Heart Fire.

Chapter Fourteen: "You, not the brand."

NJ’S P.O.V:

The room was alive before they even stepped fully inside.

Music low but insistent. Laughter cresting and falling. Cameras flashing intermittently; paparazzi and phones, people documenting proximity to relevance.

Ladi fit into spaces like this as though they had been built with him in mind.

NJ felt it immediately—the way his posture shifted, shoulders rolling back just slightly, smile settling into something easy and public. Ladi Bello, the brand… activated.

Here we go, she thought.

Someone called his name before they reached the bar.

“Ladi!”

He turned, already smiling. “Ah! My people.”

Handshakes. Back pats. Introductions layered with admiration.

“This guy is doing mad things.”
“We were just talking about your last show.”
“You’re everywhere these days.”

NJ stood beside him, close enough to be seen, far enough to be peripheral.

She smiled when required. Nodded when eye contact found her. But her body had already begun its quiet retreat inward… the way it always did when the spotlight widened without her consent.

A woman approached. Beautiful. Confident. Familiar with attention.

“Hi,” she said to Ladi, eyes bright. “I’ve been following your work for a while.”

Ladi laughed easily. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

She touched his arm as she spoke.

NJ noticed.

It’s nothing, she told herself automatically. People touch when they talk.

Another woman joined them. Then another.

Compliments stacked. Laughter lingered too long. Phones came out.

“Can we take a picture?”

“Of course.”

NJ stepped aside instinctively, already fading to the background so the frame would make sense.

I am so good at disappearing, she thought bitterly.

Ladi didn’t notice, not because he didn’t care, but because this version of him was practiced. Surface-open. Available. Polished.

This is his language, she reminded herself. This is how he survives.

Still, something tightened in her chest.

She watched him become the version of himself everyone loved… the one who spoke about music and fame and projects with ease, who laughed without reservation, who looked completely at home.

And she wondered, not for the first time, where she fit in that picture.

When the crowd thinned slightly, she leaned toward him.

“Can we talk?” she asked quietly.

He glanced at her, distracted. “In a bit?”

The words were harmless.

They still stung.

She nodded and stepped back.

In a bit had become a familiar place.

She found a corner near the window and stood there, pretending to scroll through her phone while watching him from a distance.

More women drifted over. One leaned in to speak close to his ear. Another laughed too loudly at something he said.

Jealousy flared… hot and unwelcome.

I hate this version of myself, NJ thought. The one who feels small and insecure.

But the jealousy wasn’t just about the women.

It was about how easy it all was for him.

How visible.

How unguarded.

How she still couldn’t get over the fact that if he curated a version of himself for the public, how sure is she that she is not getting a curated version also.

When he finally joined her, flushed and smiling, she was already braced.

“You disappeared,” he said lightly.

“I was right here.”

“You could have stayed,” he replied.

She looked at him. Really looked.

“You were busy, so you didn’t notice when I left.”

His smile faltered slightly. “NJ—”

“This is your world,” she said carefully. “I know that.”

“Okay,” he said, cautious now.

“But sometimes,” she continued, “it feels like I’m dating your brand.”

The silence was heavy.

“My brand is part of who I am,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “But it’s not all of you.”

He frowned. “You make it sound fake.”

“I’m not saying it’s fake,” she said, voice tightening. “I’m saying it’s curated. And I don’t get the uncurated parts.”

He exhaled sharply. “This again.”

“Yes,” she said. “Again. Because it doesn’t go away.”

“You want me to be less visible?” he asked.

“No,” she said quickly. “I want you to be more present with me.”

Silence stretched between them, loud despite the noise around them.

“I don’t understand what you mean. I am here with you now aren’t I? he said finally.

“Which Ladi is here with me? You are always on!” she replied.

He looked away, jaw set.

“What do you want from me NJ?” he said.

Her chest tightened.

“I just want you,” she said. “Not the version that everyone else gets.”

He didn’t respond.

That was when she knew.

Not that the relationship was over, but that she couldn’t stay in this moment any longer.

“I’m going,” she said.

He turned back to her. “What?”

“I’m leaving,” she repeated. “I don’t want to fight here.”

“You’re walking out?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

She picked up her bag.

“NJ—”

She didn’t wait for permission.

She walked past the lights, the laughter, the admiration, past the version of him that belonged to everyone, and out into the cool night air.

Only then did her breath break.

Only then did the tears come.

But she didn’t turn back.

LADI’S P.O.V:

He didn’t leave the event immediately.

He stayed long enough to finish a conversation he didn’t care about, long enough to laugh at a joke he didn’t hear properly, long enough to prove to himself more than anyone else, that he hadn’t been shaken.

But the room felt different now.

Too loud. Too bright.

The same faces that had energized him earlier now felt like witnesses.

When he finally got into his car, the quiet hit him all at once.

He drove without music.

At first, anger came easily. It always did.

Why does she always do this?
Why can’t she just understand that this is my world?
Why does everything turn into a critique of who I am?

He gripped the steering wheel tighter as the road blurred past.

Brand.
The word irritated him.

Like she thought he was fake. Like she thought everything he’d built was a performance.

This is me, he told the empty car. I didn’t invent this. I grew into it.

But beneath the anger, something else stirred… slower, harder to name.

He replayed the moment she stepped aside when the pictures were taken.
The way she’d folded inward, almost without thinking.
The way he hadn’t noticed until much later.

That unsettled him.

He’d always thought of himself as observant, open. Approachable. Honest.

He exhaled sharply.

She doesn’t see how much pressure this carries, he thought.
Everyone wants a piece. Everyone expects me to show up.

The car slowed at a red light. He stared at it, chest tight.

I don’t know how to be different, he admitted to himself, reluctantly.

She had walked out resigned. That scared him more than her anger.

He pulled into his driveway and sat there longer than necessary, engine idling, phone heavy in his hand.

Calling NJ felt impossible.

Too exposed. Too raw.

So he did the thing he always did when he didn’t know how to enter a difficult emotional space.

He called someone who could translate.

Solape answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” she said, already alert. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Did NJ call you?”

“Yes,” Solape replied carefully. “She did.”

A pause.

“So you know,” he said.

“I know her side,” Solape said. “I don’t know yours yet.”

That helped more than he expected.

“She walked out,” he said, frustration creeping back into his voice. “In the middle of the event.”

“She felt invisible,” Solape replied gently.

He scoffed. “She knew where she was coming.”

“She did,” Solape said. “But knowing doesn’t always mean you’re prepared for how it feels.”

Silence stretched.

“I’m not curating a brand with her,” Ladi said finally. “I don’t know why she keeps saying that.”

Solape chose her words carefully.

“You’re open,” she said. “But you’re controlled.”

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

“It means people know what you’re doing,” she said. “Not always how you’re feeling.”

He leaned his head back against the seat.

“I don’t even know how to show that,” he admitted quietly.

“Well, you are going to have to figure it out. NJ needs you.” Solape said. “And I think she’s tired of being lumped alongside everyone else.

That hit home.

Another long silence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said.

“I know,” Solape said. “But intention doesn’t cancel the fact that you did..”

He closed his eyes.

“So what do I do?” he asked, not defensively this time, but honestly.

“You decide to be vulnerable,” Solape said.

He sighed.

“Would you both mind talking to PK?” Solape asked.

“Hmmmm” He answered.

“Whatever you decide” Solape said, “No pressure. But I think he will help”

“Ok” He answered finally.

A beat passed.

“Solape?” He said, “She loves me right?”

“You know she does.” Solape said, “And she knows you love her too. You both will be fine. Good night Ladi.”

Ladi sat there, phone still in his hand, the house quiet around him.

For the first time that night, the anger ebbed.

What remained was something heavier.

Awareness.

NJ & Ladi’s P.O.V:

They didn’t knock like visitors.

They knocked like people coming to report themselves.

PK opened the door and stepped aside.

“Come in,” he said, voice calm.

The living room was quiet in that intentional way his house always was—low lights, clean lines, a faint scent that hinted at Solape’s touch. A muted worship playlist played from somewhere in the background, not enough to distract, enough to soften edges.

NJ walked in first, bag hugged to her side. Ladi followed behind, hands in his pockets, face neutral—so neutral it was almost disrespectful to the seriousness of the moment.

Solape was there. Sitting by the window, legs crossed, phone in hand. Eyes sharp like she came prepared to testify.

PK looked at her once.

“Solape,” he said gently, “please could you go into my office.”

Solape’s brows lifted.

“Now?”

PK didn’t blink. “Now.”

She stood slowly, like she wanted to argue, then thought better of it. As she passed NJ, she squeezed her shoulder once—silent solidarity. As she passed Ladi, she hissed softly, “If you stress my professor, you’ll see yourself.”

Ladi’s mouth twitched.

Solape disappeared into the hallway.

PK waited until the door swung shut before turning back.

“Sit,” he said.

NJ sat at the edge of the couch like she might stand up again at any moment. Ladi sat at the other end, leaning back, ankle on knee, posture giving: I’m fine. Everything is fine. The only thing betraying him was his fingers tapping his thigh like a drumline.

PK sat opposite them. Not behind a desk. Just a man facing two people he cared about.

He didn’t start with counselling.

He started with observation.

“You people are not enemies,” he said quietly. “So why does it feel like you came here ready to win something?”

NJ’s jaw tightened.

Ladi scoffed lightly. “Nobody’s trying to win anything.”

PK looked at him. “Okay.”

That “okay” was gentle—but it carried weight.

PK turned to NJ. “Tell me. What happened the other night?”

NJ took a breath like she’d rehearsed this on her way there.

“I felt invisible.”

Ladi’s face didn’t change, but his eyes flicked away. Fast.

PK didn’t rush.

“Invisible how?” he asked.

NJ’s voice stayed controlled, but her hands gave her away… fingers interlocked too tightly.

“Invisible like… I’m beside you, but you’re not with me. You’re with everybody.”

Ladi exhaled. Not angry. Not loud. Just… tired.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” he said.

NJ’s eyes flashed. “See? That’s exactly it. You always say that.”

PK leaned forward slightly. “Ladi. Don’t defend yet. Just answer her question.”

Ladi looked at PK like: this your calmness is irritating.

But he still answered.

“I’m with her,” he said. “I was with her the whole time.”

NJ laughed—one short laugh that wasn’t humour.

“Which version?” she asked.

The room went still.

Ladi frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” NJ paused. She chose her words like someone handling glass. “You’re always on. Always fine. Always smooth. Even when you’re upset, I don’t know. Even when you’re bothered, I don’t know. I mean, I can tell you are upset, but it doesn’t show. It’s like… nothing touches you.”

PK watched Ladi’s face, not for anger. For the flinch.

It came. Small. Quick. He swallowed it.

NJ saw it too. That was the problem: she always saw the tiny things.

“And when I ask,” she continued, “you act like I’m accusing you. But I’m not accusing you. I’m asking because I want… access.”

Ladi’s jaw tightened.

PK cut in softly. “Ladi. When she says ‘access,’ what do you hear?”

Ladi didn’t answer immediately.

Then: “Pressure.”

NJ blinked. “Pressure?”

“Yes,” Ladi said, voice sharper now. “Like I’m failing something. Like there’s a correct way to love you and I’m always one step from a bad grade.”

NJ’s eyes widened. “Bad grade?”

PK held up one hand. “Okay. That one is important.”

He turned to NJ. “You heard that?”

NJ swallowed. “I didn’t know he felt that way.”

PK nodded. “Because he never says it.”

Ladi leaned forward suddenly, irritation leaking out.

“Because every simple conversation we have is dissected, you analyse it like you’re writing a report.”

NJ’s face hardened. “That’s not fair.”

“Is it not?” Ladi asked. His voice stayed calm—always calm—but the calm had edges now. “You don’t ask like you want to know me. You ask like you’re looking for evidence.”

Silence.

That landed because… it had truth.

PK didn’t rush to rescue anyone.

He just asked, “NJ… is that possible?”

NJ’s throat moved. “I— I don’t know.”

PK nodded. “Okay. We’ll come back.”

He turned to Ladi. “And you—when you’re hurting, what do you do?”

Ladi shrugged. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

PK looked at him for a long moment.

Then he said quietly, “That ‘fine’ has saved you before. But it’s also starving your relationship.”

Ladi’s fingers stopped tapping.

He stared at the floor.

PK stood. “I want to talk to you separately.”

NJ sat up instantly… like she didn’t want to be left alone with her thoughts.

PK pointed gently at her. “You’re not in trouble. Just… wait.”

He looked toward the hallway. “Solape!”

Solape appeared like she had been waiting behind the door.

“Yes sir?”

PK nodded at NJ. “Abeg, take her to the kitchen. Water. Anything.”

Solape rolled her eyes dramatically. “Professor. Come.”

NJ stood and followed, still quiet, still composed, but her eyes were wet in a way she would deny later.

PK turned to Ladi. “Let’s go to my Office.”

Ladi stood and followed.

******************

The office was smaller. More private. Less “church,” more “man.”

PK didn’t sit behind the desk. He sat on the chair opposite Ladi.

Ladi stayed standing for a second, then finally sat, legs wide, elbows on knees, hands clasped like he was trying to hold himself together.

PK didn’t start with “tell me about your childhood.”

He started with the most obvious thing.

“Why do you never get angry?” he asked.

Ladi blinked. “I get angry.”

“When?” PK asked.

Ladi opened his mouth, then closed it.

PK nodded once. “Exactly.”

Ladi laughed a short, humourless laugh. “Anger doesn’t help me.”

PK leaned back. “Or it scares you.”

Ladi stared at him.

PK’s voice stayed gentle. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want. But I’ll tell you what I’m seeing. You’ve mastered charm. You’ve mastered lightness. But your pain is… locked.”

Ladi’s jaw ticked.

“Locked things leak,” PK added. “They don’t disappear.”

Ladi went quiet.

Then he said, like he’d never planned to: “My grief was public.”

PK didn’t react. He waited.

Ladi’s eyes stayed on the ground.

“When my parents died, everything about me became content. People were counting my tears. Counting my mistakes. Posting my breakdown like… entertainment.”

His throat tightened.

“So I decided,” he continued, “that nobody will ever see me like that again.”

PK nodded slowly. “So you became… untouchable.”

Ladi swallowed. “I became stable.”

PK didn’t argue the word.

He just asked, “And NJ? What does she want?”

Ladi’s voice dropped. “She wants me.”

PK nodded. “Not your stability. You.”

Ladi rubbed his face once. “I don’t know how to do it.”

PK leaned forward. “Okay. Then we do practical.”

He held up a finger. “When she asks you how you are—don’t say ‘good.’ Say one real thing.”

Another finger. “When she says something that feels like critique—don’t retreat. Ask: ‘Are you afraid, or are you angry?’ Because it’s usually fear.”

Third finger. “And when you feel yourself about to joke—pause. Tell her, ‘I’m using humour because I don’t want to go there. Can you give me some time to get comfortable talking about it?’ That one sentence will change your whole relationship.”

Ladi stared at PK like this was too simple to be true.

PK continued, quieter now: “Your brightness is real. But you also use it to cover wounds. NJ is too perceptive to be satisfied with the surface. She will keep pressing until you either open… or she gives up.”

Ladi’s eyes lifted. “I don’t want her to give up.”

PK nodded. “Then go first.”

Ladi swallowed hard. “Okay.”

PK stood. “Stay here. I’ll talk to her.”

**********

In the kitchen, NJ stood by the counter while Solape poured water like she was pouring therapy.

Solape didn’t talk much. She knew when to shut up.

PK entered, nodded at Solape. “Give us a minute.”

Solape pointed at NJ like a warning. “Professor, he means well. Don’t let him bully you.”

PK ignored it. NJ almost smiled.

Solape stepped out.

PK leaned lightly against the counter, close enough to be present, far enough to not crowd her.

“NJ,” he said softly, “I’m going to say something and you may not like it.”

NJ nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Everything cannot be an attack.” PK said.

NJ’s eyes flashed immediately. “I’m not attacking him.”

PK lifted a hand. “I didn’t say you are. I’m saying… that’s how it lands.”

She exhaled. “Because he’s sensitive.”

PK looked at her. “Because you sound like HR.”

NJ froze.

PK continued gently. “You ask questions like you’re conducting an audit. Maybe it’s a by-blow of your profession. But Ladi wants his NJ, not a journalist.”

NJ opened her mouth, then closed it.

PK’s voice softened. “You’re brilliant. And because you’re brilliant, your fear comes out as analysis.”

NJ’s throat tightened. “I’m not afraid.”

PK didn’t argue. “Okay. Then why does it hurt this much?”

Silence.

NJ’s eyes dropped.

PK went on, calm, specific: “When you call his life a brand… you’re not only critiquing his public life. You’re telling him: ‘This part of you is too loud for me.’”

NJ swallowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” PK said. “But if he believes you can’t accept his world, why would he trust you with the parts of himself that aren’t shiny?”

NJ blinked rapidly.

PK leaned forward slightly. “If you want him to open up, you need to invite him without putting him on trial.”

NJ whispered “How?”

PK gave her language. Simple. usable.

Try: ‘When you stay calm like nothing affects you, I feel shut out.’
Try: ‘I’m not attacking you—I’m trying to know you.’
Try: ‘I want to be part of your life, not a spectator.’”

NJ nodded slowly, like she was writing it down in her spirit.

“And one more thing,” PK added. “Stop making every hard conversation sound like a performance review. Men retreat when they feel evaluated.”

NJ exhaled shakily. “That’s… fair.”

PK nodded. “Good.”

He stepped back. “Let’s go back.”

************

They returned to the living room.

Ladi came out of the office quieter. Less polished. More human.

They sat again—still not touching. But no longer positioned like enemies.

PK stood this time, not as a judge, but as a guide.

“Here’s what we’ll do going forward.” he said.

“First: No mind-reading. If you’re hurt, you say it. If you’re scared, you say it.”

He looked at Ladi. “You go first sometimes.”

He looked at NJ. “And you ask without accusation.”

“Second: One check-in a day. Apart from ‘how was your day.’ One real feeling. One real thought.”

Ladi nodded once.

NJ nodded once.

“Third: Public life. You both agree on what support looks like in those spaces. Not guessing in the moment.”

He paused, then softened. “You love each other. That’s obvious. So stop fighting the relationship and start learning each other.”

Silence.

Then PK said, “Stand.”

They stood.

“One more thing, are you having sex?”

NJ averted her eyes. Ladi didn’t.

“We were. But we agreed to stop since we joined CC. We are good so far.” Ladi answered.

“Ok. Good.” PK said.

PK prayed simply—no theatrics, just truth.

For healing.
For softness.
For vulnerability without shame.
For love without fear.

When he finished, the room felt… lighter.

Not fixed.

But no longer at the edge.

Ladi glanced at NJ.

His voice was low. Real.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know how to let you in.”

NJ swallowed. “And I’m sorry,” she replied. “I never meant to cross examine you.”

They didn’t hug.

But Ladi’s hand moved—slowly—toward hers.

And NJ let him hold it.

That was enough progress for one night.

PK watched it, nodded once to himself, and finally—finally—exhaled.

“Text me when you get home,” he said to NJ.

She nodded. “I will.”

He turned to Ladi. “And you, remember what we talked about.”

Ladi’s brow creased. “Which one?”

PK held his gaze. “The one where you show her your real feelings.’”

Ladi exhaled slowly. It wasn’t a laugh this time.

“Noted,” he said.

He stepped out, then paused and looked back at PK, the smallest gratitude in his eyes—quiet, masculine, embarrassed to be seen.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

PK nodded once. “Go.”

The door closed behind them. And the house exhaled. Not silence like emptiness. Silence like a room recovering from emotion.

---

Author’s Note: Counselling is in session! 👏🏽 Our Faves Ladi and NJ are back, loll.

You will hear from your PK and Solape next week or Get this post’s comments and likes to 100 and you will get another chapter today.😏

If you have never read NJ and Ladi’s story, read here.

To Catch up: Read Chapter one here, Chapter two here, Chapter three here, Chapter Four here, and Chapter Five here, Chapter Six here, Chapter Seven here, Chapter Eight here, Chapter Nine here, Chapter Ten here, Chapter Eleven here, Chapter Twelve here, and Chapter Thirteen here.

See you next week (Probably).❤️