The Therapist: Chapter 13

The air inside Marcus Oladipo's office was thick with tension, suffocating and charged with unspoken animosity. Victor and Claire sat across from each other, their body language screaming hostility. Victor's jaw was clenched so tight Marcus thought it might crack, while Claire's hands trembled slightly in her lap, though her expression remained defiant.

Marcus cleared his throat, trying to maintain the illusion of calm professionalism. “Let’s start today’s session by talking about what’s really on your minds.”

Victor didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing like a predator about to strike. “Let’s do that, Doctor.” His voice was dangerously smooth. “Why don’t we start with the fact that my loving wife has been sneaking around behind my back?”

Claire’s eyes widened, but she quickly recovered, her chin lifting in defiance. “You’re one to talk, Victor. How many of your business trips were really meetings with your mistresses?”

Marcus internally groaned. This was spiraling out of control faster than he anticipated. “Let’s not—”

“I’M TALKING,” Victor barked, his eyes boring into Claire. “I see you, Claire. Whispering into your phone late at night, meeting your little friend at hotels.” His lip curled in disgust. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

Claire's mask of control slipped for a brief second. “You had me followed?”

Victor smirked. “Of course, darling. Did you think you were smarter than me?”

Claire’s cheeks flushed red, but her eyes glistened with something beyond anger—fear. She glanced at Marcus, who shifted uneasily in his chair.

“Victor,” Marcus interjected carefully, “trust is—”

“Trust?” Victor cut him off, his eyes turning to Marcus now, dark and dangerous. “Funny you’d bring that up, Doctor.”

Marcus felt the ground beneath him crumble. “Victor, I—”

“I know about your little chats with Claire,” Victor sneered, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping the screen. A video began playing. Claire, leaning in close to Marcus after their session. Her voice, clear and incriminating:

"Help me get out of this marriage, and I'll make it worth your while."

Claire paled. “You bastard,” she whispered.

Marcus felt sweat bead on his forehead as Claire’s furious gaze turned to him. “Is this true, Marcus? Have you been playing me?”

Marcus scrambled for words, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Claire, listen, it’s not what you think—”

“It’s EXACTLY what she thinks,” Victor spat, standing abruptly. “You thought you could play both sides, didn’t you, Doctor? Let me tell you something—no one plays me.”

Claire stood too, her fury replacing any trace of fear. “I trusted you, Marcus. I thought you were helping me, but you were just looking out for yourself, weren’t you?”

Marcus’s mind raced for a way out, but before he could answer, a knock on the door interrupted them. A loud, ominous knock.

The blood drained from Marcus’s face.

Claire frowned. “Who is that?”

Victor folded his arms smugly. “Why don’t you open it, Doctor?”

Marcus walked to the door with heavy steps, a cold dread settling in his bones. He peeked through the blinds and saw them—Baba Jide’s enforcers. Two men in dark suits, standing by the door like wolves waiting to pounce.

Marcus turned back, his face carefully composed, but his insides were in free fall. “It’s… just some delivery,” he lied weakly.

Victor smirked knowingly. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Marcus didn’t move. His eyes darted back to Claire, who now looked between him and Victor, confusion and suspicion warring in her expression.

“Marcus?” Claire pressed. “Who’s outside?”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Every second ticked by like a countdown to disaster.

Victor stepped closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “Let me guess—Baba Jide finally got tired of waiting for his money?”

Claire’s mouth fell open in shock. “You owe Baba Jide?”

Marcus’s hands trembled slightly, but he clenched them into fists, forcing composure. “Claire, I was trying to fix this—”

Victor chuckled darkly. “Oh, I’m sure you were. Trying to fix your debt by playing me and my wife against each other. How did that work out for you?”

Marcus swallowed hard, his mind screaming for a way to diffuse the situation. “Victor, listen, we can—”

“No, YOU listen,” Victor snapped, his face inches from Marcus’s. “You’re going to fix my marriage, Doctor. And you’re going to do it on MY terms. Or I make one call, and those guys outside won’t be knocking politely next time.”

Marcus’s mouth went dry. Victor’s threats weren’t idle; he knew that now. He had underestimated him, and now he was trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

Claire looked at him with a mixture of rage and betrayal. “You’re disgusting, Marcus.” She grabbed her purse and stormed out, her heels clicking sharply against the tile floor.

Marcus watched her leave, feeling his last chance slip through his fingers.

Victor smirked one last time. “You’ll hear from me soon, Doctor. Don’t even think about skipping town.”

And just like that, he was gone too, leaving Marcus alone in the suffocating silence of his ruined office.

Outside, the black SUV revved its engine before driving away, but Marcus knew they would be back.

He collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands. The walls were closing in faster than he could handle, and he was running out of moves.