CHAPTER EIGHT
"Seven, eight, nine, ten!" I grunt as I finish the last rep of my dead-hang exercise.
Sweat drips down my abs and legs in thin rivulets. I grab a towel from the treadmill, wiping myself off as I head toward the kitchen.
My phone buzzes.
"What's up, bro? I'm here".
Ara's already inside, brewing coffee like he owns the place.
"Want some?" he asks, wiping the marble island with a paper towel.
"Not at night ." I raise a brow.
"I just need to stay alert for the ball tonight. You know some hot chicks will be there." He laughs, jabbing at my bare abs.
I toss the paper towel at his head and walk off toward the bedroom. Arin is glued to the game console, his fingers flying, his face tense.
"Don't you have better things to do?" I mutter, shaking my head before heading into my wardrobe.
I strip down, wrap a towel around my waist, and head for the shower.
"I need the laundry woman soon," I mumble at the pile of clothes.
Cold water streams down, but it doesn't cool the fire raging inside me. For hours, Ere's face and body have haunted me, every thought sharp, every desire unbearable.
Minutes later, I step out clean-shaven, sharp, and dressed in a fresh suit. My lips curl in a smug smile. My massive haul at Ere's boutique had been worth it, I wouldn't need new clothes for months.
"Ohhh, you look sharp," Arin says, munching on tangerines. Juice runs down his lips, making him look like a messy toddler.
I chuckle. At twenty-one, Arin had grown into his height and physique, but emotionally? Sixteen, at best. Dad's genes had blessed us with presence, but Arin's softness always showed. He was the baby, the gossip courier, Mama's golden boy.
"Thanks. We can leave now," I say, spraying on my richest fragrance.
Arin's eyes light up.
"Ohhh, smells nice. Can I have some?"
One look from me shuts him up. He swallows his words with the fruit.
"Never mind. We'll be downstairs," he mutters, tugging Ara with him.
Left alone, I glance at my phone, then freeze.
Ere.
Her page fills the screen, her smile radiant, golden. The algorithm had made finding her account possible, almost like fate. Tonight, she's out at a bar or a restaurant, maybe. Hard to tell. But her outfit… seductive. Too seductive.
A dark wave of jealousy slams into me. My fists clench so tightly my knuckles pale.
I need to act. Fast.
I shove the phone into my pocket and head downstairs. Ahmed is already waiting. Ara and Arin pile into the back with me, chatter spilling from Arin's mouth like a running tap. Gossip, jokes, half-truths. Ara listens with half a smile, but my mind isn't here.
The car pulls up to the venue, and I immediately regret agreeing to this circus. Flashes explode in our faces, paparazzi barking questions, lenses swallowing us whole. Security ushers us in quickly, and the air changes the moment I step inside.
The ballroom is alive with chandeliers, music, chatter, and glitter. Every year,
the families who mattered,
who ruled,
gathered here.
Wealth meeting wealth. Power sizing itself up.
I snag a tequila from a passing waiter and down it in one tilt, the burn steadying me.
"Oh, my lovelies!"
Mama's voice rings out. She approaches, elegant in every step, three women trailing at her side like offerings. And there, Ayanfe.
Mama kisses us all, glowing with pride before she turns to the girls.
"So, Arin, this is Jade. She's your age range, and I think you'll have a lot in common."
Arin practically squeals, dragging Jade off like a schoolboy on his first date.
"And Ara, this is Kitan. I believe you two will enjoy each other."
Ara nods politely, ever calm, and guides Kitan into the crowd.
And then it's just me. And Ayanfe.
Her smile is polished.
"Hello, stranger."
She slips her hand into mine, fingers warm, deliberate, tugging me toward the balcony. For privacy.
"Thank you for taking me home and being a gentleman the last time we met," she says sarcastically. She inches closer. So close I can smell the tequila on her breath.
"I wasn't able to see our discussion through the last time, family emergency. But we're here now. We can talk," I say in a neutral tone.
"One glass, please," I tell a waiter, grabbing a drink off his tray.
"Well, what do you think of my dress?" she asks, biting her lip flirtatiously.
"It's a dress," I mutter, eyes scanning for an exit.
Ayanfe is beautiful, with sleek skin and, expensive manicure. The kind of woman money grooms to perfection.
But she doesn't rattle me. She doesn't pulse through me the way Ere does. She'd be good for a one-night fuck and nothing more.
Ayanfe swirls her drink, eyes glinting in the light.
"So… this is your tactic? Brooding silence, fragrance, abs?"
My lip twitches. "If that works on you, then I'm not even trying."
She tilts her head back and laughs, throaty and unrestrained. "Confidence. I like that. But it's boring if you don't play back."
"I don't play," I say flatly, scanning the ballroom again.
"You don't play?" Her brows lift in mock shock. "Every man plays. Especially men like you.
I sip slowly, let the tequila sit on my tongue before swallowing.
"And women like you?"I ask finally, voice flat.
"We make sure men like you never get tired."
The words hang in the air. I don't respond.
She leans against the balcony rail, smirking. "Relax, Aanoni.
"I'm always relaxed" My stare cuts through her.
"Okay, I'm not here to scare you into some fairytale. Our mothers are already sketching wedding invites in their heads. But me? I just wanted to see what the hype was about."
"And?" I ask, tone dry.
She pretends to think, twirling her glass. "Not bad. Arrogant, sharp, smells expensive. Just as advertised."
I let out a humorless chuckle. "Hmm"
My brow arches. "Why are you here?"
She smirks knowingly. "Because I'm my mother's type. And apparently, so are you."
We hold each other's stare for a beat, something sharp passing between us, before she sips her drink and looks away.
She leans closer, lowering her voice like she's letting me in on a secret. "You what one thing about me?. I'm confident. I know what I want. And right now… I want you." Her words drag, slurred at the edges.
I glance at her again, eyes glassy, lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth, the tequila on her breath hitting stronger now.
"You're drunk," I say finally, voice flat.
"Wanna go somewhere else? We could go to my house," she says, her words slurring.
"I think it's time *you…..* went home," I say, turning to leave.
"You're going to leave me again? You never want to know me...….!" she whines loudly, drawing stares.
"Okay, let's go," I say through clenched teeth, pulling her a little too aggressively toward the exit.
"I see you both are hitting it off," my mother chirps, winking at Ayanfe.
"She's drunk. I'll see her home," I reply smoothly, masking irritation with gentlemanly calm.
"Awwn....,
You know during my days, before his father became all high and mighty, he would hold my hands and lead me—"
"Mum...….., we're leaving," I cut in.
Mama loves reminiscing about her romance with Father, almost like she misses those days.
"Alright, let me not keep you waiting then." She smiles at Ayanfe, adjusts her iro( traditional skirts/ bottoms for Yoruba women), and glides away.
I texted Ahmed to meet us at the exit. I guide Ayanfe into the backseat. She leans into me.
"You see? Even your mum thinks we look fabulous together," she says, running her fingers through my palm.
"My mum thinks that about anyone. " My voice is cold. My mind is elsewhere.
"Ahmed, take us to the Adebayos' house," I instruct, sliding on my shades and pulling out my phone.
"I'd love to go to your space instead," she presses, inching closer until I barely have room.
I ignore her, zoning out until we arrive.
"Thank you for bringing me home," she slurs, stumbling as she steps out.
I catch her before she falls, lift her easily, and carry her to the entrance.
"Take care. And don't drink yourself to a stupor, next time," I say, voice like stone.
I turn my back before she can reply.
"Ahmed, take me home."
The day can't end fast enough.