn't want to be seen."
"You've spent too long hiding. From the world. From yourself."
He chuckled. "Says the woman who cried alone in boardrooms for three years."
She nudged him with her shoulder. "Touché."
Silence again.
But it wasn't heavy.
It was shared.
The Days After
Agnes began reshaping SMG from the inside.
She appointed three women to the board. She launched a mentorship program for young women in tech and legal fields.
And she named the new policy wing of the company The Adebayo Initiative.
When reporters asked if it was about Majek, she smiled.
"It's about the people who speak the truth, even when it costs them everything."
As for Majek—he returned. Quietly. Not to strategize, but to create.
Agnes gave him a full-floor workspace on the top level. No cubicles. Just easels. Screens. A lab of ideas.
"Call it what you like," she said.
He named it Echo Studio.
One Afternoon – Echo Studio
Majek stood before a group of interns, explaining a new community app prototype when Agnes stepped in.
They didn't speak immediately. She just stood in the doorway, watching him come alive with ideas and dignity.
When the students filed out, she walked in.
"You're not afraid of the spotlight anymore," she said.
"I'm not afraid of being seen by the right person."
She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope.
He opened it slowly.
It was a travel grant. Sponsored by SMG. A three-month creativity retreat in Cape Town.
"I want you to go," she said. "Create. Breathe. Heal."
He looked up. "You're sending me away?"
"I'm sending you to yourself."
"And what about us?"
She smiled. "We're not fading. We're unfolding."
Before He Left
They met one last time under the mango tree in her childhood home's garden.
The one her mother used to sit beneath.
She brought two cups of zobo.
He brought his newest painting.
It was her—standing alone at the edge of a river, but behind her was a sky bursting with light.
He said nothing.
She said everything with her eyes.
They held each other for a long, long time.
And when they finally pulled away—
"I'll wait," she whispered.
"You won't have to," he replied.
Three Months Later
The airport was full of noise and reunions.
Majek stepped through the exit into Lagos heat and horns.
Waiting by the pillar, in a yellow blouse and wide smile, was Agnes.
She didn't run.
She didn't wave.
She just stood there like the future had been waiting.
He walked up slowly.
Dropped his bag.
They didn't speak.
They kissed.
And this time, it wasn't because of pain.
It wasn't to silence sorrow.
It was because they finally knew how to move forward.