The building at night always felt like a different country.
Silvercrest Group during the day was all glass confidence and polished urgency, the kind of place where shoes clicked like punctuation and phones rang like alarms. But after nine, the corridors softened. The lights stayed on in a few offices upstairs, stubborn as insomnia, while the rest of the tower settled into its private breathing. No laughter. No meetings. Only the steady hum of air conditioners and the distant, restless sound of water running somewhere in the bones of the building.
Abini Akinwali pushed her cleaning trolley down the corridor as if she were escorting silence itself. She moved carefully, guiding the wheels away from the rough edge of a tile so they wouldn’t squeak. She had been on her feet since morning. Her back ached like it had been carrying other people’s lives. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she kept her face calm, the way she had trained herself to do since life stopped being gentle.
Abini was the kind of beautiful that did not ask permission to exist. Dark, smooth skin. Full lips that stayed pressed together in practiced endurance. Eyes that looked older than her age, not from makeup, but from the things they had witnessed and survived. Her hair was pulled into a low bun, not because she loved the style, but because work did not forgive loose strands.
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03:08
00:21
04:45
Mute
She stopped in front of a door that had no number. Only a discreet brass plate.
PRIVATE.
The message had come from a supervisor: Take fresh towels to Mr. Okoro’s room. Now.
Everyone at Silvercrest Group knew Gideon Okoro’s name the way people knew the name of a sickness they were afraid of catching. He was the CEO. The man who could end your job with one sentence without raising his voice. The man who looked at people as if he were measuring how useless they were.
Abini swallowed and adjusted the folded towels in her arms. She lifted her hand and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, softer.
“Sir?”
A click.
The door opened slightly, just enough for warm light to spill into the corridor. Abini stepped in with small, careful steps, as if she did not want to disturb the air.
The room was large and expensive, the kind of space where every surface looked like it had been polished with patience. A faint scent of clean soap lingered underneath something sharper, like cologne that refused to fade. Movement came from near the bed. Then she saw him.
Gideon Okoro stood adjusting the cuff of his shirt as if he owned time. He was tall, broad-shouldered, clean shaven, with a jaw sharp enough to cut through excuses. His eyes were dark and steady. Even in the quiet of night, he looked like a man built to sit at the head of every table.
He glanced at her. One glance, but it tightened Abini’s stomach.
“What is it?” he asked.
His voice was calm, but not warm. It was the kind of calm that warned you not to try nonsense.
Abini walked to the side table and placed the towels down neatly. “Sir, I’m here to bring you fresh towels.”
He did not say thank you. He didn’t even look at the towels. His eyes stayed on her like he was trying to remember where he had seen her before.
Abini kept her gaze low. “If that’s all, sir, I’ll be going.”
She turned toward the door.
That was when Gideon moved.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t grab her violently. He simply stepped in front of her so smoothly she stopped short, her breath catching. The door was behind him now, blocked by his presence. She couldn’t reach it without going through him.
“Wait,” he said.
Abini’s fingers tightened on the edge of her apron. “Sir, please let me go.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you shaking?”
“I’m not shaking, sir,” she lied.
He stared at her for a moment, then spoke again, slower. “Are you one of those people who come into rooms like this hoping to walk out with something?”
Confusion flashed across her face before fear returned. “No, sir.”
He leaned closer, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel him like heat. “Then why are you here so late?”
“Because I was told to bring towels,” she said, voice softer than she wanted. “That’s my job.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her face, then to her lips, then back to her eyes. Abini’s throat went dry. She took a careful step back, but the door was still blocked.
Her mind started running fast, the way it always did when danger came near. She had seen how men changed when they had power. She had watched people like her get blamed for things they didn’t plan. She had no father, no brother, no one who could walk in and defend her if a story turned ugly.
“Sir,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice, “I’m begging you. Please let me go.”
He watched her. Something flickered in his eyes. Not kindness. Not softness. More like annoyance mixed with curiosity, like he didn’t know what to do with fear that wasn’t flattering.
He exhaled as if tired. “You want to leave?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine.” He still didn’t move. “But tell me something first.”
Her heart thudded. “Sir, what do you want?”
His voice stayed flat. “Name your price.”
The words landed like a slap.
Abini stared at him, shocked. “Sir, I don’t understand.”
“Stop acting like you don’t.” His tone did not rise, but it sharpened. “If you want something, say it.”
Pride tried to rise in her chest. Pride tried to remind her that she was not that kind of girl, that she had struggled too hard to reduce herself to this moment.
But pride did not pay hospital bills.
Pride did not bury her mother.
Pride did not stop the landlord from throwing her out.
Abini swallowed hard. Her eyes stung, but she refused to let tears fall. “Sir,” she said quietly, “I really need money.”
Gideon’s expression did not change. “How much?”
In her head, she saw her mother’s face. The weak breathing. The way her mother’s hands felt so light, like they were already leaving the world. The promise Abini had made with a trembling smile: I will give you a proper burial. I will not let you be treated like you meant nothing.
She lifted her eyes fully for the first time and looked Gideon directly in the face.
“I need six hundred thousand,” she said.
His brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected boldness from someone in a cleaner’s uniform.
“Six hundred thousand,” Abini repeated, voice shaking but steady.
Silence.
Shame arrived first, hot and immediate. A part of her wanted to run, to disappear, to tear her own words out of the air and swallow them. Another part wanted to fall to the floor and scream until her throat broke.
“I have never done this before,” she whispered, almost to herself, “but I don’t have a choice.”
Gideon’s eyes stayed on her, searching. “What for?”
Abini hesitated. Saying it out loud made it too real. But she answered anyway.
“My mother is gone,” she said. “I need to settle her burial.”
Something shifted in the room. Not softness. Gideon did not suddenly become gentle. But the air changed like truth had entered the space and refused to be ignored.
“You have a bank account?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Say the details.”
It felt like stepping into water she couldn’t measure, but she said it. Gideon took his phone and tapped like money was only a number.
“You’ll get it,” he said.
Just like that.
Then his gaze returned to her, cold and sharp again. “Do you want it or not?”
“I do,” she said quickly.
He stepped closer. Her breath caught again, and not only from fear this time. Something confusing, something that made her angry with herself.
“Look at me,” he said.
Her body obeyed before her mind could argue. She lifted her eyes.
For a long moment, Gideon stared at her tiredness, at the quiet stubbornness, at the beauty that did not beg for attention.
“Are you sure?” he asked, very softly.
She could have said no. She should have said no. She should have walked away and found another way, even if it took months.
But she was tired of months.
Tired of begging.
Tired of watching life win every time.
Abini nodded once.
The details of the night blurred after that into the heavy silence of choices made too fast. When she later lay awake staring into the dark, she pressed her lips together and told herself the only thing she could to keep from breaking:
This is the only way.
Morning came quietly without apology.
Abini woke with a start, confused by softness beneath her and expensive scent around her. She sat up and realized she was in Gideon Okoro’s bed. Shame rose like heat and tried to choke her.
Across the room, Gideon stood already dressed, crisp shirt, perfect trousers, composed face, as if sleep had never dared touch him.
“Drink this,” he said.
On the table beside him sat a glass of water and a small pack of tablets.
Abini swallowed. “Sir… what is it?”
“Medicine,” Gideon answered. No explanation. No comfort. Only practicality.
Her cheeks burned. She took the tablets and hesitated.
Gideon’s gaze sharpened. “Do you want trouble?”
“No, sir.”
“Then take it.”
She swallowed them with water, trying not to think too much. Gideon picked up his phone again.
“Your account details,” he said. “Say it again.”
“I already told you.”
“Say it again.”
She did. He tapped. “You’ll receive the transfer.”
Her heart squeezed. Relief and humiliation braided together into something that tasted bitter.
“And listen,” Gideon added, voice lower, sharp with warning. “Don’t mistake this for anything else.”
Abini nodded quickly. “I understand.”
“I don’t like noise,” he said. “I don’t like people who cling.”
“I won’t cling to you,” she forced out. “I really needed the money, that’s all.”
He watched her like he was deciding whether to believe her, then stepped aside from the door.
Abini pulled her uniform back on with shaking hands and walked out as if she had never entered.
Outside, by the staff entrance, her phone buzzed with a bank alert almost immediately.
600,000. Sender: Gideon Okoro.
Relief came first, sharp and fast. Then shame followed, slow and hot. After that came something she couldn’t name, something like anger at life for cornering her.
This money is not for me, she reminded herself. It is for my mother.
That thought was the only thing that helped her stand up and move.
Her mother was gone the real way. The way that left silence behind. The way that left bills. The way that made people suddenly start saying “sorry” even if they had never helped while the person was alive.
Abini had finished school. She was a graduate. She had sent out applications until her fingers hurt. She had attended interviews that led nowhere. She had watched less qualified people get jobs because they had connections. While she waited for her own chance, her mother’s health worsened. So Abini swallowed her pride and took the cleaning job at Silvercrest.
She told herself it was temporary.
But before an opening came, her mother died, leaving Abini with one last responsibility: a proper burial.
That same day, Gideon Okoro sat behind his desk like nothing had happened.
Only his assistant, Kola Duru, dared to speak freely around him.
“Sir,” Kola said carefully, “the young woman from the Akinwali family has gathered the six hundred thousand for the burial plot.”
Gideon did not look up. “So?”
“She chose a spot in our family burial grounds,” Kola continued, voice cautious. “The corner section. It won’t disturb anything.”
Gideon finally lifted his eyes. Something cold passed through them. “That space is available,” he said. “Let her buy it.”
When Abini arrived at the burial grounds later, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
Black cars lined up like soldiers. People dressed in dark clothes. A quiet gathering near an older grave that looked well-kept and important.
And there was Gideon Okoro among them, tall and composed, looking like grief could not bend him.
Abini’s heart dropped.
She had come with documents and payment confirmation, her head full of only one thing: Let me settle this burial.
But now reality hit her hard. The plot she was buying belonged to Gideon’s family land.
The money she had shamed herself to collect had ended up back in his world. Back under his shadow.
The staff member approached her politely. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Are you Miss Akinwali?”
Abini nodded once.
“Please follow me. We’ll complete the contract.”
At the paperwork table, the staff member asked, “Full name, please.”
“Abini,” she answered quietly.
The man wrote and repeated it clearly: “Abini Renee Akinwali.”
Gideon’s head turned sharply. His eyes met hers across the space.
For the first time, he didn’t just see the cleaner.
He saw a name.
Abini looked away immediately. She was not here to be noticed. She was here to bury her mother.
The burial itself was simple, and it broke her anyway.
No crowd. No long speeches. Only Abini, a few sympathetic faces, and the quiet weight of earth waiting to close over the woman who had been her whole world.
When the final prayers were said, Abini fell to her knees.
The tears came fast, hot, uncontrollable. The kind that shook her shoulders. The kind that made her chest hurt.
“Mommy,” she whispered, like her mother could still answer.
She cried until her throat went sore, because grief did not accept timetables.
When she finally stood, empty and trembling, her phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
“Hello,” she said, voice raw.
“Good afternoon,” a woman said politely. “This is Silvercrest Group HR. We received your application earlier and would like to invite you for an interview.”
Abini stopped walking.
Hope rose in her chest like a fragile flame.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m available anytime.”
Rain started not long after. Heavy, sudden, angry.
Abini stood under a small shelter, hugging her folder to her chest. A dark car pulled up. The window rolled down.
Gideon Okoro’s face appeared, calm and unreadable.
“Get in,” he said.
“Sir—”
“In this weather,” he cut in, “you want to wait outside?”
Pride told her to refuse. Her body told her she was already cold. She entered and sat as far from him as possible.
Silence drove with them for a while.
Then Gideon reached into a compartment, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped her cheek without asking.
Abini flinched. The gesture felt too intimate, too much, especially coming from him.
“Stay still,” he said sharply.
“I’m fine, sir.”
“You’re always acting like you’re being attacked,” he muttered.
Water splashed from a bottle as she shifted away.
Gideon’s voice turned colder. “One million. One month.”
Abini went still. “Sir… what?”
“One million for one month,” he repeated. “You clearly need money. Stop pretending you don’t.”
The old desperation tried to rise. But another part of her stood up, quietly and firmly.
“Mr. Okoro,” she said, voice steady, “don’t think having money makes you superior. Don’t think you can trample on people’s dignity because you have power.”
His jaw tightened.
“You can’t buy control over me,” she continued. “You can’t turn human beings into transactions and still think you are right.”
She leaned forward. “Driver, please stop the car.”
Gideon turned sharply. “What?”
“Stop,” Abini repeated.
The car slowed. She stepped out into the rain and walked away, cold and soaked, but free.
Behind her, Gideon watched through the glass, surprise settling in his eyes like something he hated feeling.
“This girl,” he muttered, “is really something.”
The next day, Abini dressed like she was going to fight for her future. Not with noise. With effort.
She entered Silvercrest through the main lobby this time. HR smiled.
“Congratulations, Miss Akinwali,” the officer said. “You are selected. You’ll start immediately.”
Abini almost didn’t believe it. Her eyes stung. “Thank you.”
In the training room, a man approached her smiling, confident in a way that came from comfort.
“Abini?” he said. “You don’t remember me?”
It hit her. “Femi… from school.”
He grinned. “Welcome. I can show you around later.”
His friendliness felt safe, and Abini let herself breathe for the first time in days.
Then Femi lowered his voice. “Just know one thing. The CEO rarely attends training… but new employees must attend. No excuse.”
Someone behind them whispered the name: “Boss Okoro.”
Abini’s pen paused. Her heart paused too.
Gideon Okoro.
The private room. The blocked door. The money. The pills. The rain. The offer.
Cold fear slid through her chest.
God… will he destroy me?
The rumors began before lunch. Whispers stuck to her like dust. Lydia Ezie, sharp-faced with lipstick that looked like confidence, stepped into her path with two other women behind her like backup singers for cruelty.
“So it’s true,” Lydia said. “They really brought you inside.”
“Excuse me,” Abini said calmly, trying to pass.
Lydia laughed. “You have to what? You’re a cleaner. The cleaning room is where you belong.”
“I’m an employee now,” Abini said.
“Employee?” Lydia scoffed. “Or you think sleeping your way into places is work?”
Before Abini could speak, a shadow fell across them. Silence snapped into place.
Gideon Okoro stood there in a dark suit, calm, dangerous.
Lydia’s tone turned sweet. “Good morning, sir. I was just telling her—”
Gideon didn’t even look at her properly. His eyes flicked once to Abini, then back to Lydia.
“If you’re done,” he said, “get out.”
The hallway froze. Lydia scattered with the others like their confidence had suddenly remembered it could be fired.
Gideon walked away like nothing happened.
Abini stood there dizzy with one question:
Why is he protecting me?
Later, Kola Duru approached her. “First day requirement,” he said. “You must add the CEO on WhatsApp.”
Abini flipped her handbook. “It’s not in here.”
Kola’s smile tightened. “Are you challenging me?”
A voice behind cut through the tension.
“Carry on.”
Gideon stood there, hands in his pockets.
“If it’s not in the handbook,” he told Kola, “don’t invent it.”
Kola swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Gideon looked at Abini. “Do your work.”
And again, he walked away.
By midday, Abini’s body felt strange. Dizziness. A heaviness that whispered a frightening thought:
My period is fifteen days late.
At the hospital, Dr. Raymond Akini looked at her report, then up at her face with kind eyes that had seen too much pain.
“Miss Akinwali,” he said gently, “you are pregnant.”
Abini’s hands gripped the chair.
“No,” she whispered. “That can’t be.”
“I need you to understand,” Dr. Raymond continued carefully. “If you believed you took birth control… do you still have the pack?”
Her mind flashed to that morning: Gideon handing her tablets and water, her swallowing without checking.
“I… don’t have it.”
Dr. Raymond exhaled. “From what I’m seeing, it’s possible you didn’t take birth control.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some pills look similar,” he said. “Some people mistake them.”
Then he said the words that turned her blood cold.
“They were vitamins.”
Abini’s breath broke. “Vitamins…”
Tears fell. Panic rose.
“I want to abort it,” she said immediately. “I want to remove it.”
Dr. Raymond’s tone stayed professional, but serious. “Abortion has risks. Complications can happen. In an emergency, you could become infertile for life.”
“I can’t do this,” Abini gasped. “I want the abortion.”
“If you’re sure,” he said softly, “we can schedule it for Sunday.”
Abini nodded, shaking.
Outside the hospital, she saw an elderly woman coughing near the steps, struggling. Abini should have walked away. Her own life was already crumbling. But her heart refused to ignore the sight.
She steadied the woman, helped guide her back inside, speaking gently the way she wished someone had spoken to her mother.
Dr. Raymond arrived and said, “Grandma Josephine.”
Abini’s chest tightened at the word Grandma, though she didn’t understand why.
Grandma Josephine, wrapped in expensive authority, studied Abini as if reading her.
“You’re kind,” the old woman said.
“I’m only doing what I would want someone to do for my mother,” Abini replied.
A small bump, a flare of dizziness, and suddenly the old woman declared dramatically, “I must take responsibility.”
Before Abini could refuse properly, she was being escorted into a car and driven to a house that looked like wealth didn’t need to shout.
Inside, staff moved like the walls gave orders.
Then a deep male voice filled the living room, irritated and sharp.
“What is going on here?”
Abini turned.
Gideon stood there, handsome in a way that felt unfair, his face cold, his eyes alive.
His gaze landed on her, and the air between them thickened with everything they refused to say.
“Grandma,” Gideon said, voice tight, “why is she here?”
Grandma Josephine smiled like she had brought him a gift. “My grandson, this is the young lady I told you about.”
“The one I knocked down at the hospital,” Grandma declared, exaggerating the incident into a tragedy.
Then she pointed at Gideon with bright eyes. “So I must compensate her with you.”
Abini froze.
“She will marry you.”
Gideon’s face hardened. “What?”
Grandma snapped her fingers. A barrister appeared with a brown file.
“The contract has already been signed,” Grandma announced proudly.
Gideon stared at the file like it was poison. Abini’s throat went dry. In Gideon’s eyes, she saw suspicion bloom: You planned this.
Later, locked in a room by Grandma’s scheme, Abini cried from exhaustion and fear, and Gideon’s anger burned cold.
Morning arrived with Grandma Josephine acting cheerful, as if locking two adults together overnight was ordinary.
“Today you’re going to the registry,” Grandma said. “Bring your ID cards.”
Abini swallowed and forced the truth out before she lost her nerve.
“I… I’m pregnant.”
Silence crashed.
Gideon’s eyes snapped to her. Grandma’s shock turned into hunger.
“Eighteen generations of single heirs,” Grandma whispered, trembling with excitement. “And now heaven has answered.”
Abini tried to speak about the abortion appointment, but Grandma lifted her medicine bottle like a weapon.
“If you refuse, I will stop taking my medicine,” she said. “Let me die.”
Abini’s heart twisted. She thought of her mother, dying while the world kept moving.
Under that pressure, Abini broke.
“Fine,” she whispered.
After Grandma left, Gideon pulled Abini aside, voice low and cruel with the confidence of a man used to being right.
“Let’s be clear,” he said. “We both know that pregnancy is not mine.”
Abini’s stomach turned.
“I saw you take contraception that night,” Gideon continued. “So don’t bring a child from another man and throw it at my feet.”
She remembered Dr. Raymond’s words: They were vitamins.
Abini realized with a strange, painful jolt that Gideon might not have intended harm. That the mistake might have been… a mistake.
But she didn’t say it. Not yet. The truth felt like a match near gasoline.
Gideon’s voice stayed cold and managerial. “Two-year contractual marriage.”
“Contract?” Abini whispered.
“To outsiders, we’re married,” he said. “We act like it. No intimacy. No foolish emotions.”
“And after two years?”
“I pay you twenty million,” Gideon said. “And you leave.”
Abini nodded because fear had made her quiet again.
She moved into the mansion. Gifts arrived like a storm. Grandma forced jewelry onto her body as if making her look expensive would make the world respect her.
At work, Lydia’s jealousy sharpened into action. Accusations. Humiliation. A theft scandal over a watch Grandma had given her.
Gideon dismantled Lydia’s lies with calm precision.
“If you ever put your hands on her again,” he told Lydia quietly, “you will learn what consequences look like.”
People began to watch Abini the way people watched fire: fascinated and afraid.
And then Lydia tried to kill her quietly.
After work hours, Lydia sent Abini to retrieve old files in the cold lab. The corridor was empty. The lab was bitter with cold, like the room had been built to punish bodies.
Abini found the files. Then she heard the click.
The door.
She ran, pulled the handle.
Locked.
Panic rushed up her throat. She banged on the door until her hands hurt. Voices outside. Security guards.
“I heard something,” one said lazily.
“Leave it,” the other replied. “Who will enter that lab at this time? Let’s go.”
Their footsteps faded.
The cold crawled into Abini’s bones. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold her phone.
No network.
Her lips went numb. Tears fell without permission.
“Please,” she whispered, holding her belly. “Not my baby. Please.”
At the mansion, Grandma Josephine paced like a commander.
“She hasn’t returned,” she snapped. “And she is not answering her phone.”
Gideon’s face changed.
He grabbed his keys. “Where was she last seen?”
When he stormed into Silvercrest, the security guards jolted upright like fear had been plugged into the wall.
“Has anyone been to the cold lab?” Gideon demanded.
“The lab is too cold,” one stammered. “Nobody goes there.”
“Open it.”
“We don’t have the key, sir.”
Gideon stepped closer. “I won’t say it twice.”
They found a spare key. The door swung open.
Gideon froze.
Abini was on the floor curled into herself, shaking, lips pale, eyes half closed like sleep was trying to steal her.
“Abini,” Gideon shouted, and his voice cracked something inside him.
He rushed to her and lifted her carefully, his hands suddenly gentle in a way they had never been before.
“Open your eyes,” he said, tight. “Don’t sleep. Don’t you dare sleep.”
Her lashes fluttered. A weak sound escaped her mouth.
“I’m here,” Gideon whispered, holding her close. “You’re not dying here.”
Dr. Raymond arrived furious, checked her condition quickly.
“The baby is fine,” he said. Then, sharp as a blade: “But she needs rest. And your company’s safety system is nonsense.”
Abini’s voice was weak, but she spoke.
“Lydia,” she whispered. “She sent me.”
The next day, Gideon summoned Lydia and Miranda, the powerful woman who had treated Abini like an inconvenient fantasy. They checked surveillance. Found movements. Found the lab key dumped in the trash.
Fingerprints pointed straight to Lydia.
Miranda tried to smooth it over. “Maybe we should let it go. It’s a misunderstanding.”
Gideon looked at her slowly. “So you want to cover for her?”
Then, calm and deadly: “Fine. Choose. Either you stay or she stays. Only one.”
Miranda’s pride chose itself.
“Then Lydia should go,” she said.
Gideon’s eyes cooled further. “Enough.”
He gave them one last look. “I gave you a chance to show character. You failed. Both of you get out.”
The office watched power fall like people watching a balcony collapse.
Later at home, Gideon sat across from Abini, who was wrapped in a blanket, tired and small in his giant world. He stared at her for a long time.
“So,” he said softly, “how will you thank me?”
Abini blinked. “Sir… thank you is enough.”
Gideon leaned back. “Is it?”
Abini looked away, cheeks warming. Gideon’s gaze stayed on her face like he was noticing her properly for the first time.
“You’re always trying to disappear,” he said.
“Because disappearing keeps me safe,” she answered.
“Not in my space,” Gideon said, and something in his voice sounded less like an order and more like a promise he didn’t know how to soften.
Days later, Abini ran into Gideon and Dr. Raymond in the office hallway.
Dr. Raymond’s calm voice cut through her chest. “You missed your appointment.”
Abini’s heart dropped. The abortion.
“I… I got married,” she blurted, because panic makes poor lies.
Dr. Raymond blinked. Gideon’s eyes shifted like a door slamming.
“And the pills?” Dr. Raymond asked quietly. “The ones you thought were contraceptives. I told you they were vitamins.”
Gideon’s hand tightened at his side. For the first time, his confidence looked unsettled, like the truth had walked up and sat down in front of him.
“We’re going to the hospital,” Gideon said coldly.
At the scan, the doctor smiled. “Congratulations. You’re carrying twins.”
Abini went still.
Twins.
Gideon stared at the screen like he was counting the future and finding it heavier than he expected.
That evening, Grandma Josephine threw a birthday celebration for Abini, and Abini realized she had forgotten her birthday entirely, as if grief had erased it from the calendar. But when staff sang, something broke softly inside her.
For the first time since her mother died, Abini felt remembered.
Gideon watched her smile like he wanted to memorize it.
Later, Dr. Raymond arrived with a worn diary, speaking to Gideon about a long-lost sister. Abini listened, mind catching on fragments: missing child, old secrets, names that felt like distant thunder.
And then life turned again, not gently, but decisively.
Gideon ordered a DNA test.
The results came quickly.
The twins were his.
He found Abini later sitting quietly with her hands resting on her belly.
“The children are mine,” Gideon said.
Abini’s breath caught.
His voice dropped raw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you already decided who I was,” Abini said, voice shaking. “You called it a contract. You planned my exit. So I planned to go with my babies and not disturb your life.”
Gideon stepped closer, something fierce and frightened in his eyes. “Who allowed you?”
Abini blinked. “Sir—”
“No,” he cut in, then softened like the next words cost him. “I misjudged you.”
He looked at her belly, then back at her face. “I have feelings for them. And… I have feelings for you.”
Abini’s eyes filled.
“I’m taking responsibility,” Gideon said firmly. “Not because of Grandma. Because they’re my children… and you’re my wife.”
The contract marriage cracked.
And then, at a department dinner meant to look normal, Gideon stopped pretending.
A game turned cruel. Someone dared Abini to kiss the person to her left.
Abini refused and reached for the drink instead. Gideon took the cup from her hand and drank it himself.
“She won’t drink,” he said coldly. “Not in my presence.”
Phones began vibrating. Gideon posted publicly. Announced her. Claimed her.
And then Femi arrived with sunflowers and a performance. He dropped to one knee.
“Will you marry me?”
Abini’s body went cold.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m married.”
Femi’s face twisted. He surged forward like ownership had replaced dignity.
Gideon stepped in, calm and dangerous. “This woman is my wife,” he said. “And she is carrying my children.”
Security removed Femi while the room watched.
Outside, in the parking lot, Abini trembled with leftover fear.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” she whispered.
“I did,” Gideon replied. “Let’s go home.”
But home was not finished with surprises.
The next day, a convoy arrived, and a woman stepped into the mansion like an accusation wearing silk.
“I am Mrs. Akini,” she announced. “You were engaged to marry my daughter.”
She produced a file. Promises. Old agreements.
Then a young woman walked in with a sweet smile and a soft voice.
“Hello, sister,” she said gently. “I don’t want trouble. I just want to be friends.”
Something about her sweetness felt rehearsed, like a mask that had practiced in a mirror.
She reached to pour water for Abini.
Gideon snapped too fast. “Stop!”
Everyone froze.
The glass tilted. Hot water spilled, scalding Abini’s wrist. Abini cried out and jerked back.
Gideon grabbed her immediately, and in the movement he saw it.
A mark.
A red heart-shaped birthmark.
Gideon froze like he’d seen a ghost.
“I remember this,” he said, voice lowering. “Cece had this birthmark as a child.”
The girl beside Mrs. Akini panicked then smiled too quickly. “I removed mine,” she said. “It was ugly.”
Grandma Josephine leaned forward, squinting. “Cece used to say Gideon liked the birthmark.”
Then Grandma’s eyes sharpened.
“Cece loved mangoes,” Mrs. Akini said quickly, as if grabbing for proof.
Grandma’s voice cut through. “No. Cece was allergic to mangoes.”
A plate of mango appeared, too fast, like someone had come prepared for theatre.
Mrs. Akini held a piece toward the sweet girl. “Eat.”
The girl hesitated, then forced a bite.
Nothing happened.
Grandma turned to Abini slowly. “Abini… try.”
Abini’s eyes widened.
Gideon’s gaze locked on hers. “Please.”
Abini took a tiny bite.
Within seconds, her throat scratched. Her eyes watered. She coughed, struggling to breathe.
Gideon’s face went pale.
Mrs. Akini stumbled back like someone had slapped her with truth.
“That’s… that’s Cece’s allergy,” Grandma whispered.
Mrs. Akini stared at Abini like she was seeing the child she lost.
“My daughter,” she broke, and the words fell from her mouth like prayer.
Gideon’s voice turned cold again. “Enough. We do DNA today.”
Dr. Raymond arrived, calm but tense, and when he saw Mrs. Akini, his eyes changed.
“Ma,” he said quietly, like speaking to someone he knew.
“Raymond,” Mrs. Akini whispered back, voice breaking.
The test came back fast.
Dr. Raymond looked up, voice steady but emotional.
“Abini is Cecilia Akini,” he said. “She is your daughter.”
Silence.
Mrs. Akini made a sound half sob, half gasp, and collapsed into a chair.
“My Cece,” she cried. “My child.”
Abini sat frozen. Her mind could not carry it all at once: missing child, birthmark, allergy, the surname, Dr. Raymond’s face that felt familiar for reasons she hadn’t been able to name.
Dr. Raymond stepped closer, eyes glossy. “My sister,” he whispered.
Before anyone could move, the fake Cece screamed and lunged at Abini like rage had teeth.
Security grabbed her. She fought like a storm.
“If I can’t have it, she won’t live!” she screamed.
She was dragged away, cursing and crying and proving, in one ugly moment, that sweetness can be a disguise.
Mrs. Akini approached Abini trembling, pride falling away completely. She held Abini’s hands and wept.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She explained the accident, the confusion, the chaos of years ago. A child lost in tragedy. A mother leaving Nigeria to outrun her own guilt. A desperate hope when someone claimed they found Cece, and a cruel scam built on a grieving woman’s longing.
Abini listened, chest tight.
“My mother told me she gave me the Akini name because of embroidery on the handkerchief she found me with,” Abini whispered. “I didn’t know what it meant then. I need time.”
Mrs. Akini nodded, tears falling. “Take time. Even if it takes years, I will wait.”
That night, Gideon held Abini gently in their room. For once, he did not feel like a wall. He felt like a person trying to learn how to be safe for someone else.
“It feels like destiny,” Abini whispered. “Everything. It’s too much.”
Gideon gave a small, tired smile. “Destiny is stressing me,” he said, then glanced at her belly. “And these two… they’re already competing with me for your attention.”
Abini laughed through tears, because sometimes laughter is the only way the heart survives shock.
The next morning, Grandma Josephine announced, “From today, you are not going to work again. Protect my twins.”
Gideon tried to argue. Grandma shut him down with a glare that could have disciplined history.
For once, Abini didn’t fight it. Not because she wanted to be kept, but because she finally understood something she had never allowed herself to believe:
Rest was not laziness.
Safety was not weakness.
Being cared for did not make her less worthy.
That evening, Gideon prepared a proposal. Not a contract. Not an arrangement. Not a performance for the world.
For her.
Candles. Flowers. Soft music.
Abini returned home late from paying quiet respects to her mother the way she was raised to do. Her phone had died, and Gideon’s eyes were dark with a fear he tried to cover with anger.
“You disappeared,” he said.
“My phone died,” Abini rushed. “I didn’t mean to.”
He stepped closer, jealousy and relief mixing in his voice. “You didn’t answer my calls.”
“I’m here now,” she whispered.
And then, because life had taught her that love must be claimed before fear steals it, she blurted, breathless, “Let’s get married properly.”
Gideon paused.
Then something softened in his eyes, small but real.
“You think I will forgive you that easily?” he murmured, teasing a little, but the teasing didn’t hide the truth: he was afraid of losing her.
“Gideon,” Abini breathed.
He leaned closer, voice low. “You’ll pay for it tonight.”
Abini’s cheeks burned. “Shameless man.”
Gideon’s mouth curved. “Romantic punishment.”
In front of the people who truly mattered, Grandma Josephine, Auntie Bose, Daniel from security, Dr. Raymond, Mrs. Akini, and a handful of trusted staff, Gideon stood before Abini without arrogance.
“Abini Akini,” he said gently, “you entered my life through a mistake.”
Abini’s eyes filled.
“And yet,” Gideon continued, taking her hands, “you became my blessing.”
He looked at her belly, then back at her face.
“I don’t want any contract marriage again,” he said. “I want a real one.”
Abini swallowed, then nodded slowly. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
Gideon exhaled like he had been holding his breath for months, then smiled, small and honest.
“Mrs. Okoro,” he said softly, “please take care of me from now on.”
Abini laughed through tears. “And you too, Mr. Okoro.”
He kissed her gently at first, then deeper, like a man finally allowed to be happy without fear of being punished for it.
Grandma Josephine clapped loudly. “Good! Now nobody should stress my granddaughter-in-law again!”
Everyone laughed, and it sounded like healing learning how to speak.
Abini rested her forehead against Gideon’s and closed her eyes.
For the first time in a long time, she felt safe.
Not because life had become perfect.
But because she no longer had to face it alone.