Billionaire Heiress of Lasgidi, page 4
I remember how the help barely made eye contact with me. This new world was super weird.
I sighed and tossed the brand new luxurious gifts on the side of the bed. I had barely spent an hour here and I was already longing for the comfort of my tiny bed in Ibadan. I briefly wondered what Banks was up to. If he knew I was in a world that was such a sharp contrast to the one we knew so well. If he was here, he'd offer to cuddle and tell silly stories to calm me. But I wasn't even sure that was what I wanted or needed. I shut my eyes tightly and allowed my thoughts to wander to grandma’s cold body. It was difficult not to think about her. Not when I knew she was aware of my parentage, knew about this man to the point of collecting magazines on him, and refused to tell me anything. He’d mentioned that she called him. So she could have just sent him a text all the while? I couldn’t quell the disappointment and the anger that I felt. Grandma was not one to keep secrets from me – or had I misjudged her character? I sighed, realizing keeping that one secret, or any secret at all, did not mean her character was untrustworthy. Yet, I couldn’t help but worry about other things I did not know. I was a dutiful child, I did everything I was supposed to do as a teenager. It just felt odd that she made the choice to keep my father’s identity a secret. Again, unwilling to allow the anger or disappointment to suck me in, I opened up to thoughts of other things. Other people.
“Mr. Ryan.”
The curiosity latched on to me and I made no effort to shake it off. I was curious enough to know more about him. Fueled by intense curiosity, the strong desire to know more drove me to Google. I didn't have much. Just his first name. And so I searched for 'son of billionaire Ryan.' Nigerian bloggers were largely obsessed with rich people and they referred to everyone who had a lot of money as a 'billionaire' so I was really counting on their obsession, hoping it paid off tonight.
And it did. As I scrolled through the first page generated by the search engine, I saw an article on him from three months ago. Billionaire Heir, Ryan Dokpesi in a sex scandal. I wasn’t sure why my throat ran dry and my heart picked its pace as I clicked on the link, following it as it redirected me to an article on Ryan. The picture they chose was of him wearing a tux. He was wearing a Rolex and a tattoo peeked beneath his crisp white shirt in the photo. I had never seen someone his age love long sleeve shirts as much as he seemed to. And he looked good in them too. I looked closer at the photo. He looked as devilish as he did tonight and this time, his face was marked by a wicked smile curling the side of his lips. I couldn't explain why my gaze lingered on the smile or why my thighs suddenly felt the need to press against each other. His hair was well cut and his fade was neat. I scanned the article.
"Three girls who are friends were played." "All students of Continence University." "They felt heartbroken" "Two of them got in a catfight because they're in love with him."
The article was salacious. And it was also messy and I wondered if any of the things written were true. When my mind briefly conjured his face again, I knew he seemed like the type of guy that was capable of creating a mess like that around him. And so I got busy. I googled 'Ryan Dokpesi's sex scandal' and the results were a buffet of spicy gossip ready to feed me till I was sated. He fucked two besties right after he dated two cousins at the same time. I hated what he stood for, still, I couldn't shake off the intrigue I felt. He was like Trey Songz or something, winding through an entire school community with his dick while swimming in female tears. What an asshole. I shook off the weird anger that took over me. I didn't know this guy and thinking about what he did and with whom he did it didn't matter. Still, I devoured three more articles about his life before I finally decided to call it a night. If the girls knew his reputation why did they flock around him as though he was a staple? The last article I read said he was dating the Chief Justice's daughter, Lili Odumosu a girl who was hands down the most popular Gen Z heiress in Nigeria. The article also pushed the sex scandal story further by plugging in the alleged sex tape. I knew I should back off because it didn't make sense to watch his sex tape if it truly existed. Yet, the curiosity that I felt shoved common sense out of the way in a flash and I found my fingers hovering over the supposed video. It was quite dark but the location was clear enough for me to see. His Rolex glittered in the dimly lit room and when his hand cupped the ass of the girl who was pinned against the wall, hoisted against him, I found myself too interested in the events that promised to follow. He kissed her neck, trailing his tongue from her chin to her neck a couple of times. She held tightly to his unbuttoned white shirt, looking at him with eyes filled with thick lust. When he unbuttoned his shirt, a toned chest peeked and I stared at his torso for a little too long. I couldn't go on anymore. It didn't make sense that I felt those things that I didn't think were possible. I scrolled past and pulled the plugs on the part of me that wondered what Ryan found intriguing in the girls he fucked. I didn't want to know. I liked having sex with guys like Banky. The only guy I was having sex with and that I had since the incident that happened a few years ago. I loved our sex not that it needed to be said but maybe it needed to be remembered. The video teased my mind with different wild thoughts, thoughts that strayed off common sense and made my insides weak. I decided to ignore thoughts of Ryan as I tried my best to keep them at bay.
A sigh escaped my lips as I dragged my thoughts back to the senselessness that was my world right now. I wished my mother and I had a better relationship and that she prepared me for this news. Tokunbo Carew seemed like a decent human being but I didn't know much about him outside CNN and other media reports and I also couldn't decide if he was a good father simply by taking a look at his face. So maybe the only person I had the semblance of a good relationship with would help me. I did not let myself think too much before I called her.
She was close to grandma. They spoke more and their conversations went beyond her visits – they did communicate in person every other time.
She had to know about my father’s arrival, his knowledge of me. I waited for the phone to ring. When her soft feminine voice echoed from the other end of the line, I ignored the thumping in my chest and told myself there was no going back. I had called her already and I was going to get the answers to the questions that nagged my mind. I rolled over and focused on the tall ceiling and the chandelier that hung from it.
“Hello, Oluwanimilo dear? How is Lagos?”
What I did next, grandma would have frowned at it and called it ‘rude’ and total ‘lack of respect.’ But grandma wasn’t here, was she?
“Aunty Nurse,” I began, ignoring her greeting, demanding a response in a cold, steely tone.
Her response was delayed. “Yes, my darling.”
“Did you know who my father was?”
Her pause confirmed my suspicions. She knew who my father was and she was probably about to lie. But of course, there was no way on God’s green earth that I was going to let her get away with telling a lie.
“Aunty Nurse, don’t you dare lie to me,” my voice was firm but my heart was thumping through my chest. I knew I couldn’t say those words to Aunty Nurse in person.
I took her as my mom and Banks, my boyfriend of two years, had teased me too many times that I saw my mom through her eyes.
The thing was my mother, Omolola Sodipo was a 39-year-old who looked 28, walked in heels like she was wearing house slippers, was the only human being I knew that could get away with being vegan with looks that seemed like they belonged in the pages of Vogue, Elle, and Essence. She also ran a moderately successful vegan skincare brand in America.
Before I blocked her on Instagram, I knew how many people swarmed around her. At the time she had over 100k followers who followed her every move and lived by her lifestyle tips.
Aunty Nurse, on the other hand, was the typical ‘girl next door’ and like I once said to grandma, ‘quarter to a pick me’. Actually, after I called her the latter, grandma had slapped me twice across the face when I told her what a ‘pick me’ was; someone who did everything, including shriveling, in hopes of being liked by men. I did not understand why she was that mad. I hadn’t said Aunty Nurse was a ‘pick me’. I said she was ‘quarter to a pick-me’ which was in truth a rectifiable situation. Still, while she was far from being one, she was the type of woman the average Nigerian man loved to grovel at her feet because she ‘was not like every other woman,’ ‘will always cook for her man’ and ‘will always put him first.’ Besides, Aunty Nurse had a fiancé whom she had been engaged to for 3 years, dated for 9, and who was an assistant pastor in our Church.
He preached that women could be feminists but should hang their ‘coat of feminism’ at the door of their home because Christ already put a man as the head and feminism bordered on Satanism. He also once preached that women should refer to their husbands as ‘my Lord,’ and the day I asked 'why' during our weekly service grandma pulled my ear from our church through the three streets that separated the church building from our home. I stopped asking him questions. I knew he hated my guts. And he always told Aunty Nurse I needed ‘thorough counseling’ and 'intense deliverance from the spirit of rebellion' or as he liked to term it, 'witchcraft.'
Whatever that meant.
But I had long stopped asking questions or letting my curiosity show. It got me into trouble with the adults around me and half the time, my peers considered me weird. Except maybe my friend Ranti and sometimes Banks.
“You knew.” There was an accusatory tone in my voice.
“Nimi, I am so sorry dear. Grandma swore me to secrecy. In fact, I…”
“What else did she tell you?” I cut in. “And please, do not tell me she swore you to secrecy on anything else. I am hurting.”
I knew the last bit was some form of emotional blackmail but I needed more than a few answers. I was 18, surely, someone somewhere thought I was gradually becoming a full-grown adult and I deserved to have certain information about my own life?
“Tokunbo Carew is a good man, he loved your mother and she loved him too. They were going to run away when she found out she was pregnant but…”
There was a slight pause and if I couldn’t hear sounds in the background, I would have sworn the network was bad.
“Aunty Nurse, please…”
“He did not know. Before he could find out, his mother got to your mother first.”
I was confused.
“Wait, are you saying Tokunbo Carew’s mother knew I existed all these years?”
There was a soft rap on the door, after which the door opened.
“Yes,” Aunty Nurse replied.
I looked up to check who had barged into my room without permission and I saw her, standing at the door, her eyes boring into mine.
I did not shift my gaze, not even when I ended the call seconds later.
“Thanks, Aunty Nurse.”
We both stared at each other for a few minutes as if in a battle with our eyes.
“How may I help you?” I asked.
She looked around and replied, “You must be exhausted from your trip.” She said the words as if she was informing me of my current physical state, not asking. She added, “Take a long bath, grab a snack and take some much-needed rest. You can be integrated into society much later.” She was used to giving orders. But I was tired of being told what to do while everyone carried on with secrets, acting as if I was something they could attend to later.
She turned towards the door and briefly, it crossed my mind to ask her what she said to my mother that made her hide me for eighteen years. But I knew it was a waste of time. She’d just referenced an ordinary visit as if it was 1800s England and I was a debutante. She seemed like things weren’t in black and white with her. But maybe this was just me doing what Banky accused me of doing all the time, making things bigger than they seemed.
So I said, “Fine. I will sit it out.”
Unsurprisingly, she nodded, took a last look at me, and stepped out, shutting the door behind her. When she was gone, I peeled off my clothes and sauntered into the large beautiful bathroom.
As expected, it was equipped with everything I needed – sweet-smelling bathing gel, body scrubs, exfoliating sponges, and a face steamer. I trailed my fingers through the sparkling marbled sink and I let my eyes feast on the gold faucet, the gold shower head, and every gold bathroom accessory present in the bathroom.
When I was done with my brief tour, I reached for a newly purchased shower cap and donned it on. Then I filled the bathtub with hot water and soaked myself in it.
___________
The conversation during dinner was largely about business and politics. Tokunbo Carew dismissed talks about politics and reiterated a few times during the conversation his lack of interest in politics.
"I think it's too dirty for me. In Nigeria, it's even worse. People act as if it is their birthright and will do anything at all to be in power. Should it ever be that deep? Abeg." As he raised his glass to his lips, Ryan's father whose son clearly got his physical build from, replied. He and Tokunbo bantered as refrigerator grandma who I was certain was boiling over at the moment dropped her two kobo in the conversation. Ryan's mother, the most elegant woman I’d ever seen up close, took control of the conversation when she called Tokunbo and her husband 'hypocrites' as their fathers had supported one government or the other in the past and made them beneficiaries of one government decree or the other.
"Boys, it's hypocritical to say 'oh, I hate politics, it's for the children of the devil' when your Parents dined with these same devils to foster their vast empires which both of you continue to benefit from to this day. Didn't you Donald, T, and Abbey record astronomical profit when privatization became a thing? T, the Carew empire literally became the second-largest empire in Africa."
As the adults argued, I realized I was being watched from across the table. He was leaning against his seat. His eyes would drill a hole into me if they could and I hated that I thought about those articles as he watched me, silent. I also hated that words from the novella that remained unfinished in my computer back home flashed through my memory. He made me want to document the emotions that I currently felt. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to the need to put words down. I couldn’t explain it but it also scared the heck out of me. The last time anyone fanned the flames of my passion for words, terrible things happened to me.
Still, I held his gaze. It was an effort, a dare to look at him with the same unflinching intensity and see whether I'd feel less nervous. Yet, the more I stared at him the more it felt as though he was dragging me in. I couldn't explain anything else. Other than the fact that I now loathed him more. When his lips curled in the same devilish grin I saw online, I reached for the glass of Chapman in front of me. My fingers missed it as I knocked the glass, spilling the reddish liquid all over the dining table.
"Oh my God. I'm so sorry," I said as Tokunbo Carew was startled by the liquid and the table briefly reacted to the slight accident. I briefly caught the icy grandmother looking at me with a bland expression. She was probably trying to figure out how to ease me out of society. Poor rich woman.
"It's okay, darling," Tokunbo Carew said as he handed me a clean napkin. When I looked at Ryan, he was texting on his phone and a part of me felt as if I had lost an important part of the evening because he was no longer ogling me. Those long-abandoned words on my computer returned, torturing me.
Beautiful brown eyes like the color of the earth; all so familiar and comforting like the feel of the smooth soil against bare feet…
I hadn’t visited the unfinished submission to the most prestigious writing competition in Africa in a very long time. Because the last time I tried to write, I didn’t only fail miserably, the memories of the night terrible things happened threatened to flood my mind. And I couldn’t let that happen. I had done a good job of sealing it in a part of my mind where I kept things I would rather not remember.
I shut my eyes tightly, reining the words back in. There had to be something about this guy that pushed words into my mind with such a powerful force, I suddenly lost the strength to close the door against my dead love for writing. I had excruciatingly shut the door to writing three years ago. I hadn’t been able to pass Literature or write a single essay since then. That meant I couldn’t pass the subjects that I needed to gain entrance to the University. Banks had tried everything he could to wake up that dead part of my life. Yet, one look into this person’s eyes and I realized he wielded the power to awaken dead abilities. The realization was scarier with every passing moment. I wasn’t sure what it meant.
If I needed to know anything about this Ryan person, it was that he was dangerous. He unlocked dangerous memories. I was unwilling to find out other things that he could unlock.
"So, how are you prepping for the return to Continence, Ryan D?" Tokunbo Carew's voice jolted me back to reality. Ryan looked at him and shrugged.
"I’m trying. I spent a couple of weeks in school before the end of the last semester and attended a few classes to mentally prepare me for my return.” I tried but failed at my attempts to keep my thoughts from returning to the video when he placed his hands on the table. The way he cupped that girl's ass as if he wasn't afraid to be rough when the situation demanded it, the way he trailed his tongue down her neck as if he knew what he was doing and he wasn't afraid to have a taste of her.
"Ryan joined the football team and the debate team during that period," his mother said proudly. “He’s a good player.”
Oh, I bet he was.
Ryan didn't seem to share her enthusiasm though... "Yeah, I'm trying to explore other parts of the school culture at CU. I dabbled in a bit of art and crafts while I was at Credence so easing myself back into stuff like that should make settling easier.."
He talked differently from the way Banks spoke. He also had a striking foreign British accent.
"I think I like how Credence prepares them for the sort of life they would be exposed to as adults." It was his father who spoke. I knew about Credence School and Continence University. The former was the primary and secondary school arm of the latter. And the schools were filled with kids of elites and a handful of people who studied there on scholarship. The fees were insanely expensive and Credence had produced a few people who were highly placed in government. Continence came along in the early 2000s but Credence was established in the early 1970s... The schools were owned by a wealthy family in Nigeria and the structure mirrored Ivy League colleges in America and some of the most prestigious schools in the United Kingdom. Same with Continence when it eventually came along.
