The transition from the classy ambience of Setto’s car back to the frantic energy of the studio was jarring.
By the time Tammy finished the fitting in Ikoyi and fought her way back through the evening surge of traffic, her phone was glowing with three missed calls from Valerie.
She sank into her desk chair, the studio now dark save for the streetlights filtering through the glass.
Her finger hovered over the return call button.
Valerie was her sounding board, the person who knew the rhythm of her heart better than anyone.
But as she thought about the events of the last forty-eight hours. Tammy hesitated.
How could she explain Setto Bello?
How could she explain that a man she barely knew had managed to dismantle her defenses more effectively than Femi had in weeks?
For the first time in their friendship, Tammy chose not to open up to Valerie just yet.
Not out of deceit, but out of a fragile kind of protection.
She wasn’t sure what this was yet, and until she was, she didn’t want any extra opinion that might blur the lines and confuse her.
She hit dial.
“Tammy! Are you alive? I’ve been calling you since like 3 PM!” Valerie’s voice exploded through the speaker.
Tammy forced a weary laugh.
“I’m so sorry, Val. I’ve been in back-to-back fittings. You know how it is when a high-profile client walks in.”
“Hmm,” Valerie hummed, her intuition sharp even from Benin.
“You sound... different. Is the stress that bad?”
“It’s just a lot,” Tammy said, staring at the empty space on her sofa where Setto had sat only hours before.
“The 60th birthday event is huge. I’m styling multiple looks, handling the mood boards, coordinating with the designers... I’m just exhausted.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll let you go. Just don’t work yourself into a hospital bed before my baby is born. Ehennn… how far. You said you were supposed to go house hunting with Femi today?”
Tammy’s heart sank. “Yeah, I had to cancel on him. I feel terrible about it.”
“Ahhhh.., biko apologize to him. You know men can be drama queens when they feel neglected. Talk later, love you!”
The house was too quiet when Tammy finally locked her door at 9:00 PM. She sat on the edge of her bed, the guilt she had been pushing aside finally catching up to her.
She picked up her phone and dialed Femi.
It rang to the very end.
No answer.
She waited five minutes and tried again. Still nothing.
A heavy sigh escaped her. She opened WhatsApp and typed:
Hey Femi, so sorry about today. My schedule just went completely haywire. Hope the house hunting went well? Please call me when you can.
He replied almost instantly, but the “typing...” bubble seemed to last forever.
Femi:
It went okay. Found a place in Old Ikoyi. I’m a bit tired, talk tomorrow.
Tammy didn’t wait for tomorrow.
She hit the call button again. This time, he picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?” Femi’s voice was gruff, devoid of the usual lilt he saved for her.
“Hey,” Tammy said softly.
“I saw your message. You sound exhausted. Was the traffic that bad?”
“Traffic was fine, Tammy. The houses were fine. Everything was...good.”
The word good felt like a wall. Tammy closed her eyes.
“Femi, I’m really, truly sorry for bailing on you. This client is the biggest contract Atelier Tami has ever had. I’m under so much pressure to deliver, and I didn’t realize how much of my day it would swallow.”
“I saw the client’s son,”
Femi said suddenly, his voice cutting through her apology.
“When I was leaving. That was a very... impressive car.”
Tammy’s blood ran cold.
So he had seen Setto.
“He was just dropping off some things for the outfits,” she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.
“Femi, please don’t be upset. I value our friendship more than a contract. Let me make it up to you? Once this event is rounded off in three weeks, lunch is on me. Somewhere really nice. Just us. We can celebrate your new house then.”
There was a long pause on the other end.
She could hear him sighing, the sound of a man trying to talk himself out of his own insecurity.
“I’m not upset, Tammy,” he said, though the lie was transparent.
“I just... I thought we were at a place where things were moving forward. But lately, it feels like I’m chasing you.”
“You’re not chasing me,” she whispered, feeling the weight of her own words.
“I’m just in a season of transition. Please, just give me a little grace?”
“Okay,” Femi said, his voice softening just a fraction.
“Lunch then. I’ll hold you to that.”
“Thank you, Femi. Sleep well.”
When she hung up, Tammy felt like she had just finished a marathon.
She laid back on her pillows, staring at the ceiling.
She had managed to pacify Femi, and she had managed to keep Setto a secret from Valerie.
She was “safe” for another day.
But as she drifted off to sleep, she didn’t dream of Femi’s new house in Ikoyi.
She dreamt of a matte black SUV and a man who told her that control was just a sophisticated form of fear.
She woke up at 3:00 AM to a text message that hadn’t been there before.
Setto:
I hope you aren’t still working. Go to sleep, Tammy. I’ll see you in my thoughts.
Her heart did a slow, dangerous roll.
She didn’t reply, but she didn’t delete it either.
She just clutched her phone to her chest and finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The fabric shears hit the table with a sharp, metallic clang that echoed through the high ceilings of Atelier Tami.
Tammy was leaning over a mood board, her vision blurring slightly as she tried to decide between three shades of ivory lace.
Her hair, which she usually kept in a sleek bun, was now a chaotic halo of frizz, held up by a single pencil.
Her phone began to buzz again. It was the fourth time in twenty minutes.
“Chioma, if that is the bead supplier telling me the emerald crystals are delayed, tell them I will personally come to their warehouse and set it on fire,” Tammy barked without looking up.
Chioma peered at the screen from across the room and bit her lip.
“Um, Ma... it’s not the supplier.”
Tammy stiffened.
She didn’t have to look to know it was Setto.
She ignored it, picking up a swatch of silk organza and holding it against the light. She was a stylist, not a seamstress, but her role was arguably more grueling.
She was the architect of the entire look.
She had to coordinate the designers, the fabric merchants, the jewelry, and the lighting for the shoot.
The phone stopped. Then, five seconds later, it started again.
“He is very persistent, oh,” Chioma whispered, clearly enjoying the drama.
Tammy finally snatched the phone.
“Setto Bello, I am currently in the middle of a war zone. Unless you are calling to tell me you’ve found a way to add forty-eight hours to a single day, I really don’t have the breath to talk to you.”
“A war zone?”
Setto’s voice came through, sounding disturbingly calm and amused.
“And here I thought you were just styling a birthday party. You sound like you’re defending the borders of the country.”
“It’s not just a party! It’s a legacy event. Your mother is royalty, and I am the one making sure the world remembers that. I have three mood boards to finish, two designer meetings tonight, and a bride calling me every ten minutes because her veil is the wrong shade of ‘eggshell.’ So, please, have mercy on me.”
“I was calling to remind you that I’m coming to take you to dinner tomorrow night,” he said.
No hesitation. Just a flat statement of fact.
Tammy let out a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Dinner? Tomorrow? Did you miss the part where I said I’m drowning? I’m eating crackers and cold coffee for dinner. That’s my reality. I don’t think I have the time for fancy restaurants and three-hour conversations.”
“Tammy, you’re vibrating. I can hear the tension in your voice from here. If you keep going at this pace, you’ll burn out before the first fitting. You need a reset. Friday night. Seven o’clock.”
“No,” Tammy said firmly, her stubbornness flaring up.
She wasn’t one of those girls who just swooned because a rich and handsome man told her what to do.
She had raised three siblings and built a business from nothing.
She was the captain of her own ship.
“I said no, Setto. I have work to do.”
“We’ll see,” he said softly, and hung up.
The next day, Friday, was worse.
One of the tailors had cut the bodice of the main gown two inches too short, and Tammy had spent four hours on the phone trying to source more of the rare vintage lace.
By 5:00 PM, she was sitting on the floor of her studio, surrounded by sketches and fabric scraps, her head in her hands.
The door chimes rang.
“Chioma, I said no more visitors,” Tammy groaned, not bothering to look up.
“I’m not a visitor. I’m on a rescue mission.”
Tammy’s head snapped up.
Setto was standing by the door, looking effortless in a black turtleneck and tailored trousers.
He didn’t look overbearing or aggressive; he just looked... solid.
Like a mountain that had decided to move into her studio.
“Get up, Tammy,” he said, walking toward her.
Tammy scrambled to her feet, brushing thread off her trousers.
“Setto, what are you doing here? I told you on the phone….”
“I know what you told me, beautiful. You told me a lot of things. Most of them were lies you’re telling yourself to justify working yourself into the ground.”
He stopped just a foot away from her.
The scent of his perfume.
That intoxicating blend of oud and warm spices, filled her space, instantly clashing with the smell of steam and industrial adhesive.
“I have work,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.
She looked up at him, her jaw set, her “Ibadan girl” stubbornness in full force. “You can’t just walk in here and decide my schedule. I am the CEO of this brand. I decide when I rest.”
“Then decide now,” he said quietly.
He stepped closer, invading her personal bubble.
He didn’t touch her, but the heat coming off him was undeniable.
Setto leaned down slightly, bringing his face level with hers.
“Look at me, Tammy.”
“No.”
“Tammy. Look at me.”
She huffed, ready to give him a piece of her mind, and finally met his gaze.
That was her mistake.
Setto’s eyes weren’t just dark; they were deep.
They held a kind of quiet, steady understanding that she hadn’t realized she was craving.
He wasn’t looking at her like a client or a fan; he was looking at her, the girl who was tired of being the strong one.
The air in the studio seemed to thicken. Tammy’s heart began to hammer against her ribs, not with the frantic energy of work, but with a slow, heavy pulse.
The fire in her eyes flickered and softened. She felt herself melting, her resolve crumbling like old parchment.
“Just three hours,” he whispered, his voice like velvet.
“The world won’t end. I promise. I’ll have you back here before midnight if that’s what you want. But give yourself this. Give us this.”
Tammy looked away, her breath hitching.
She hated how easily he could read her. She hated that he was right.
“I don’t even have anything to wear,” she grumbled, her final, weak attempt at resistance.
Setto smiled, a genuine, heart-stopping smile.
“You are a stylist, Tammy. You could wear a potato sack and make it look like couture. But I happen to think you look beautiful exactly as you are. Although, if you want twenty minutes to freshen up, I’ll wait.”
Tammy sighed, finally letting her arms drop to her sides.
She looked at Chioma, who was hiding behind a mannequin, giving her a frantic “go-for-it” thumbs up.
“Fine,” Tammy said, pointing a finger at his chest.
“But if I get a frantic call from the lace merchant, you’re the one who has to handle him.”
“Deal,” Setto laughed, stepping back to give her space.
“Go get ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tammy spent fifteen minutes in her private dressing room, scrubbing the chalk off her hands and reapplying a bold red lipstick.
She let her hair down, shaking out the curls, and swapped her flats for a pair of gold strappy heels she kept for emergencies.
When she stepped out, Setto was leaning against her desk, looking through one of her lookbooks.
He looked up and went silent.
The amusement left his face, replaced by a look of such raw admiration that Tammy actually felt a flutter of shyness, a rare emotion for her.
“Let’s go,” she said, trying to sound bossy to cover her nerves.
“After you,” he replied, his voice a bit huskier than before.
As they walked to the car, the cool evening breeze hit her face, and for the first time in days,
Tammy felt the weight on her shoulders begin to lift.
She wasn’t sure where the night would lead, but as Setto opened the door of the sleek SUV and she caught that scent of oud again, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be the one in control all the time.
The engine purred to life, and as they pulled out of the Lekki studio, Tammy caught Setto looking at her in the rearview mirror.
“You did the right thing, you know,” he said.
“Don’t push your luck, Setto,” she shot back with a smirk. “I’m still keeping an eye on the time.”
He just laughed, and Tammy joined him.
The drive to the restaurant was a battle of wits.
Setto navigated the Lagos traffic with a calm that Tammy found both impressive and slightly irritating.
She sat in the passenger seat, her arms crossed, determined not to let him see how much she was enjoying the plush leather and the way the city lights blurred into ribbons of gold against the window.
“You’re very quiet today,” Setto remarked, his eyes on the road.
“Is that the sound of a CEO calculating lost billable hours, or are you actually relaxing?”
“I’m observing,” Tammy said, her chin tilted up.
“And for the record, I’m still not convinced this was a good idea. I have a mood board for the pre-event shoot that is currently crying for my attention.”
Setto reached over. Not to touch her hand, but to lower the volume of the jazz playing on the speakers.
“The mood board will survive. In fact, it’ll be better because you won’t be staring at it with blurry eyes. Trust me, Tammy. I’ve spent my life managing things. Sometimes, the best way to move forward is to stop.”
“Spoken like a man who doesn’t have to worry about lace shortages,” she retorted, but the edge in her voice had softened.
He pulled up to a spot in Victoria Island that Tammy had heard of but never visited.
It wasn’t one of those loud, neon-lit places designed for Instagram photos.
It was an old colonial-style house converted into a private bistro, hidden behind a thick wall of bougainvillea.
As they stepped out, the air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the salt from the nearby lagoon. Setto placed a light hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the entrance.
Through the thin silk of her dress, the warmth of his palm felt like a brand.
Tammy stiffened for a second, her defenses screaming “Watch yourself,” but then she caught his gaze.
He wasn’t smirking.
He was just... there. Solid and steady.
The interior was lit entirely by candles and low, amber lamps.
They were led to a table on a secluded veranda, overlooking a courtyard garden.
“So,” Tammy said, unfolding her napkin with a snap once they were seated.
“Is this part of the ‘Bello charm’? Pick a place so quiet I can’t help but hear myself think?”
“I picked it because I wanted to hear *you* think,” Setto replied, leaning forward into the candlelight.
“In the studio, you’re the Boss. You’re the Stylist. You’re the Shield. I wanted to see who Tammy is when the sewing machines stop.”
The waiter brought a bottle of chilled white wine, and for the next hour, the conversation was a high-stakes dance.
Setto didn’t treat her like a fragile flower, and Tammy didn’t make it easy for him.
She challenged him on his family’s business expansion, and he countered by asking her why she was so afraid to let anyone else carry the weight of her business.
“You’re a control freak,” he said, but his voice was like velvet.
“I’m a perfectionist,” she corrected, pointing a fork at him.
“There’s a difference. If I drop the ball, my sisters’ lives feel the vibration. My brother’s tuition feels the vibration. I don’t have the luxury of ‘going with the flow,’ Setto.”
“And yet,” Setto whispered, his eyes locking onto hers, “here you are. In the middle of the week, with a man you barely know, drinking wine and letting the clock tick. You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
Tammy felt that familiar melt starting again.
She took a long sip of her wine to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m only here for the food.”
As the main course arrived….a perfectly seared sea bass for her and a spicy lamb for him. The atmosphere shifted.
The playful banter died down, replaced by a heavy, magnetic intimacy.
The candlelight danced in Setto’s dark eyes, making the gold flecks in them shimmer.
“You asked about Eliana’s mother,” Setto said, his voice dropping to a low, somber register.
Tammy put her fork down. “You said you wanted to look me in the eye when you told me.”
Setto exhaled, the sound caught in the back of his throat.
“Her name is Chloe. I met her in the UK during my post-grad. She was... she was like a wildfire. Beautiful, erratic, and completely untameable. I thought I could be the one to ground her. We married after a year, and for a while, I thought I was happy.”
He looked out at the garden, the memories clearly weighing on him.
“She told me she didn’t want kids. She said her life was too big for a nursery. I agreed because I loved her, or I thought I did.”
“But after the wedding, the ‘big life’ turned into something dark. She was never home. She was clubbing, traveling with people I didn’t know, chasing a high I couldn’t provide.” He paused and heaved a sigh then continued.
“She eventually told me I was boring. That my faith and my ‘structured’ life were a prison.”
Tammy watched him, her heart aching.
She wanted to reach out, but she stayed still, letting him speak.
“We divorced. I moved back here to heal. Six months later, she showed up in Lagos, six months pregnant.”
Tammy’s eyes almost came out of their socket.
“She was broke, she was desperate, and she claimed the baby was mine. I knew it wasn’t. I knew it in my spirit, but I couldn’t let her go into labor in a strange city with nothing. I bought her a house, hired a nanny, paid every medical bill. I was there when Eliana was born. I was the one who signed the papers.”
“And then?” Tammy whispered.
“Then, a month later, she vanished. She took the cash settlement I’d put in an account for her and went back to Europe to be with the man who was actually the father. She didn’t even leave a note for the baby. Just left her with the nanny and a half-empty bottle.”
Setto looked back at Tammy, his expression raw.
“I did the DNA test, mostly for the lawyers. It confirmed what I already knew. Eliana isn’t mine by blood. But she’s mine by everything else. I spent some time in court fighting to legally adopt her so she would never, ever feel like she wasn’t wanted. She is a Bello. She is my daughter. And she is the only good thing that came out of that wreckage.”
Tammy felt a tear prick the corner of her eye.
She was a tough woman, a stubborn woman, but she knew a hero when she saw one.
“You’re a good man, Setto,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I’m just a man who knows what’s worth keeping,” he replied.
He reached across the table, and this time, he didn’t wait.
He took her hand, his thumb tracing the line of her knuckles.
“I’m telling you this because I don’t want to be a ‘project’ to you. I don’t want you to see the name and the car and think it’s all easy. My life has a beautiful, complicated seven-month-old anchor. And if you’re going to be in my life, you’re going to be in hers too.”
Tammy didn’t pull her hand away.
She looked at their joined fingers. His dark and strong, hers slender but steady.
For a loud-mouthed, stubborn girl from Ibadan, she found herself remarkably speechless.
“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she managed to say, trying to regain her spark.
“Assuming I’m going to be in your life.”
Setto leaned in closer, his scent. That intoxicating oud and cardamom, enveloping her.
“Tammy, from the moment I saw you at that supermarket, I knew I was in trouble. I think you did too.”
He held her gaze, the intensity of it making her breath catch. It was a promise, not a request.
As they left the restaurant, the world felt different.
The tension of the studio felt like a lifetime ago.
When he dropped her back at her apartment, he walked her to the door.
“I promised you’d be back by ten,” he said, checking his watch.
“It’s 10:15. Do I get fired as your rescue mission?”
Tammy leaned against the doorframe, looking up at him.
“I’ll give you a pass this once. Only because the fish was good.”
Setto laughed, a low, warm sound.
He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin just long enough to make her heart do a frantic dance.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be busy,” she countered, her stubbornness making a final appearance.
“I know,” he whispered. “I’ll call you anyway.”
He turned and walked away, and Tammy stood there for a while before walking into her living room.
The glow from Setto’s tail lights had barely faded from the street when Tammy’s phone began to vibrate in her clutch.
She was still standing in her darkened living room, her skin still tingling from the cool night air and the lingering scent of his cologne.
Femi
Her heart, which had been racing with excitement just moments ago, now sank into a heavy, dull thud of guilt.
She sat on the edge of her sofa, the gold straps of her heels glinting in the moonlight, and answered.
“Hello, Femi?”
“Tam,” Femi’s voice came through, sounding weary and humbled.
“I’m calling to apologize. For earlier today... in the studio. I know I sounded off. I was frustrated, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’re working hard, and I should be supporting that, not adding to your stress.”
Tammy closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cushions.
The contrast between Femi’s safe, apologetic kindness and Setto’s electric, demanding presence was almost painful.
“It’s totally fine, Femi,” she said softly.
“I understand why you felt that way. It’s been a crazy week for everyone. Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you still at the studio?” he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern.
“It’s late. You need to rest, Tammy.”
“Nope,” she said, the lie taste-testing bitter on her tongue.
“I’m at home. I just got back from... the...” She paused, the word dinner catching in her throat like a physical obstruction.
“I just got back from the studio. I’m exhausted.”
There was a brief silence on the other end. Femi cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, the casual tone was gone.
It was the voice of a man who was tired of standing in the hallway of someone else’s life.
“Tammy, I have to ask you something. And I need you to be as honest as you can be.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Is there really a chance for us? A real one?” Femi’s voice was steady but raw.
“I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to be the ‘easy-going’ guy, the one who waits in the wings while you build your empire. But I’m looking at houses, I’m planning a future... and I don’t know if you’re even in the picture.”
Tammy gripped her phone tighter.
“Femi, I truly like you. You are one of the best men I know. I value our friendship, and I value everything you’ve done for me and my family. But as for marriage... As for us.... I’m still not sure. I’m still praying about it.”
Femi let out a short, sharp exhale that sounded like a dry laugh.
“How long, Tammy? How long will you be praying? It’s been over a month. I’m a man, not a statue. I can’t build a life on ‘maybe.’”
Tammy felt the walls closing in.
The stutter she usually kept under control in her professional life resurfaced.
“I... I just... Femi, I need more time. I don’t want to give you a ‘yes’ that isn’t wholehearted. I’m just so tired right now. Can we talk later? I really want to sleep.”
She heard him heave a heavy, ragged sigh.
It was the sound of a man reaching his breaking point.
“I don’t think I can stick around for too long without knowing my fate, Tammy,” he said quietly.
“It’s not fair to me. And honestly, I don’t think it’s fair to you either.”
“I know,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears.
“Goodnight, Femi.”
“Goodnight.”
The call ended with a soft click that felt like a door slamming shut.
Tammy dropped the phone onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. The silence of the apartment was deafening.
On one hand, there was Femi: the man who represented stability, a shared history, and a “perfect” match on paper.
On the other, there was Setto: a man who had a child that wasn’t his, who challenged her, provoked her, and made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
She stood up, walking over to the window and looking up at the vast, starless Lagos sky.
She felt like a hypocrite. She had told Femi she was praying, but was she really listening for an answer, or was she just waiting for an excuse to follow her heart?
“God,” she whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling.
“I am so confused. I don’t want to hurt a good man, but I don’t want to live a lie either. Please... give me wisdom. Show me the path, because right now, I’m just lost in the woods.”
She stood there for a long time, caught between the guilt of the man she was leaving behind and the terrifying, beautiful mystery of the man who was waiting for her in the morning.
Hmmmmmm….hmmmmm.
Now y’all know the baby isn’t his 😂😂
Where are the people who guessed that he was a widower?
Anywayyyyyssss….
See y’all tomorrow morning for a fresh episode 🤞🤭
You all truly make me so happy with your comments. I read them and I feel the love, the passion, and even the frustration😂. Thank you for caring this deeply.
Now, there are a few things I would like to clarify.
First, regarding Femi and Tammy, Tammy is like many of us. Sometimes we delay making decisions because we are afraid of the outcome. It is difficult to choose what we truly want when we know that choice may hurt someone else.
Tammy genuinely likes Femi as a person, but she does not see herself dating or marrying him. She is also clouded by her own fears and emotions. At the same time, she hides behind “God, help me make the right choice,” forgetting that God has already given her the power to choose.
That does not mean He cannot guide us. Of course He can, and He knows best. But we must also take responsibility for the choices placed before us.
As for Setto’s nature, he is an alpha male. His personality may rub some of you the wrong way. However, Tammy is also an alpha female. She would not thrive with a man who is overly calm or passive, because she has the tendency to override such a person. She needs a man who challenges her, keeps her on her toes, and matches her strength. That is what Setto represents. Still, no human being is perfect. Not Setto. Not Femi. Not Tammy. And certainly not me. God loves us in our flaws and in our growth.
The aim of this story is to remind us that none of us is perfect. Not the readers. Not the characters. Not the writer. I have made similar mistakes in my own life.
Ultimately, the One who helps us is God. He sees beyond our flaws and works in us to make us better.
My hope is that, in the end, this story ministers to us and reminds us that God truly has the best plans for our lives.
And that part of Tammy wondering whether she is listening or not. My not so hot take is that most times we know the answer in our heart of hearts. Except God is having you genuinely wait on Him, I don't think He takes so long to speak or give us answers. We most times have that nudging because of course we are His children and are led by the spirit.
It's just the fear of the unknown, of not making a mistake, safety and all others that makes us not ready to get to point of conviction
I will suggest Tammy lay all her cards/fears before God. Bare her heart before Him, Be sincere, tell God how it's doing her, like talk to Him in Surrender and she will be shocked of the assurance she will receive and certainty.