One deadly condition in his late father’s will.

No wife, no company, no luxury.

Obina had money, power, and pride.

But he had one problem.

He couldn’t find a woman he trusted.

So, he did the unthinkable.

He offered his maid to pretend to be his fianceé.

It was supposed to be a business deal until the living room was spacious, modern, and aggressively beige.

Everything inside it looked expensive, like it was bought to impress visitors, not to comfort human beings.

The chairs were stiff.

The curtains were heavy.

The rugs looked like they had never seen real feet.

Even the air felt controlled, like it knew it was not allowed to misbehave.

A massive flat screen television dominated one wall, black and silent like a judge.

A staircase with chrome railings spiraled up to the second floor, shining under the ceiling lights like a warning.

This was a serious house for a serious man.

Obina was a serious man.

He liked order.

He liked silence.

He liked things to be exactly where he left them.

Unfortunately for Obina, his housemate, Chica, did not share his appreciation for silence.

Chica stood in the middle of the living room with a broom clutched in her hands like a microphone.

Her skirt swayed around her legs.

Her braided hair bounced as she moved.

The music in her head was loud.

The beat was thumping sweet and infectious.

She wasn’t just sweeping.

She was performing.

She dipped low, knees bending like she was on a stage.

She shimmyed her shoulders.

She tossed her braided hair back.

She thrust the broom handle forward like she was singing to a stadium full of screaming fans.

She spun around, eyes closed, lost in her own world.

She was no longer Chica the housemaid.

She was Chica the superstar.

“Hey, hey,” she shouted, carried away by the imaginary chorus.

She shook her waist, sweeping the dust into a pile.

Then, because she was too deep in the rhythm, she kicked it back out again with a dance step.

The dust scattered like it also wanted to dance.

Obino walked down the stairs.

He stopped halfway.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a beard that was always perfectly trimmed.

Even when he was tired, his beard still looked like it had an appointment.

He wore a fitted white t-shirt that showed he didn’t joke with Jim.

He held a bottle of water in one hand.

His face looked like a man who had woken up, ready to fight the world, only to find the world was currently singing into a broom inside his living room.

He watched her for a moment.

He watched her gyate.

He watched her sing into the broom.

He watched her turn his expensive living room into a nightclub.

“Chica,” he said.

His voice was deep, calm, but edged with irritation.

the kind of irritation that had been sitting down since morning, but was now standing up.

Chica didn’t hear him.

She was in the middle of a high note.

She threw her head back like she was auditioning for a music video.

“Chica!” Obina barked.

The spell broke.

Chica jumped, her eyes snapping open.

She spun around too fast and nearly tripped over the broom.

Then she saw Obina standing on the stairs, looking down at her like a judge about to pass sentence.

Hey, Chica exclaimed, clutching her chest.

Ogre, you scare me.

Obina slowly walked down the remaining stairs and stepped onto the rug.

What are you doing? He asked.

Is this what I pay you for? To turn my house into a disco? Chica adjusted her skirt, trying to regain her dignity.

She glanced at the floor, then at the broom, then back at him.

Oh, go sir, she said quickly.

I just I sweep, then the spirit enter me.

Oena blinked once, then twice.

The spirit, he repeated flatly.

The spirit of what? Unemployment.

God forbid, sir, Chica exclaimed, waving her hand over her head.

I just I go market and I hear one song.

The song sweet well well.

So as I day sweep, the song just enter my head.

O rubbed his temples.

A headache was building behind his eyes, slow and steady like traffic on third mainland bridge.

He had a meeting in 2 hours.

His late father’s lawyers had been calling him like Neper Bill, persistent and disrespectful.

And now he was standing in his living room discussing imaginary music with his maid.

“So this is what you do when I’m not around?” he asked.

“You throw parties?” “No party, sir,” Chica said.

She looked genuinely apologetic, though her eyes still carried that playful spark like she was not fully ashamed.

“Only me one.

Just small exercise.

” exercise,” Obina muttered.

He looked at the dust scattered across the floor.

“Look at this place.

It’s a mess.

You are spreading the dirt, not cleaning it.

I go clean them sharp sharp, sir,” Chica promised immediately, switching to frantic sweeping.

The rhythm vanished.

Her movement became choppy and nervous like she was fighting the floor.

“Stop,” Obina said.

Chica froze, broom midair.

“Sir, just stop.

Chica’s mouth opened like she wanted to explain again, but nothing came out.

Obina stared at her the way a tired teacher stares at the most stubborn student in class.

“Hold your ears,” he said.

Chica blinked.

“Sir, you heard me.

Hold your ears.

Squat down.

” It was a childish punishment.

Something from primary school.

Oena knew it was childish, but he was tired.

And sometimes tired people do foolish things just to feel they still have control over something.

Chica hesitated.

Then she dropped the broom, reached up, grabbed her earlobes, and squatted down.

She looked ridiculous.

She looked like a giant confused child who had been caught stealing meat from soup.

Aubina folded his arms.

“Let this never repeat itself again,” he said, towering over her.

“Do you hear me?” “Yes, sir,” Chica squeaked.

“What did I say?” You say, you say read this, Reva, Chica stumbled, her English abandoning her like a bad friend.

Obina’s irritation rose.

What did I say? He demanded louder.

Before Chica could butcher the language further, the front door swung open.

Guy, take it easy now.

Obina looked up.

His younger brother, Nanso, walked in like the world was his stage.

Nonso was the opposite of Oena in almost every way.

Where Oena was sharp and controlled, Nonso was soft and free.

Where Oena liked silence, Nonso liked noise, music, laughter, people, life.

Nonso wore dreadlocks tipped with gold beads.

He wore a loose, colorful shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest like he was allergic to buttons.

His smile was dangerous because it could talk its way out of a murder charge.

Nonso dropped his bag and walked over, shaking his head.

Ah! Ah! Obina, you want to kill the girl? Free her now.

Obina pointed at him.

“You were standing there watching her.

” Nono laughed.

“I was enjoying the show.

She was dancing beautifully.

Better than the stiff moves you do when you finally enter club.

” Chica looked up from her squat.

A small shy smile touched her lips.

She liked Nono.

Nonso was fun.

Nono didn’t punish people like principal.

Stand up, Obina told her, tired of the whole drama.

Take your things and go to the kitchen.

Chica quickly stood up, rubbing her knees.

Thank you, sir, she said fast.

Then she turned to Nonso and added politely, “Welcome, sir.

” She did a quick curtsy, grabbed her broom and dustpan, and almost ran out of the room.

Her oversized skirt swished around her legs like it was also escaping.

Obina let out a long breath and collapsed onto the blue velvet sofa.

He rubbed his face with both hands.

Nonso sat on the arm of the sofa like he owned it.

You need to relax, bro.

Nonso said.

You’re too tight.

One day you will snap.

I don’t have time to relax.

Orina replied.

The deadline is coming up.

The lawyers called again.

Nono’s smile faded slightly.

The will? Obena nodded.

The will? Nonso sighed.

That thing is wicked.

The man is dead and still controlling you.

It’s his legacy.

Obina said voice low.

He wanted family men running the business.

Responsible men.

He shot a look at Nono’s dreadlocks.

Nonso lifted his hands like surrender.

Hey, I’m responsible in my own way.

We have three weeks.

Obina said.

Three weeks to Christmas.

Nonso chewed his lip.

So he shrugged.

Go and propose to Bernice.

She has been waiting since dinosaur age.

Hobena’s face tightened like someone squeezed a lemon into his eyes.

Bernice, he muttered.

Bernice is complicated.

She is highmaintenance.

Nonso corrected.

But she fits the profile.

Classy, educated, looks good in photos.

Just put ring, sign papers, unlock inheritance.

Simple.

It’s not that simple, Oena said.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Outside, Logos was alive.

Traffic crawled, horns screamed.

The city breathed and sweated and fought.

Obina stared at his reflection in the glass.

He saw a successful man, a powerful man.

A man who was about to lose everything because he could not produce a wife like it was a document.

“I can’t just marry anybody,” he said quietly.

“I have to live with the person.

” “You’re running out of time,” Nono said softly.

If you don’t find wife, we lose everything.

House, cars, company.

You’ll be on the street.

Oena swallowed.

The thought sat heavy in his chest.

Then from the kitchen, there was a loud crash.

A metal pot hit the floor with an angry clatter.

“Jesus!” Oena muttered.

“Chica, sorry, sir.

” Chica’s voice floated back loud and unapologetic.

The pot slipped from my hand.

He get oil for body.

Nonso chuckled.

She is a character.

She is a migraine.

Obina corrected.

A walking, dancing, pigeon speaking migraine.

But even as he said it, something about his voice softened because the truth was the house did not feel as cold when Chica was inside it.

The restaurant was dimly lit and smelled like expensive perfume and truffle oil.

It was the kind of place where the menu didn’t have prices because if you had to ask, you shouldn’t be there.

Obina sat across from Bernice.

Bernice was beautiful, objectively speaking, the kind of beauty that looked like it had a budget.

Her wig was laid to perfection.

Her makeup was flawless.

Her dress probably cost more than Chica’s yearly salary.

She was typing furiously on her phone, long acrylic nails clicking like tiny hammers.

Babe, Oena said.

One sec, Bernice replied without looking up.

I’m closing deal for this hair.

Peruvian raw donor, double drawn, very exclusive.

Obina waited.

He sipped his wine slowly.

He looked around at the other couples.

They seemed happy, or at least they were pretending well.

Bernice finally dropped her phone face down and flashed him a bright, practiced smile.

“So, did you see the link I sent you?” “The link?” Obina asked for Dubai trip.

Bernice said Christmas in Dubai.

All the girls are going to ch everybody.

We need to book now before prices go up.

Obina sighed.

Bernice, we need to talk about us.

About the future.

Bernice’s eyes lit up like someone turned on ring light.

The future? She gasped.

Oh my god.

Obina, are you are you finally doing it? Her eyes dropped to his hand, then to his pocket, like she was searching for a ring box the way hungry people search for meat in soup.

“Not exactly,” Obina said.

“I mean, yes, I want to get married.

I have to get married.

” Bernice’s face changed.

“You have to?” she repeated slowly.

“Why do you have to?” Obina cleared his throat.

“My father’s will.

I need to be settled by Christmas.

” Benise laughed.

It was sharp, brittle.

Ah, so it’s business transaction, she said.

You need wife to unlock bank account.

It’s not like that.

Obina lied quickly.

It’s just timing align.

We’ve dated for 2 years.

It makes sense.

It makes sense, Bernice repeated.

She picked up her wine glass and swirled it like she was doing a rich auntie audition.

Okay, let’s say I agree.

What’s the budget? Obina frowned.

Budget for wedding.

Obina, Bernice said like she was explaining ABC to a child.

I need destination wedding Santorini or maybe Lake Ko.

I need designer dress, two receptions, one here, one abroad, and the ring.

It has to be at least three carats.

Yellow diamond.

Oena stared at her.

He saw her lips moving, but all he heard was a cash register.

Chuching, chuching.

Bernice, he said carefully.

We have three weeks.

We can’t plan destination wedding in 3 weeks.

We’d have to do something small, private, civil registry.

Then maybe traditional blessing.

Benise slammed her glass down.

Wine sloshed over the rim.

Small, she snapped.

Private? Are you mad? Do you know who I am? I’m an influencer, Oina.

My wedding is content.

My wedding is brand.

I cannot have small wedding.

God forbid.

It’s about the marriage, not the wedding, Oena tried.

For you, maybe.

Bernice hissed.

For me, image is everything.

If you cannot give me wedding of the century, don’t waste my time.

She picked up her phone again and started typing.

In fact, she said without looking up, I’m going to buy with or without you.

Transfer money for ticket tonight.

Something cold settled in Oena’s chest.

It wasn’t heartbreak.

It was clarity.

He watched Bernice.

Beautiful, shiny, empty.

A woman who loved the idea of him, but not him, he swallowed.

Then he said quietly, “No.

” Bernice stopped typing and looked up slowly.

“Excuse me?” “No,” Oena repeated firmer.

“I’m not transferring money, and I’m not marrying you.

” Bisa’s mouth opened.

Her face froze like her brain needed time to load.

You You’re breaking up with me now before Christmas.

I think it was best, Obina said, signaling the waiter.

Bill, please.

Bernice stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor loudly.

You will regret this, she hissed.

You will never find anyone like me.

You will die lonely and poor.

Oena looked up at her calmly.

I’ll take my chances.

Bernice stormed out, heels clicking on marble like gunshots.

People stared.

Orbina didn’t care.

He paid the bill, left a generous tip, and walked out into the humid Lagos night.

He felt free, but freedom came with fear because now he was single, and the clock was still running.

The next morning, Obina sat at his dining table, staring into a cup of black coffee like the coffee had answers.

His head throbbed.

The reality of his situation settled overnight like hmet dust, silent but heavy.

Nono came down the stairs whistling.

He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and took a loud bite.

Morning boss man.

Nonso said.

Where’s the misses? Did you pop question? We broke up.

Oena replied.

Nono choked.

He coughed hard thumping his chest.

What broke up? Why? She wanted a circus not a marriage.

Obina said.

She wanted Santorini in 3 weeks.

Yellow diamond.

Two receptions.

Nonso shrugged after swallowing.

Standard.

That’s benise for you.

But Obina, the will.

What are you going to do? Obina leaned back and exhaled.

I don’t know.

He admitted.

Maybe I’ll just let board take over.

I can start my own company.

With what capital? Nono asked.

You forget dad tied up your assets too.

You lose company.

You lose access to trust.

Oena groaned and dropped his head on the table like a man.

surrendering.

Just then, Chica walked in.

She wore a faded t-shirt that said, “I love NY and a wrapper tied around her waist.

” She carried a mop and bucket.

“Good morning, sir.

” She chirped like nothing happened yesterday.

She was humming again, low and steady.

She started mopping near the dining table.

Her movement was strange, jerky, like she was fighting the tiles and winning.

Obina lifted his head and watched her.

Her face was bare.

No makeup, no lashes, just simple, real features and bright eyes.

He watched her braids.

He listened to her humming.

She was annoying.

She was unrefined.

She was village, but she was there, a woman, single, most likely, and she needed money.

A crazy idea crept into a bin’s mind.

It was a terrible idea.

A desperate idea.

The kind of idea that grows in the mind of a man who hasn’t slept well.

Chica, Oina called.

Chica stopped mopping.

Sir, come here.

Chica approached carefully.

I no break anything today, sir.

I promise.

Sit down, Oena said, pointing to the chair opposite him.

Chica looked at the chair.

White leather.

Then she looked at her wrapper.

Sir, my cloth dirty small.

Sit.

Obina commanded.

Chica sat on the edge like she was ready to run.

Nonso frowned.

Oena, what are you doing? Obina ignored him and looked at Chica.

How much do I pay you? 30,000 naira, sir.

Chica replied.

And do you like money? Chica’s eyes widened.

Ah, ogre.

Who know like money? Money now fine thing.

Obina leaned forward.

What if I told you I can give you 500,000 naira? Chica gasped and covered her mouth.

500,000 ogre you want make I kill person.

No, Obina said.

I don’t want you to kill anybody.

I want you to do a job for me.

Which kind job? Chica asked suspicious now.

I know they do bad thing.

Oh, my mama warned me.

It’s not a bad thing.

Obina said slowly.

He inhaled.

I need you to pretend.

Pretend? Yes, I need you to pretend to be my fianceé.

Silence fell.

Nonso dropped his halfeaten apple.

It rolled across the table and fell to the floor.

Chica stared at Obina like he had lost his mind.

She blinked.

Then she threw her head back and laughed.

Ogre, are you too funny? She cackled.

Me? Your fiance looking like this? She pointed at her faded shirt like it was evidence.

You dare whine me? I’m serious, Obina said.

Chica’s laughter died.

She studied his face.

You serious? Dead serious, Obina replied.

I need a wife for Christmas just for a few weeks to show my family secure inheritance.

After that, we go our separate ways.

You get money, I get company.

Chica looked at Nono like she wanted him to confirm the joke.

Nonso looked like he was watching a car crash in slow motion.

But oka Chica whispered voice dropping I know Sabi speak big English I know Sabi wear heel I be village girl I know Obina said that’s why we will fix you up hair clothes everything your name too chica swallowed’s eyes stayed on her you won’t be chica anymore when we are outside he said you will be Olivia Ollie via Chica Chica tested.

The name felt heavy in her mouth like foreign food.

200,000.

Obina repeated.

Cash.

Chica’s mind went to her village, to her family, to leaking roof, to school fees, to hungry faces, to prayers.

200,000 was not small money.

She looked at Obina.

He was handsome, even with his stress.

And for the first time, she saw something else behind his strict face.

Fear.

Pressure.

A man cornered.

Okay, Chica said slowly.

I go do um Obina exhaled like a man who had been holding his breath for weeks.

Good, he said.

We start today.

Nonso picked his apple from the floor, stared at it like it offended him, then muttered.

This is going to be a disaster.

The boutique was blindingly white.

Mirrors covered every wall, reflecting endless racks of silk, chiffon, satin.

The sales assistants were tall, slim, and looked at Chica the way people look at mosquito.

Like, how did you enter here? When Obina walked in with Chica, the temperature dropped.

Chica was still wearing rapper and t-shirt.

She looked like she took wrong turn on her way to market.

Good afternoon, sir, one sales girl said, ignoring Chica completely.

How may we help you? I need complete wardrobe for her, Oena said, gesturing to Chica.

Dresses, shoes, bags, everything.

size 10.

The sales girl glanced at Chica like she was checking if Oena was joking.

Chica smiled and waved politely.

Good afternoon, auntie.

The sales girl didn’t smile back.

This way, sir.

For the next 3 hours, Oena sat on a plush ottoman while Chica tried on clothes.

It was painful.

Not because she wasn’t pretty, but because she didn’t know how to be still inside beauty.

She came out in a tight red cocktail dress, walking like she was marching into battle.

“No,” Obina said immediately.

“Too aggressive.

” Chica pouted and went back.

She came out in a flowing floral maxi dress and did a small twirl, excited like a child.

“No,” Obina said.

“Too beachy.

” Chica hissed under her breath and returned.

Then she came out in a sleek black jumpsuit.

It hugged her curves gently.

It fitted her waist.

It made her legs look longer.

Chica stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes widened.

She touched the fabric like she was touching a new life.

This one, she whispered.

You fine? Oena’s gaze stayed on her.

For the first time, he truly saw her body shape under all that rapper and oversized house clothes.

Not in a dirty way, just in a surprised way.

Like a man realizing a familiar thing has been beautiful all along.

Turn around, Obina said.

Chica turned.

Obina cleared his throat.

Well take it, he said.

And the green one and white blouse and those heels.

Chica’s face panicked.

Ogre heels hyo.

I go fall.

You will learn.

Obina replied.

Olivia wears heels.

Next was the salon.

The smell of burning hair and spray filled the air.

Chica sat in the chair like a prisoner awaiting judgment as three women fussed over her head.

They braided her natural hair down, glued a lace front wig.

The wig was long, curly, expensive.

Then came the makeup artist.

Foundation, contour, lashes that looked like they could sweep floor by themselves.

When they finally spun the chair to face the mirror, Chica gasped.

A stranger stared back.

A posh woman.

An expensive woman.

A woman that looked like Mollywood.

Who be this? Chica whispered, touching her cheek.

Obina stood behind her.

“That,” he said, “is Olivia.

” He watched her reflection.

The transformation shook him.

Chica turned slowly, staring at herself like she was seeing a new person.

“Og she whispered, voice full of wonder.

” “I find eye,” Obina tried to hide his reaction.

“You look acceptable,” he said.

Chica scoffed.

“Aceptible, Ogre.

I fine pass Beyonce.

Oena pointed a warning finger.

Don’t speak too much, he said.

Rule when we’re outside.

Minimal talking.

Nod, smile.

Speak only when necessary.

And no pigeon.

Chica nodded quickly, trying her posh voice.

Yes, sir.

Yes, Oina.

It sounded forced, but she tried.

And that effort somehow touched something small inside him because Chica didn’t just want money.

She wanted to do well.

She wanted to carry the role.

And for a man who had lived his whole life carrying responsibilities alone, that mattered.

The drive out of Lagos felt like escaping a cage.

Obina drove with both hands tight on the steering wheel, his jaw locked the whole time.

The traffic reduced slowly as they left the city, but the tension in the car did not reduce with it.

If anything, it grew.

Chica sat in the passenger seat like a doll that was not sure if it was allowed to blink.

Her new clothes felt too clean for her skin.

Her wig felt like it was sitting on her head with attitude.

Even the perfume Oena sprayed on her earlier felt like it was judging her from inside her paws.

She kept adjusting her seat belt, scared she would wrinkle the black jumpsuit.

Oena glanced at her once.

Stop touching your clothes.

Chica froze.

Sorry, sir.

Obina sighed.

Don’t call me sir.

Chica swallowed.

Sorry.

Obina.

Obina nodded slightly.

Like that was better.

They drove for a while in silence, only the low hum of the engine and the soft sound of air conditioner filling the car.

Then Aina spoke again like a teacher revising a student before exam.

Remember, he said, you are Olivia.

Chica nodded quickly.

Yes, you studied in the UK.

Yes, you work as an interior design consultant, Chica repeated carefully.

Interior design consultant.

We met at an art gallery.

Art gallery, Chica said.

Where they draw picture.

Oena’s eyes flicked to her.

Warning.

Paintings.

Paintings.

She corrected fast.

You like jazz music? Chica nodded too much.

Jazz? Yes.

You don’t eat spicy food.

Chica’s face squeezed.

But Oena, Olivia doesn’t eat spicy food.

He cut in.

Chica sighed.

Yes, Olivia.

Olivia has an ulcer.

Chica blinked.

Ulcer.

Yes.

So if anybody offers you pepper soup or hot stew, you smile and say your stomach is sensitive.

Chica nodded again.

Sensitive stomach.

Oena’s voice got lower.

My mother is not smiling woman.

Chica sat up straighter.

She has eyes like hawk.

Obina continued.

If you slip, she will know.

I know.

Go slip, Chica promised, then quickly changed it.

I will not slip.

Obina nodded, but his face still looked worried.

They passed the welcome to Ibadan sign later.

Chica looked out the window as the scenery changed.

Logos noise was far behind them now.

The roads felt calmer.

The air felt different.

Even the sunlight looked softer.

But her chest still felt tight.

Obina, she called quietly.

Yes.

What if your mama like me? Oena’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

She will like you if you perform well.

Chica swallowed hard.

And if I perform bad, Oena didn’t answer quickly.

Then he said quietly, “Then we are finished.

The words landed on Chica’s heart like stone.

She stared forward again, silent.

After some time, the estate appeared.

Not just a house, a compound, tall gate, high fence, security men with straight faces.

Even the trees looked like they were employed.

Obina slowed down as they drove in.

Chica’s eyes widened.

Jesus, she whispered.

this place big pass church.

Obina glanced at her sharply.

Chica immediately cleared her throat and sat properly again like Olivia.

The car rolled to a stop in front of a massive building that looked like money had built it with pride.

Two floors, wide balconies, big pillars, a fountain in front, water dancing like it was doing small prayer.

Oena parked.

He didn’t move immediately.

Instead, he turned and looked at Chica.

“Ready?” he asked.

Chica’s throat was dry, but she nodded.

Ready? Obina stepped out first, walked around, and opened her door.

He stretched his hand to her.

Chica stared at his hand.

His hand was warm, strong, a big man’s hand.

She placed her hand on his palm, and the moment their skin touched, something ran through her like electricity.

She tried to ignore it, but her heart did not obey.

Obina held her hand firmly and guided her out.

“Remember,” he whispered.

“Minimal talking, smile, no pigeon.

” Chica nodded.

“Yes.

” They walked toward the front door.

Before they could knock, the door opened.

And there she was, Mrs.

Ibuka.

She was short, stout, and her presence filled the space like thunder.

Her gel rose high on her head like a crown.

Her wrapper was bright and expensive, and her gold jewelry clinkedked when she moved.

When she saw Oena, her face lit up.

“Oena,” she cried, opening her arms wide.

“Mama,” Obina said, stepping into her embrace.

She hugged him tight like she had been saving that hug in her chest.

Then she pulled back and looked at Chica.

Not with hatred, not with friendliness, with inspection, from wig to lashes, from jumpsuit to shoes, from nails to posture.

Her eyes moved slow and sharp.

Chica held her breath and stood straight, sucking in her stomach like it would help.

“And who is this?” Mrs.

Ibuka asked, her voice calm but full of power.

Obina squeezed Chica’s hand.

“Mama,” he said.

This is Olivia, my fianceé.

Chica forced her best smile.

“Good afternoon, Ma,” she said, careful, soft, controlled.

Mrs.

Ibuka stared at her for two long seconds.

Then, suddenly, her face opened into a wide smile.

“My daughter,” she exclaimed, grabbing Chica into a hug.

Chica almost staggered.

Mrs.

Ibuka smelled like expensive perfume in authority.

“Oh, she is beautiful,” Mrs.

Ibuka said loudly.

Oh, you did well.

Finally.

Chica relaxed a little inside the hug, shocked.

Then she hugged the woman back gently.

From the hallway, another voice appeared.

Olivia.

Nonso stepped forward holding a glass of juice.

The moment he saw Chica’s face, he did a double take like his eyes had to rewind.

His brows lifted, his mouth twitched.

He knew.

He recognized her even under the wig and makeup.

He recognized the body under the expensive clothes.

He almost laughed, but he controlled himself.

“Wow,” Nono said slowly.

“Welcome to the family.

” He winked at Oena like a goat.

“Nice upgrade, bro.

” Oena’s eyes shot warning at him.

Nonso smiled innocently.

Mrs.

Ibuka clapped her hands happily.

“Come, come inside.

food is ready,” she said, pulling them in.

“Olivia, I hope you are hungry.

I made a fun soup.

” Chica’s eyes lit up by mistake.

“A fang!” she almost shouted.

Obina pinched her arm sharply.

Chica’s smile froze.

“I mean,” she said quickly, switching into the fake accent.

“That sounds delightful, but not too spicy, I hope.

My tummy is sensitive.

” “Nonso” coughed into his juice to hide his laughter.

sensitive tummy,” he repeated under his breath.

“Mrs.

Ibuka laughed like she liked drama.

” “Don’t worry, my daughter,” she said.

“We will manage you.

” They walked deeper into the mansion.

Chica kept smiling, but her knees were shaking inside her heels.

The performance had begun.

The dining room looked like royalty lived there.

crystal glasses, gold cutlery, plates that looked too fine to carry ordinary food.

The chandelier above them shone like it was proud of itself.

Chica sat beside Oena, her back straight.

She kept staring at the cutlery like it was about to insult her.

Nono sat opposite them, grinning like a boy who already knew the ending of the movie.

Beside Nonso sat a young woman, slender and quiet with calm eyes.

This is Beatatrice, Nono said proudly.

My fiance.

Beatatrice smiled softly.

Nice to meet you.

Chica nodded carefully.

Nice to meet you, too.

The food came out.

Steaming bowls, meat, rice, chicken, soup, pounded yam.

The smell entered Chica’s head like temptation.

Her stomach betrayed her and rumbled loudly.

Mrs.

Ibuka laughed.

Ah, the stomach agrees, she said.

Eat, my daughter.

Eat.

Chica smiled politely and picked up her fork.

She tried to cut meat with knife and fork like she had been trained.

But the meat was stubborn.

It slid across the plate like it was running away.

Chica chased it with her fork, sweating quietly.

Nonso watched her like cinema.

So Olivia, Nono said, voice innocent.

Obina says you studied in the UK.

Which university? Chica froze.

Obina never give her the name.

Her mind went blank like power outage.

Um, Chica stalled.

The the University of London.

Oh, really? Beatric said, perking up.

I studied at UCL.

University College London.

Is that the one? Chica’s eyes widened.

Yes, she said quickly.

That one? UCL? Very nice place.

Plenty books.

Oena choked on his water.

He coughed, then forced a smile.

“Yes, plenty books.

Libraries are famous there.

” Nono’s grin widened.

“And your interior design work?” he continued, refusing to rest.

“What’s your style? Minimalist? Contemporary?” Chica stared at him.

“Minimalist? Contemporary?” She looked at Obina for help.

Obina was suddenly very interested in his water.

Chica’s brain ran fast.

“My style,” she repeated, then looked around the dining room.

She pointed slightly with her fork.

I like big things, she said slowly.

Gold, flashy, like this house.

Very fine.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s face lit up with pride.

You have good taste, she said.

I decorated this house myself.

Chica smiled quickly.

Yes, Ma.

Very beautiful.

We have same taste.

Mrs.

Ibuka nodded happily, enjoying that.

Then she looked at Obina.

I like her, she announced suddenly.

She is real, not like those plastic girls you used to date.

That Bernice girl.

Tufiqua.

Oena’s face tightened at the mention of Bernice.

Nonso muttered under his breath.

Real like yam.

Chica kicked him under the table.

Nonso yelped.

Mrs.

Ibuka snapped her head toward him.

What is it? She asked.

Nonso forced a smile and rubbed his shin.

Nothing, mama.

Mosquito.

Mosquito for dining room.

Mrs.

Ibuka hissed.

You will not respect yourself.

They continued eating.

Chica managed to survive without spilling soup on her expensive clothes, which felt like a miracle.

She answered questions with vague statements and smiles.

She laughed politely.

She tried to chew slowly like rich people.

But inside her head she was panicking because one wrong word could destroy everything.

By the time dessert came, Mrs.

Ibuka was fully charmed.

She cut cake and spoke with seriousness.

Obina, she said, the lawyer is coming on Christmas day.

Your father’s instruction is clear.

The condition must be confirmed.

Obina’s eyes darkened slightly.

Yes, mama.

Mrs.

Ibuka turned to Nonso too.

And you? She said, I hope you are serious with Beatatrice.

Your father made the condition for both of you.

Responsibility.

Nonso nodded, but his smile was smaller now.

Yes, mama.

Chica watched them.

She watched the pressure.

She watched the weight on Oena’s shoulders.

For the first time, she understood properly.

This was not just acting for money.

This was his life.

Later that night, a maid led Oena and Chica to the guest room.

When the door opened, Chica froze.

One room, one bed, big bed, king-size.

Chica stood at the entrance like a thief that entered the wrong house.

Ogre, she whispered.

“One bed.

” Oena removed his jacket and sighed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.

” Chica shook her head quickly.

“No, you take bed.

You be big man.

” Obina frowned.

“Don’t be ridiculous.

” Chica swallowed.

I used a floor.

No problem.

Obina stared at her annoyed and slightly disturbed by how normal she said it.

You’re playing my fianceé, he said.

You sleep on bed.

They argued quietly for some minutes until they found solution.

Pillows.

Many pillows.

They built a wall down the middle of the bed like it was a border.

Chica stared at the pillow wall proudly.

See, she said, no crossing.

Obina gave her a tired look.

Good night, Olivia.

Chica turned to her side.

Good night, Oena.

The lights went off.

Darkness filled the room, but sleep did not come quickly.

Obina stared at the ceiling.

Chica stared at the pillow wall like it could move.

Their hearts were beating too loudly for a quiet room.

One day down, few more to go.

The next morning, Chaos arrived in a pair of 6-in heels.

Chica was in the kitchen helping Mrs.

Ibuka cut vegetables.

At first, she tried to stay in Olivia mode, but the kitchen was different.

The kitchen felt like home.

The kitchen smelled like real life, and Mrs.

Ibuka was surprisingly warm there, talking and laughing.

So, Chica relaxed without noticing.

She laughed loudly as she chopped onions with speed and skill.

Mrs.

As Ibuka washed her hands, “You chop fast.

” Oh, she said, “For UK girl, you know kitchen well.

” Chica smiled proudly.

Then she slipped.

“Aha,” she said.

“Now survival person must whack.

” Mrs.

Ibuka paused sharply.

“Whack,” she repeated.

Chica’s eyes widened.

Her heart jumped.

Before she could explain, the doorbell rang.

Then voices rose in the hallway.

High voice, sharp voice, angry voice.

Get out of my way.

I need to see him.

Obina came down the stairs quickly.

Nonso followed behind him, already suspicious.

Chica and Mrs.

Ibuka stepped out of the kitchen.

And there she was, Bernice, standing in the hallway like trouble.

She wore a dress that was barely legal.

Sunglasses indoors.

Her face was tight with anger.

Bernice, Oena said.

What are you doing here? I came to get my things.

I heard you were in town and I just couldn’t miss out on the fun.

Bernice screamed.

I left my charger in your car and I came to tell your mother what a fraud you are.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s brows lifted.

Fraud? Bernice pushed past Aena like she owned the place.

Then she stopped when she saw Chica.

Chica was in a simple house dress now, apron tied around her waist.

She still held a knife because she was cutting onions.

Bernice looked at her like she saw a rat inside a boutique.

“Who is this?” Bernice asked, sneering.

“The new maid?” Mrs.

Ibuka stepped forward.

“Excuse me, this is Olivia Oena’s fiance.

” Bernice’s jaw dropped.

She removed her sunglasses slowly and stared.

Then she burst into laughter.

It was loud, cruel.

fiance.

She mocked this thing.

She pointed at Chica.

Obina, are you mad? You replaced me with this village rat.

Obina’s voice went low.

Watch your mouth.

Oh, please.

Bernice snapped.

Look at her.

She smells of onions and poverty.

Olivia, her name is probably in Kchi.

Chica’s grip tightened on the knife handle.

Not because she wanted to stab anybody, but because rage entered her body like hot pepper.

Oena stepped closer to Chica quietly like protection.

“Benise, leave,” he said.

“Now.

” Bernice tilted her head.

“Or what? You will unleash your pet on me?” She walked closer to Chica.

“Hey girl,” Benise said, smiling wickedly.

“How much did he pay you? 5,000? 10,000?” Chica took one step forward.

Her accent dropped fully.

Auntie, she said, voice thick and serious.

If you know comet for here now, I go change your destiny.

Benise gasped dramatically.

Did you hear her? Did you hear that English? Mrs.

Ibuka’s voice cut through calm but deadly.

I heard her, she said.

And I like it.

Benise turned shocked.

Mrs.

Ibuka, you can’t be serious.

She is nobody.

She is the woman my son chose, Mrs.

Ibuka replied.

And she is in my kitchen helping me cook.

When did you ever lift one finger in this house, Bernice? You only come to eat and complain.

Bernice’s face went red.

She turned to Oena.

Obina, are you going to let them talk to me like this? Obina walked to Chica.

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Chica looked up at him, shocked.

His hand stayed there firm.

His voice stayed calm.

Bernice, he said, this is my woman.

She is worth 10 of you.

Now get out before I call security.

Bernice stared at them.

Chica Oena.

Mrs.

Ibuka.

Nonso watching quietly like a referee.

Bernice realized she had lost the room.

Fine, she spat.

Enjoy your gutter life.

She turned and stormed out, heels sounding like anger on tile.

The door slammed.

Silence followed.

Chica breathed out slowly.

Sorry, Ma.

Chica said, voice softer.

I vexed small.

Mrs.

Ibuka stared at her, then smiled.

Not a fake smile.

A real one.

My daughter, she said, touching Chica’s cheek.

I have wanted to tell that girl off for 2 years.

You did well.

Very well.

Chica’s eyes widened.

Mrs.

Ibuka turned and walked back to the kitchen like nothing happened.

Obina remained standing close to Chica.

His arm was still around her waist.

He looked down at her with a strange softness.

change her destiny? He asked a small smile trying to break out.

Chica giggled, embarrassment entering.

She too make mouth.

I forb you were brave.

Obina said quietly.

Thank you.

Chica’s eyes softened too.

You defend me.

Obina nodded.

Yes.

Chica swallowed.

Thank you, Ogre.

Obina’s gaze deepened.

Oena,” he corrected softly.

“Call me Obina.

” Chica’s voice dropped.

“Oena.

” For a moment, they just stood there.

The air between them felt charged, like something was waking up.

Chica broke it first, stepping back quickly.

“I I better go cut onions,” she stammered.

Obina cleared his throat, voice rough.

“Yeah, onions.

” Chica rushed to the kitchen.

Obina watched her go like he didn’t trust his own eyes.

2 days later, the acting was still there, but the lines were fading.

Obina could not sleep well anymore.

Chica’s laughter followed him even when she was not in the room.

Her presence was getting under his skin, not like irritation, like warmth.

That night, the mansion was quiet.

Everyone had gone to bed.

Obina walked down to the kitchen for water.

He expected emptiness, but he found Chica there.

She sat on the counter like she belonged there, eating leftover cake straight from the container.

Obina paused.

“Caught you,” he said.

Chica jumped like thief.

“Ha oga, Oina, I hungry small.

” Obina’s voice softened.

“It’s okay.

” He walked closer, leaning against the counter.

Can I have some? Chica hesitated, then offered him a spoon.

Obina took a bite.

Chocolate, sweet, rich.

He nodded slowly.

This is good.

Chica smiled proud.

N so Oina looked at her.

How are you holding up the acting? Chica sighed.

Eh hard to form posh lady hard.

My leg day they pain me for that heel shoes.

Oena chuckled quietly.

You’re doing well.

My mother loves you.

Chica smiled small.

Your mama good.

Oena nodded.

She is.

Chica’s face turned serious.

She remind me of my mama before she died.

Oena’s chest tightened.

I didn’t know your mother passed.

Chica shrugged like she had trained herself not to cry about it.

Long time ago.

Now why I come Lagos? To find work to help my family.

Oena’s voice came out softer.

I’m sorry.

Chica waved her hand lightly.

It is well.

Then she looked at him.

What about your papa? You miss amina stared at the marble counter.

Yes, he said.

I do.

He swallowed.

He was strict, hard, but he built everything.

He wanted us strong.

Chica nodded slowly.

He worry about you.

That is why he put condition.

Obina scoffed lightly.

He wanted to control even from grave.

Chica tilted her head.

Maybe he just don’t want you lonely.

Obina’s eyes flicked up.

I’m not lonely.

Chica looked at him for a long moment.

Then she spoke softly.

You sure? Obina didn’t answer.

Chica continued gently.

Big house, plenty money.

But when night come, who you they talk to? Who they ask you how your day be? Who they rub your back when stress won’t kill you? Oena’s throat tightened.

He hated that her words were true.

He stared at her.

Chica was wearing an oversized t-shirt of his, like pajama.

Her hair was in a messy bun.

There was a small chocolate smear on her lip.

She was not polished.

She was not fake.

She was real.

Oena lifted his hand slowly.

Chica stopped breathing.

He wiped the chocolate from her lip with his thumb.

His finger stayed there a second too long.

Chica’s eyes locked on his.

Chica, Oina whispered.

Chica’s voice came out small.

Yes.

Stop calling me ogre, he said.

Stop calling me sir.

just he leaned closer.

He wasn’t thinking about the will.

He wasn’t thinking about money.

He wasn’t thinking about acting.

He was thinking about her smell, cocoa butter, and warmth.

He kissed her.

It was not perfect.

It was not planned.

It was hesitant first, then soft, then hungry.

Chica tasted like chocolate cake.

Her hands grabbed his shoulders like she feared he would disappear.

Oena deepened it like he had been starving for something he couldn’t name.

They pulled apart slowly, breathless.

Chica touched her lips like she was checking if it was real.

“Wow,” she whispered.

Obina laughed once, shaking.

“Yeah, wow.

” He stared at her like he was afraid of himself.

Then he stepped back quickly, voice turning serious like defense.

“We we should sleep.

” Chica nodded fast, still dazed.

“Yes, sleep,” she hopped off the counter.

“Wal to the door, then turned back.

” “Good night, Oena,” she said softly.

Oena’s chest rose and fell.

“Good night, Chica,” he replied.

Chica left.

Oena stayed in the kitchen for a long time, listening to the hum of the refrigerator.

His perfectly ordered life had been touched and it was no longer perfectly ordered.

Christmas morning came with bright sunlight and haratan air that made the windows sound like they were whispering.

Ibodan felt calmer than Logos.

But that morning the Ibuka mansion was not calm at all.

The house was alive.

Voices, footsteps, music playing softly from the sitting room speaker.

Somewhere in the kitchen, Mrs.

Ibuka was singing hymns like she was leading choir.

Chica woke up first, but she did not open her eyes immediately.

She was lying on the bed facing the pillow wall they had built like a border.

Her mouth was slightly open.

She was snoring small small and for the first time since she entered that mansion, she looked fully relaxed.

Oena was awake already.

He lay on his side staring at her.

His eyes moved slowly over her face.

Her lashes were gone.

Her wig was gone, too.

It was just her natural hair tied in a messy bun, and her face looked soft like a girl again.

Not Olivia, just Chica.

Oena’s chest felt full in a way he did not understand.

He remembered the kiss in the kitchen.

He remembered how her hands held him like she trusted him.

He remembered how real it felt and that memory did something dangerous to him.

He smiled without meaning to.

Then quietly, carefully, he reached out and dismantled the pillow wall.

One pillow, then another, then another.

The border disappeared, and he moved closer to her like it was the most normal thing.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face gently.

Chica stirred.

Her eyes opened slowly.

She saw him close and for one second she panicked like she remembered everything at once.

Then her lips softened.

She smiled sleepily.

Merry Christmas, Oga, she whispered.

Oena chuckled.

Merry Christmas, Olivia.

Chica rolled her eyes weakly.

You like trouble.

Oena’s smile deepened.

Come.

Everybody is already awake.

Chica sat up quickly and pulled the blanket properly.

Wait, wait.

My mouth smell.

Obina laughed.

Good.

It means you’re human.

Chica slapped his arm lightly.

You too.

They talk.

They got up, washed their faces, and dressed.

Chica wore a simple nice gown Mrs.

Ibuka’s tailor had given her the day before.

Something modest but fine.

The kind of cloth that made her look like a proper family person, not househelp.

Obina wore native, too.

neat and expensive, looking like the man everybody feared in boardroom.

When they walked downstairs together, Nonso was already shouting like a child.

Finally, the love birds are awake.

Beatatrice sat on the floor beside him, smiling shily while she opened a gift bag.

Nonso was tearing wrapping paper like it offended him.

Mrs.

Ibuka walked in with a tray of food and a glow on her face.

“Breakfast first,” she announced.

Then church.

Chica’s stomach responded immediately.

Her eyes went to the food like prayer.

Oena noticed and leaned close.

Remember Olivia has sensitive stomach.

Chica hissed quietly.

Today is Christmas.

Even Ulsa rest on Christmas.

Obina covered his mouth to hide laughter.

They ate.

They laughed.

Mrs.

Ibuka prayed long.

Nonso complained small then stopped when Mrs.

Zabuka gave him that look.

After breakfast, gifts started.

Nonso gave Beatatrice a small bracelet.

Beatatrice blushed and said, “Thank you.

” Like she was too gentle for this loud family.

Mrs.

Ibuka gave both her sons expensive wristwatches and told them, “So you will not say your father left you nothing.

” Then Oena stood up and walked toward Chica with a small box.

Chica froze.

She did not expect gift from him.

Not real gift.

Not on Christmas.

Obina handed her the box.

Chica held it with two hands like it was fragile.

Open, he said softly.

Chica opened it.

Inside was a necklace.

Gold, not fake.

Not market.

A simple elegant chain with a small pendant that caught light.

Chica’s mouth opened slowly.

Oga, she whispered, then quickly corrected.

Obina.

Her eyes lifted to him, shining.

For acting well, she asked quietly.

Obina’s throat moved.

He shook his head.

For being you, he whispered back.

Chica swallowed hard.

Her eyes started to water, but she blinked it back quickly because she did not want to embarrass herself in front of everybody.

Nonso saw her face and grinned.

“Oh,” Nono said loudly.

“Oh is catching feelings.

” Oena shot him a warning look.

Nonso raised both hands.

“I said nothing.

” Mrs.

Ibuka clapped happily.

This one is love.

Oo.

Chica smiled, still holding the necklace like it was dream.

Then the house got ready for church.

They went.

They came back.

They ate again.

They laughed again.

It was the kind of Christmas Chica had not tasted since her mother died.

For once, she felt safe.

For once, she felt like she belonged somewhere.

But even inside all the joy, there was something sitting in the corner like a shadow.

The will, the condition, the test, and it was coming.

Later that afternoon, the family mood shifted.

The way sky shifts before rain.

The way a room becomes quiet when somebody enters with bad news.

A black car pulled into the compound.

A man stepped out with a leather briefcase.

Barrista Chima.

Small man, big glasses.

Serious face like he never laughed in his life.

a man who looked like he slept inside legal documents.

“Mrs.

Ibuka sighed the moment she saw him.

” “Merry Christmas,” Barristach Chima greeted shaking hands.

“Merry Christmas,” Mrs.

Ibuka replied, but her tone was not joyful.

Barrist Chima adjusted his glasses.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he said, but the instructions were specific.

“The will conditions must be verified on Christmas Day.

” Chica’s hands went cold.

Oena reached for her hand immediately and held it firmly like he could transfer courage into her.

They gathered in the study.

The study was heavy with wealth, bookshelves, leather chairs, a big table-like meeting table, framed pictures of Oena’s late father staring down like he was still alive and still judging.

Mrs.

Ibuka sat first.

Obina sat beside her.

Chica sat beside Obina.

Nono sat opposite, restless.

Beatatrice sat quietly beside Nonso, looking like she wished she could disappear.

Barrista Chima opened his briefcase, pulled out documents, cleared his throat, then began.

So he said, according to the late Chief Ibuka’s will, the room held breath.

Oena, he continued looking at him.

You are required to be married or at least formally engaged with a date set to a woman of good standing.

Obina tightened his grip on Chica’s hand.

I am engaged, Oena said clearly.

To Olivia.

Barristchima looked at Chica.

Chica smiled politely like Olivia, but her throat was tight.

Barrista Chima nodded slightly and continued.

And nono, Barrist Chima said, turning.

You are required to demonstrate fiscal responsibility.

The will state clearly that you must show stable income and seriousness, not reckless spending.

Nonso scoffed lightly.

I have work kind of.

Mrs.

Ibuka gave him a look.

Nonso quickly sat well.

Okay, I’m serious.

Barrista Chima nodded and looked back down.

So the assets will remain under family control provided the conditions.

Wait, Nanso interrupted suddenly.

The whole room turned.

Nonso stood up.

His chest was rising and falling like he had been holding something inside for too long.

Nonso frowned.

What is it? Nanso shook his head, laughing bitterly.

I can’t do this, he said.

I can’t sit here and pretend everything is fine.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s face tightened.

Nonso, sit down.

No, mama.

Nonso shouted.

It’s not about the money, Obina.

It’s about Dad.

He never trusted me.

Obina’s brows pulled together.

Nonso.

Nonso pointed at his chest.

He always treated me like I was like I was the extra one, he said, voice cracking, like I was the mistake.

The room went still.

Beatric’s mouth opened slightly.

Chica’s heart jumped because she felt something bad was coming.

Mrs.

Ibuka stood up sharply.

Stop that nonsense.

Nonso’s eyes were wet now.

Everybody knows, Nono cried.

I’m not his full son.

I’m the mistake.

That’s why he gave everything to Oena.

Silence crashed down like thunder.

Oena stared at his brother.

Nonso, he said quietly.

That’s not true.

Nonso laughed with pain.

Is it not true? He asked.

Look at Will.

Look at how he arranged everything for Oena.

He didn’t even believe I could be serious.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s eyes were burning.

But Nonso was not done.

He turned his anger toward Oena now.

And you, he said, voice sharp.

You’re so perfect, Oena.

Mr.

Perfect with your perfect fake fiance.

Obena froze.

Chica froze too.

What? Obina’s voice came out low.

Nonso scoffed.

Oh, come on, he said.

You think I’m stupid? Olivia from University of London.

I heard her speaking pigeon on the phone yesterday.

I saw how she eats.

This babe is not posh.

She is a hired hand.

You hired an actress to scam the inheritance.

Chica’s stomach dropped.

Her face went hot.

Beatric covered her mouth.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s eyes shot to Obina, then to Chica, then back to Oena.

Obena, Mrs.

Ibuka said slowly.

Is this true? Obina stood up.

His hands squeezed Chico’s harder.

Chica’s eyes were full of fear now because she knew this was the moment everything could crash.

Obina’s chest rose.

He stared at his mother.

Then at Barristachima, then at Nonso, then at Chica, and he took a breath.

She is not an actress, Obina said firmly.

Nonso laughed bitterly.

So what is she? Obina’s voice did not shake.

She is my maid, Obina confessed.

The room broke.

Mrs.

Ibuka gasped loudly.

Beatric’s hand covered her mouth fully.

Barrista Chima blinked like he was not sure he heard well.

Chica’s eyes filled with tears immediately.

Nonso stood still, shocked because even he did not expect Oena to say it openly like that.

Oena continued.

Her name is Chica, he said.

Chica’s tears fell quietly.

I hired her because I was desperate.

Obina admitted.

Because I didn’t want to lose the company.

Because I thought I needed a perfect woman to satisfy my father’s conditions.

Mrs.

Ibuka sat down slowly, hand on her chest.

Obina turned to Chica, his eyes softened.

But in the last week, he said, voice lower now.

I realized something.

He swallowed hard.

She is perfect, Obina said.

Not because she is rich, not because she studied in London, but because she is kind.

She is funny.

She defends me.

She makes this house feel like home.

Chica sobbed quietly now.

Obina turned back to his mother.

I lied about who she is, he said.

But I’m not lying about how I feel, he paused, then said the words that shocked everybody.

I love her.

For some seconds, nobody spoke.

Not even Nonso.

Not even Barrist Chima.

Even the walls looked like they were listening.

Chica stared at Oena like she was not sure if she heard correctly because she had been preparing herself to be thrown out, to be insulted, to be punished.

She did not prepare herself for love confession inside rich man’s study.

Obina turned fully to Chica.

His eyes were serious.

Chica, he said softly.

Chica’s voice came out shaking.

Obina.

Nonso looked stunned.

His anger had evaporated and left only confusion and guilt behind.

Barristachima cleared his throat awkwardly.

Well, he began.

This is irregular.

Obina’s head lifted.

So, Obina said to Barristachima, “If this disqualifies me, then fine.

Take the company.

Take the money.

I don’t care.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s eyes widened.

Obina’s voice became strong like he was in boardroom.

I’m done living my life by fear, he said.

I choose her.

Chica’s tears were dropping freely now.

She shook her head like she could not handle it.

Obina, she whispered.

Nonso’s eyes dropped.

He looked ashamed.

Obina.

Mrs.

Ibuka’s voice was soft now.

you.

Obina turned to his mother.

Mama, he said, I know you might be disappointed.

I know this is not what you expected, but I’m tired.

I’m tired of pretending.

Mrs.

Ibuka stood up slowly.

Her face looked hard at first.

Then it softened.

She walked toward Chica.

Chica stood up too, wiping her tears quickly like she wanted to appear respectful.

Mrs.

Mrs.

Ibuka reached Chica and touched her face gently.

Chica trembled.

Then Mrs.

Ibuka spoke.

You made my son happy, she said quietly.

I saw it.

She turned and looked at Obina.

I saw how he looks at you.

She told Chica.

That one is not acting.

Chica’s lips shook.

Mrs.

Ibuka turned to Barrista Chima sharply now like lioness.

barrista.

She said, “My husband wanted his sons to be settled, to find partners who support them.

” She pointed lightly to Obina and Chica.

“Look at them,” she said.

“Is this not support?” Barister Chima adjusted his glasses.

“Technically,” he started.

Mrs.

Ibuka cut him.

“Technically nothing,” she said firmly.

“If the board has problem, they can talk to me.

I own 40% of the shares.

” Barristachima’s mouth closed.

Because money speaks, power speaks.

Mrs.

Ibuka then turned to Nono.

And you, she snapped.

Nonso flinched.

You foolish boy, she said.

Your father loved you.

He was hard on you because he saw your potential, not because of where you came from.

Nono’s eyes filled.

I’m sorry, mama, he whispered.

Mrs.

Ibuka continued, voice trembling with emotion.

Now, you are my son, she said.

Period.

Nono nodded repeatedly.

Then he turned to Oina.

I’m sorry, Nono said, voice broken.

I’m sorry, bro.

I didn’t mean to destroy you.

Obina stepped forward and hugged him.

It’s okay.

Obina said.

It’s okay.

Beatric wiped her eyes quietly.

Chica stood there shaking, still feeling like she was dreaming.

Barristachima sighed deeply like man tired of family drama.

He closed his file slowly, then opened it again, then cleared his throat.

I will, he said carefully.

Interpret the clause regarding good standing liberally.

Mrs.

Ibuka nodded like good.

Barrista Chima continued.

As long as the marriage proceeds within 6 months.

Obina blinked.

6 months.

He repeated, then turned to Chica slowly.

His eyes softened into something gentle.

He smiled.

Chica,” he said quietly.

“What do you think?” Chica wiped her tears.

She sniffed.

Her smile came through wide and real.

The kind of smile that made people feel warm.

Obina’s voice dropped.

Can you handle me for a lifetime? Chica laughed through tears.

“Ogina,” she said loudly, then paused and corrected herself with pride.

Obina.

Everybody watched her, she continued.

If you promise, say, you know, go make me clean that big window again.

The room burst into laughter.

Even Barristach Chima smiled small.

Oena laughed too, shaking his head.

I promise, he said quickly.

No more big window.

Chica nodded seriously like it was serious agreement.

Then I accept.

Mrs.

Ibuka clapped loudly.

Nonso shouted.

Yes.

Beatrice smiled, eyes shining.

Obina pulled Chica gently into his arms.

Then he kissed her.

Not the pretend kiss, not the acting kiss, a real one right there in front of everybody.

Chica froze for one second, then melted into it.

Mrs.

Ibuka smiled like her heart was full.

Nono covered his eyes dramatically.

Ah, this is family meeting.

Oh.

Everybody laughed again.

Obina rested his forehead on Chica’s for a moment.

His voice was low.

“It’s the best Christmas gift,” he whispered.

Chica smiled softly, still shaking.

And for the first time, she was not acting.

She was not Olivia.

She was just Chica, a woman who walked into a rich man’s life as a maid and walked out as his