HAN & JUL S3E6: Roads Not Taken

Torn between love and legacy, as Madam Choi’s empire begins to crack beneath the weight of scandal.

The Calabar sun dipped below the horizon, its coral and gold rays glinting off the eco-resort’s shoreline, where palm trees swayed in the Atlantic’s briny breeze, their fronds whispering secrets to the dusk. The resort, a triumph of Chidi’s architectural firm, wove bamboo walls and thatched roofs into Efik-inspired elegance, its open-air conference hall humming with investors in tailored suits and vibrant ankara. Jul stood at a polished podium, her tablet aglow with branding mock-ups—spiraling shells and indigo patterns that captured Calabar’s soul. Her red dress, embroidered with subtle Efik motifs, shimmered under the skylights, her voice steady and commanding.

“This branding isn’t a logo—it’s Calabar’s heartbeat, its rivers, its people.”

Investors leaned forward, their nods a quiet balm to the doubts that had long shadowed her talent, her confidence a beacon that held the room in thrall. Chidi stood beside her, his olive linen suit crisp, his deep brown skin catching the light, his Surulere accent warm as he leaned in.

“You’re rewriting the game, Juliet.”

His admiration, rooted in her fusion of culture and vision, anchored her, his fingers brushing hers as they shared a tablet, a fleeting intimacy that steadied her nerves. At the back of the hall, Han lounged, his black shirt unbuttoned, his phone flashing a forex trading app. Green candlesticks climbing with modest profits. His dark eyes, however, were fixed on Jul, their intensity a silent challenge that quickened her pulse. Their unspoken passion hung heavy, a current beneath the applause that erupted as her pitch concluded, the room alight with possibility.

As investors swarmed Jul and Chidi, their enthusiasm a palpable wave, Han slipped out to the beach, the rhythm of waves pulling him from the hall’s clamor. His phone buzzed with another trade alert, a distraction from his true wealth, inherited shares in the Choi family’s airline, real estate, agriculture, and gallery empires, secured by his father’s will, averaging $320,000 monthly. Madam Choi, with her $700,000 monthly average, held majority decision-making power, her calculating gaze, seen in Lagos boardrooms, always plotting, binding Han, the younger heir, to the gallery after Eun-ji fled to South Korea to escape the pressure. Eun-ji, averaging $550,000 monthly, shared Han’s financial independence but not his burden. Though he owned a sleek Victoria Island penthouse, Han frequented the Lagos estate to support Eun-ji, still settling in Nigeria, and to confront his mother’s schemes, his duty as heir a weight like the sand beneath his feet.

Jul caught Han’s exit, her heart caught between Chidi’s steadiness and Han’s fire, the lagoon’s ripples outside the hall mirroring her turmoil. She followed him to the beach, the sand cool beneath her bare feet, her heels abandoned by a palm tree, her dress catching the moonlit breeze. Han stood by the water, his silhouette sharp against the silver waves, his phone dark.

“You’re here, but will you stay when your mother calls?” she asked, her voice sharp, the Efik patterns on her dress glinting like resolve. Han turned, his eyes searching hers, raw with vulnerability.

“I’m scared I’ll fail you, Jul,” he said, his voice low, “but I’m choosing you, not her empire.” Part of her knew this was madness. A tie to a family steeped in control, but part of her craved being chosen above empire. Doubt lingered, shadowed by Madam Choi’s grip.

“Words aren’t enough,” Jul replied, her tone firm but trembling.

Han closed the gap, his hand cupping her face, and they kissed. A quiet, searing press of lips, their breath mingling with the salt air, the waves their only witness.

Chidi, near the conference hall, was laughing with an investor, his charm sealing a deal, when his gaze drifted to the beach. The sight of Jul and Han locked in their embrace struck like a blade. His laughter choked off, his chest tightening with a raw, aching hurt. Betrayal laced with the ache of unvoiced love. Jul’s red dress, vivid in the moonlight, and Han’s possessive grip felt like a theft of his hopes. Shock froze him, his smile slipping as the investor prattled on, oblivious. Alone later, by the resort’s lagoon, Chidi gripped the railing, his knuckles whitening, his composure a fragile mask. Jul was everything he wanted, but not the only thing he’d built his future on. He wouldn’t let Han ruin either, his resolve hardening, his heart a quiet battleground.

Jul returned to her suite, an upper-level room with a lagoon-view balcony, booked by Chidi’s firm. She and Chidi had flown to Calabar on an Arik Air economy flight, a 90-minute trip, followed by a shared shuttle, their journey deepening their bond. Han, leveraging his inheritance, arrived on a private Gulfstream jet from the Choi fleet, landing at Calabar’s airport and securing a lower-level villa near the beach. His commitment to Jul anchoring him.

In her suite, Jul’s phone rang, an emergency call from her office team.

“Jul, it’s bad,” her assistant said, voice tense. “A Twitter thread’s gone viral. Artists are accusing the Choi gallery of underpaying them, linking Madam Choi to Zephyr Holdings’ shady deals. It’s hitting Luxe Afrique hard, and sponsors are talking about pulling out.”

Jul’s stomach twisted, the accusations threatening her credibility, her project’s future tethered to Zephyr’s tainted name. This wasn’t just PR, it was proof her heart had tied her to a crumbling legacy. She stood by her balcony, the lagoon’s ripples mirroring her unease, wondering where the accusations stemmed from, her mind racing with the stakes for her career.

At the resort’s bar, a bamboo alcove lit by lanterns, Han sipped a palm wine spritzer, the kiss’s aftershock lingering. Chidi approached, his linen suit crisp, his eyes hard with the memory of the kiss.

“Jul deserves better than your chaos, Han,” he said, his voice low, measured. “Your family’s scandals, what can you offer her?”

Han set his glass down, his jaw tight, his gaze cold, his tone surgical and venomous, a smirk curling his lips.

“You think you’re untouchable, Chidi? Your Lekki Phase 1 acquisition, your pitches to Mr. Okoye and Mrs. Adewale, your deal with Aliko’s firm. One call, and you’re off their wishlists. I know about Dubai, the secrets you’d rather keep buried. I don’t bluff. I just smile. I’m fighting for Jul, and it’s been a while since I’ve had someone worth this war. Make it fun, Chidi, if you think you can keep up.”

Chidi leaned closer, his tone heated but controlled. “I saw you kiss her, Han. You bring trouble. I love her, and I’ll fight for her with clarity.”

Han’s smirk widened, his voice a blade. “Clarity won’t save you. I’m giving her my truth.”

The air crackled, their voices low but fierce, the bar’s hum masking their clash. Chidi stepped back, his composure intact.

“She’ll choose what’s real,” he said, leaving Han staring into his drink, the threat’s weight lingering.

In Lagos, Eun-ji sat at Mama’s Café, its skyline murals dimmed by evening, the air thick with jollof rice. Across from her sat Min-soo, her ex-fiancé from Seoul, his tailored suit clashing with ankara-clad patrons.

“I’m married now,” he said, regret softening his face. “But I was wrong to cage you, Eun-ji.”

Her silver-streaked hair fell loose, her linen tunic defiant, memories of Seoul’s cold nights and his controlling grip tightening her throat.

“I left because you saw me as a prize, not a person,” she said, her voice trembling with suppressed resentment.

“I won’t let Haneul pay for our family’s chains.”

Later, from the Lagos estate, she called Han, her words urgent.

“Min-soo’s proof we can break free. Don’t let Jul suffer Mother’s control.”

Han, seated on his Calabar villa’s balcony, the ocean’s rhythm below, gripped his phone, his forex app buzzing, a wealthy distraction.

“I’ll expose her gallery deals, protect Father’s legacy,” he vowed, his rebellion a fight for freedom.

Alone in her suite, Jul continued to scroll through the Twitter thread, her fingers hovering over a draft reply, words forming and dissolving—This isn’t us, this isn’t me—before she deleted it, her heart pounding. The accusations weren’t just a scandal; they were a mirror, reflecting the cost of her ties to the Choi legacy. She set her phone down, the lagoon outside her window an anchor, and she wasn’t sure if she was sinking or standing still.

As part of the event, an investor dinner was also scheduled. The beach glowed with lanterns, laughter mingling with clinking glasses. Jul, in a white gown, stood with Chidi, his hand on her elbow as he praised her pitch, his touch tentative, shadowed by the kiss. He led her to the beach, away from the crowd, his eyes resolute.

“Juliet, I saw you with Han,” he confessed, his voice steady, the hurt buried but present in the tightness of his jaw. “It cut me, but I really like you, and I want you—despite everything. I’ll fight for you with stability.”

Jul’s chest tightened. Chidi’s steadiness should have calmed her, but tonight, it only reminded her of what she stood to lose.

“What can we do?” he added, his tone consoling, his eyes searching hers.

“I wish I could help.” She stood silent, her fingers tracing the edge of her gown, her mind wrestling with her career, her heart, and the paths before her.

“I need time,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, the waves echoing her indecision as they returned to the dinner.

Around the event ending, Han stepped out, finding Jul by the beach, the moon high, the waves a soft roar. His demeanor was calm, a stark contrast to his venomous edge with Chidi.

“I’m leaving the gallery, Jul,” he said, his voice soft, deliberate, “and Calabar, tonight. You want action, not words. I’m showing you. I want to start over with you.”

Jul’s eyes narrowed, the thread’s storm gathering.

“Did you know about the accusations against your mother? The artists, Zephyr?”

Han paused, his gaze steady, vulnerable.

“I got wind of it this morning. Eun-ji’s drama at the last event—it stirred the artists to speak out. I’ve contacted the needful, Jul. Your projects aren’t tethered to this. I made sure.”

Jul’s breath caught, his proactive clarity a contrast to Chidi’s consoling words, yet her heart wavered. Chidi offered peace. Han offered fire. But neither answer included the version of herself she hadn’t yet become.

“I need to choose me first,” she said, her voice quiet but resolute, stepping back, the waves whispering of everything she wasn’t ready to decide, leaving Han watching, his calm facade unbroken.

Back in Lagos, Madam Choi, in her office, scrolled through the Twitter thread, her face a mask of fury, her fingers pausing as if plotting her countermove, her phone buzzing with Zephyr’s demands. Eun-ji, at the estate, sketched a phoenix rising from chains, its defiance mirroring Han’s fight. The city’s pulse quickened, promising a clash where Jul’s choice, Han’s rebellion, and the Choi empire’s unraveling would collide.