Wrecked Hearts: A Short Story on Passion, Pain, and Lost Love

Wrecked Hearts

A story of lost love, pain, passion & suspense

The door to my office burst open, and in stormed the last person on earth I wanted to see before my big day.

“You can’t just barge into my office like that, Kunle. It’s disrespectful,” I said, masking my anxiety with nonchalance.

His nose flared.

Determination gleamed in his eyes as he cornered me unexpectedly and pinned me to my seat.

I watched the tremors course through my body in ardent fascination — like I used to whenever things got heated between us and he was trying to be reasonable — mentally kicking myself for allowing him this close to me.

“Mosun, you cannot get married to that clown,” he breathed softly, his nose mere inches from my hair.

My breath hitched, my mouth suddenly dry from the possessive look in his eyes, and the ever-closing distance between us.

I snapped out of it, shoved him hard in the chest, and stepped away from him.

“Leave. Kunle,” I ordered, screaming at him in my head for showing up, but staring daggers at him with a blank look on my face.

He ignored me, shoving both hands into his pants pocket.

Our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, but we didn’t blink. The air crackled and froze.

The heat of his gaze burned up the oxygen in the room, leaving ciders of memories behind.

“You cannot marry him,” he whispered.

“Deny it all you want, but you’ll never look at another man the way you look at me.”

“Says the man with a ring on his finger and a state to run,” I clapped back.

“This — he pointed to the gold band on his fingers — means nothing to me. Mosun, you are my world — ”

“Yet, you broke me and chose your seat at the table over us.”

He made to speak, but I cut him off. I read the pain written all over his face, but it was too late for him.

For us.

“Well, guess what, Kunle? I didn’t die. I moved on, built myself an empire, and found a man who loves me regardless of my background.”

Furious at myself for ever loving this man, I gave him a piece of my mind.

“You asked me to wait for you. I did. But when the time came to keep your promise, you pulled the rug from under my feet and left me broken. How could you live with yourself after what you did?”

“Now, you show up here, dictating whom I should or should not marry. How dare you?”

My chest heaved, and my eyes stung, but I held it back. How dare he want to fix us now, after all these months?

His shoulders dropped, head bowed, with a hand over his face.

I heard a sniff. Then another, and a low sob before he looked back up at me.

“I’m unhappy with Sarah, and can barely stand the woman I call my wife. I haven’t even consummated my marriage yet. Mosun, I got the seat at the table, but it cost me my world.”

“It cost me, you.”

My legs ached to go to him. My fingers itched to draw him in, but I knew exactly what would happen if I did that, and I was sure I’d regret it later.

So, I stood where I was, begging my resolve to hold on a little longer.

I steeled myself for my next words, wishing he’d not shown up here today.

“It’s too late to change the past. I’m sorry you realized your mistake, but that is your cross to bear. I made peace with losing you a long time ago. You should too.”

He reached for me, but I recoiled from him. “Mosun — ,”

“You need to leave now.”

“Does he touch you as I do?”

“Kunle. Stop!”

He didn’t stop. He advanced towards me, a glint in his eyes I know all too well. My heart caved while my body came alive.

The butterflies didn’t come. The bees of arousal attacked with a vengeance.

“You don’t want me to stop, Mosun. Tell yourself the truth.”

“I feel everything you’re feeling right now. I know you want me to touch you because you can’t seem to look away from me.”

“So, I ask you again. Does he do to you what I do without words?”

“Kunle, we can’t -,”

My words died on my lips when he fell to his knees before me, cradling his hands on his lap, head bowed before me.

“Mosunmola, I cannot let you make the same mistake I made. I gave it all up before coming here. My seat at the table, my sham of a marriage, my family. Everything.”

“I came here today to submit to you. You own me.”

My hand clutched my chest in agony as sharp stabs of pain tore through my heart. My cheeks grew hot and my lips quivered as mournful sobs stained my cheeks.

“It’s too late, Kunle,” I whispered.

“No, it’s not. We can fix this,” he says, taking my hands in his, his eyes begging me to give in.

I pulled away from him, cradling my mid-section. “We can’t fix this, because I’m pregnant, Kunle.”

His cry of anguish tore through the room, and something in me died.

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