Brian stood outside the mansion's gate, his shirt soaked from the rain, his hands trembling as he clutched a soaked plastic bag. Inside the bag was the food he had queued two hours to buy with the little money he made delivering packages all morning. Lisa had sent him a message earlier—"Don't come home if you don't bring Jason's favorite meal."
He was tired. Hungry. Wet. And still, he obeyed.
As he stepped into the house, the sound of laughter echoed from the living room. Lisa was curled on the couch, her head resting on Jason's lap. Jason, wearing Brian's old hoodie, had his hand around her waist. Both were holding glasses of wine. The TV played loudly, but it couldn't drown out their amusement.
Brian wiped his shoes at the door and quietly placed the bag of food on the kitchen counter. He knew better than to speak unless spoken to.
"Look who finally showed up!" Lisa said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Jason laughed. "Took you long enough. Did the cheap bike break down again?"
Brian kept his head low. "I got what you asked for."
Jason got up and walked to the kitchen. He opened the plastic bag, looked inside, then frowned.
"This isn't the one I wanted," he said, shaking his head. "I said the spicy beef, not chicken."
"I asked for it at the shop, but they said—"
Jason didn't let him finish. He picked up the food and dumped it in the trash. "If you can't even get a simple order right, why are you still here?"
Lisa walked into the kitchen, heels clicking, a smirk on her face. "Brian, you had one job today. One. We've been waiting all evening for his dinner, and you brought trash."
Brian swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll go back and get another one."
Jason laughed. "With what money? You spent it all, didn't you? Oh wait—you don't have any."
Lisa walked up to Brian and gently slapped his cheek. Not hard, but humiliating. "It's okay, honey. Jason and I will order something better online. You go clean the bathroom. I think the toilet's clogged again."
Brian nodded and turned away, fists clenched.
As he stepped into the dirty bathroom, the sound of Lisa moaning with laughter behind him burned into his ears.
---
Later that night, Brian sat on the edge of the old mattress in the servants' quarters. Once, this room had been his own, back when Lisa still pretended to love him. Now, he wasn't even allowed to sleep in the guest room.
He stared at his phone screen. One message blinked: "Bank Account Balance: ₦187.25."
He sighed. He'd skipped lunch again. His stomach growled, but he didn't move. Instead, he stared at the old picture of his late mother on the small table beside him. "Mama, I'm trying. I'm still trying," he whispered.
---
The next day, Lisa's cruelty reached new levels.
"Brian," she called, tossing a bundle of laundry at his face. "I want this washed by hand. No machine. I don't trust you with it."
Brian picked up the clothes without a word.
Jason walked past him and bumped into his shoulder hard. "And don't touch my socks. You're too dirty."
Brian stared at the stairs as they disappeared into Lisa's room together.
Hours later, he stood barefoot, scrubbing the laundry in a basin behind the house, his hands red from soap and cold water.
Their voices drifted from the open window above.
"I want a divorce soon," Lisa said. "Let's humiliate him properly before we kick him out. He still thinks this is his home."
Jason laughed. "Let's throw him a 'divorce party.' Invite your friends. Let them see what a loser you married."
"I like that," she said. "Let him feel small. Then he'll finally know his place."
Brian froze. His hands stopped moving. His heart didn't.
---
A week passed.
Jason was now acting like the owner of the house. He hosted parties. Wore Brian's watches. Took selfies in the living room with Lisa hanging off his arm. And Brian? He served drinks at those parties. Cleaned up the mess. Took insults like a broken wall takes punches.
One of Lisa's friends laughed loudly at a party and asked Brian, "So are you the servant now or just the sad husband?"
Everyone laughed.
Brian forced a smile and nodded. "Just doing my best."
Jason stood up and clapped mockingly. "A round of applause for Brian! Our loyal dog."
Lisa walked over and poured wine on Brian's shirt. "Oops," she said. "Now go clean yourself. You smell poor."
Brian's jaw tightened, but he walked away.
As he stepped into the corridor, he paused in front of the mirror.
His reflection looked like a ghost—tired eyes, pale lips, shoulders slumped.
"This isn't me," he whispered.
---
Later that night, Jason came downstairs, looking drunk and proud. He saw Brian mopping the wine-stained floor and smirked.
"Hey, man," he said, placing a hand on Brian's shoulder. "I gotta thank you. Without you, I wouldn't have met Lisa."
Brian turned his head slightly.
"You're the stepping stone. You get that, right?" Jason said. "Some people are born to shine. Some are born to serve. You? You're the second type. Don't ever forget that."
Jason patted his cheek like a dog.
And walked away.
---
Brian sat in the garden afterward, the stars hidden behind clouds. The air smelled of flowers and fake perfume.
His phone buzzed.
Message from Mr. Zhang: "Are you still interested in the job offer? Your interview is next week. Let me know."
Brian stared at the message. His fingers hovered.
He typed back: "Yes. I'll be there."
Then he opened another message. This one from his lawyer friend.
"Documents ready. Whenever you say go."
Brian looked up at the house, the lights glowing from Lisa's room. Her laughter echoed again. But his face didn't change.
He whispered to the air, "Keep laughing. The storm's close."