FINDING TÒRÒ💞 EP2
FINDING TÒRÒ
Episode Two
The night before had been hell.
Tòrò sat at the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself as she listened to Dàpò rant. His voice was sharp, cutting through the dimly lit bedroom like a blade.
“You think you’re special, don’t you?” he sneered, his bare chest rising and falling as he paced. “Walking around in those heels, acting all classy like you’re above everyone. Tòrò, let me remind you, no man wants a woman who thinks she’s too good to submit.”
She remained silent, her nails digging into her palms.
“I’m talking to you!” Dàpò snapped, grabbing her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. His grip was firm, almost painful. “Did you hear what I said?”
She nodded stiffly.
“Good,” he muttered, releasing her. “I’ve told you, you belong to me. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
Tòrò swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to argue, to remind him she was not an object to be owned, but what was the point? Every disagreement ended the same way—with his anger, his harsh words, and sometimes, his hand gripping her wrist too tightly.
She wasn’t weak, but God, she was tired.
He climbed into bed, pulling the covers over himself. “Turn off the light,” he mumbled.
Tòrò stood there for a moment before doing as he said. She lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn’t come.
It never did.
Tòrò moved like clockwork—silent, graceful, precise. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the night before. Her hands traced the faint marks on her wrist, remnants of his tight grip. She exhaled, shutting her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, her skin glowing against the soft morning light. She picked out an emerald-green bodycon dress, slipping into it with practiced ease. Her long braids cascaded down her back, and when she fastened her gold watch around her wrist, she looked exactly as the world expected—flawless, untouchable.
By the time she slipped on her nude Louboutin heels and grabbed her designer handbag, she was no longer the woman trapped in Dàpò’s world. She was Tòrò—the untouchable, unshakable boss lady.
Dàpò barely acknowledged her as she walked past him in the living room. Good. She didn’t want to talk.
A few moments later, she slid into her sleek black Mercedes, pushing the start button. The engine purred to life. She took one last look at the apartment through the rearview mirror, then drove off.
The click of her heels echoed through the pristine office hallway as she made her way to her desk. Heads turned, as always. Tòrò was used to it.
Her desk was just as she left it—organized, elegant, perfect. But today, something was different.
A bouquet of fresh, red roses lay on top of her desk. Beside it, a small white envelope.
Tòrò’s brows furrowed slightly. She picked up the envelope, her fingers tracing the delicate paper before she pulled out the note inside.
The handwriting was neat, intentional.
“Tòrò💞,
I love you with every beat of me.Watching you move so gracefully in those heels makes me wonder—
can this incredible woman be the mother of my kids?
Through your perfection and imperfections, I want it all.
Every version of you, every moment, every unspoken thought behind those beautiful eyes.
I don’t just want to love you now—I want to grow in love with you, until old age finds us still hand in hand.
I love you.
—Your Office Admirer.”
Tòrò’s heart did something strange in her chest. A slow, unsteady thud.
She read the note again. And again.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She glanced around the office, searching for a sign, a clue—who could have done this?
The office was busy, people moving around, unaware of the silent storm unraveling inside her.
She wasn’t used to this—genuine admiration, softness, kindness.
Her hands tightened around the note, a war waging inside her.
Who was he? And why did his words make her chest ache in a way she didn’t understand?
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