Inside a sleek, beautifully designed bathroom of a penthouse at the top of an exclusive building, a man stood under a cold shower when he suddenly felt warm arms wrapping around his body from behind.
He quickly shrugged them off, turned off the water, and wrapped a clean white towel around his waist. Ready to leave, he was stopped by the woman who had embraced him.
She was puzzled. She had never seen him in such a bad mood before.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "Why have you been avoiding me lately? Did I do something wrong?" She wondered if she had, though she couldn't quite remember what it could have been.
She searched his face for answers, but he refused to meet her eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. His silence was a wall she couldn't break through.
Wrapping a towel around her chest, she stepped toward him. "If I did something to hurt you, just tell me," she said softly. "Don't just disappear on me."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he looked at her—his expression heavy with hurt.
"Why didn't you ever tell me you had a son?" he asked, his voice low and strained. "Sebastian... he's yours, isn't he?"
Her heart lurched. A cold rush of fear swept over her. The truth she had kept hidden had just been exposed.
She swallowed hard, her words struggling to break free.
Without wasting another moment, she began, her voice quivering. "Felix, I... um, I... it's complicated. Please, believe me. It happened when..." She faltered, trailing off as he turned and started walking out of the bathroom toward the bedroom. She quickly followed, grabbing his arm to turn him back around.
"Felix, please... just listen to me."
He stopped, his hands firmly on his hips, his face unreadable. "Go on. I'm listening." His tone was cold, distant.
"Yes, I agreed. Sebastian is my son and first child but it happened when I was in college." Her voice breaks into tears. "Many years ago, I was raped by a group of thugs on my way from the school's library that night. My parents have helped me take care of Sebastian since the day of his birth. When I met you, Sebastian was seven years old. I had no choice but to send him off to his godfather in Poland. I … I …. Never wanted to tell you about Sebastian because I thought you would dump me or cut off our relationship for being a single mother." She sniffed her nose and wiped off the falling tears on her cheeks. "I had to keep it away from you if it could save our marriage. I'm sorry, Dayo." She buried her face in shame.
Dayo let out a heavy sigh and pulled her into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "It's fine," he murmured, his fingers softly stroking her hair.
He had already suspected the truth but needed to hear it from her.
The first hint had come when someone anonymously sent him a photograph of his wife having lunch with a 22-year-old man. Rather than reacting right away, he had one of his top investigators look into it.
He was certain his wife wasn't unfaithful, but still, he had to know the full story. When the truth finally came to light—that the young man wasn't a fling, but her son—his annoyance grew. It wasn't the secret itself that bothered him, but the feeling that she had kept something so significant from him. The secrecy made him feel as though there were more layers to their relationship than he had realized.
It was hard to believe that a woman could keep such a significant secret from him all these years of marriage. Yet he understood—she had been afraid to tell him.
He had gathered all the information he needed about the boy—his complete biography, thanks to his investigators. With it, he tracked down every location and hideout the boy had ever been connected to.
In truth, the purchase of shares and properties had been nothing more than a ruse, a calculated move to prompt Adira into revealing the truth.
Now, more than four months had passed since Dayo and Sebastian met, and in that time, Dayo had come to truly know the boy. He even saw him as the son he never had. As for Sebastian, he had already begun to see Dayo as a father figure in his life.
Sebastian had come to terms with the truth—Dayo was his stepfather, and Sharon, his stepsister.
He had even been at Sharon's inter-house cheerleading event in Canada. Quietly. Unseen. Adira had no idea her son was there, watching from a distance. He sat just a few rows behind them in the stadium—close, yet worlds apart. Dressed in a baseball cap, sky-blue and white polo shirt, and ripped jeans, he blended effortlessly into the crowd.
Later, when Dayo revealed everything to Adira—how he'd found Sebastian, what he'd learned, and all that had happened since—she was stunned. Words escaped her.
"You… Jesus," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. A deep blush colored her cheeks as she laughed nervously, then hid her face against his chest.
But then came the question that caught her completely off guard.
"Can I… at least adopt him?"
She raised her head slowly, her eyes wide with disbelief, searching his face as if to confirm she'd heard him right. "…Adopt… Sebastian?"
A tender smile played on Dayo's lips as he gently brushed her cheek with his fingers.
"Yes," he said, his voice low and sincere. "He already sees me as his stepfather. All I need now is your blessing—to make him my son in every way that matters."
She was excited and overwhelmed at the same time. She wasn't expecting such. At that moment, she didn't know what to say or how to react or even show appreciation. She stood on her toes and stole a kiss on his lips. "... I love you…." She whispered between the kisses.
His hands holds firmly on her waist as he returns the kiss tenderly and passionately. "... You're the best thing ever in my life… I love you more, darling."
*******
Damian and Bummi didn't speak a word to each other during the entire flight from Nigeria to London. The silence between them was thick, making the journey feel even longer. They kept to themselves, each unsure of how to bridge the growing distance.
Since the truth about Nifemi's identity had come to light, things hadn't been the same. Bummi found it hard to face Damian—and he, too, kept his distance.
Sometimes, he was buried in paperwork while she peeked at him from behind a Forbes magazine. Other times, he sipped coffee and played an offline game on his phone, while she stayed plugged into her music, pretending not to notice him.
But beneath her calm exterior, Bummi was shaken. Discovering that Damian had been the one quietly supporting Nifemi all along—funding his football scholarship and covering his education in the UK—left her stunned. She never imagined he'd gone that far.
Bummi had sensed something was off long before the truth finally surfaced. Her mother had stopped answering her FaceTime calls, always making excuses. And whenever Bummi asked about Nifemi, her mother would claim he was still at school or out at soccer practice.
There had been too many secrets, too many evasions. It wasn't until later that Bummi learned the truth—Damian had flown her mother and Nifemi to the UK and even bought them a penthouse.
Yet, one question still lingered in her mind: how did Damian know that Nifemi was his son?
This was Bummi's first time traveling abroad, especially by air, and she couldn't help but marvel at the plane's luxurious interior. Every detail was immaculate—exquisite and elegant, nothing like she had ever imagined.
As Bummi took in the jet's opulent interior, a thought struck her: If this private jet is anything to go by, how extravagant must his other travel arrangements be? She couldn't help but wonder just how vast Damian's wealth and lifestyle really were.
She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep, but when she woke up, she found herself in London, UK. The cityscape made her feel as though she had just stepped out of a UFO. She pinched herself, unsure if she was dreaming or hallucinating, but it was real—she had arrived in London for the first time in her life. Overcome with joy, she restrained herself, determined not to make a scene. She knew she had to keep her composure, even though she felt like a complete newcomer.
A wide smile spread across her face as she took in her surroundings. She hadn't noticed when Damian walked past her toward the red Rolls-Royce Phantom parked ahead, followed by a black Mercedes sedan.
Bummi couldn't believe her eyes when she saw a group of white bodyguards treating Damian like royalty. One of them opened the back door for him, and as he slid in, the bodyguard glanced over at Bummi. She stood there, frozen, like a statue—utterly stunned.
Conflicted, she debated whether to get in, especially given the tension between her and Damian.
But when the valet raised an eyebrow, signaling the car wouldn't move without her, she hesitated before reluctantly climbing in.
She stole a glance at Damian from the corner of her eye, expecting him to be watching her. Instead, she found him engrossed in a soccer match on his phone, earphones plugged in to block out everything else.
The entire journey—from Nigeria to the UK airport, and then from the airport to Damian's residence—was marked by an eerie silence.
Bummi kept her eyes locked on the window, mesmerized by the unfamiliar sight of London's streets. They were so different from anything she had known in Africa.
The city was a striking mix of old and new: centuries-old pubs stood alongside sleek modern skyscrapers like The Shard and The Gherkin.
The sounds of the city were alive—passersby chatting, bus engines humming, sirens wailing in the distance, and perhaps even the distant chime of Big Ben. The air carried the tempting aromas of street food, from traditional fish and chips to an eclectic range of international cuisines.
From the trendy neighborhoods of Camden and Shoreditch to the affluent areas of Mayfair and Kensington, every street seemed to have its own unique vibe. Whether strolling through historic alleys or bustling shopping districts, London's streets were a sensory feast.
If Bummi were lucky enough to live here for a lifetime, she wouldn't even think about going back to Nigeria.
Everything here was alive. Everything.
In less than an hour, the red Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled into an extraordinary residence. The towering black gates, the expansive grounds, and the massive mansion—Bummi almost believed they had accidentally stumbled into heaven, without the burden of death.
It was pure paradise. Breathtaking.
Bummi was certain she would never leave. Not ever.
A valet appeared out of nowhere, opening Damian's door, while another quickly helped Bummi with hers.
As she stepped out of the car, her mouth went slack, her eyes drinking in the spectacular surroundings.
She turned around, suddenly aware she wasn't alone. Searching for him, she finally found Damian walking toward the entrance of the awe-inspiring building.
Several members of the house staff helped off-load the luggages that were in the car. Bummi, teetering in her heels, rushed after Damian. Getting lost on her first day in London was not an option.
She could hardly wait to tell Lola and Ojo about everything. For a moment, she considered taking a quick selfie to send to them, but time wasn't on her side—Damian was already several steps ahead, moving at a brisk pace.
She broke into a jog to catch up, but still couldn't match his long strides.
On either side of the foyer, uniformed house staff—men and women dressed crisply in black and white—stood in formation, bowing stiffly as they greeted their employer and the woman hurrying after him.
Bummi longed to tear off the four-inch stilettos digging into her feet. It only made walking a challenge—running felt like torture.
Had she known, she would have chosen something simpler to wear. Now her feet throbbed with pain.
Damian moved quickly, his strides long and purposeful, as if he were chasing after something. He didn't even glance at the staff, let alone return their greetings.
Bummi forced a smile at them as she lifted her gown and walked past.
She climbed the gleaming golden stairs carefully, one hand gripping the rail to steady herself.
She had assumed they would be sleeping in separate rooms—especially after the tension between them—but to her surprise, he hadn't minded her sharing the king-sized bed.
He said nothing—just stepped into the shower, then reappeared moments later in a fresh, casual outfit. Light and simple.
Before Bummi could gather her thoughts, he was already out the door again.
Wearing only a white T-shirt and blue cotton shorts, she figured he'd just gone outside to get some air.
She hadn't realized when she drifted off, but when she woke up, she was still in the clothes she had traveled in.
That's when it hit her—her luggage.
She quickly changed out of the wrinkled dress and took a refreshing shower. In the bedroom's dressing room, she found her suitcase and rummaged through it for something comfortable.
Eventually, she settled on a soft two-piece set: a pink floral T-shirt, matching shorts, and a face cap to tie it all together.
She glanced at her watch lying on the massive bed—it was still early enough to take a walk.
She'd been looking forward to it ever since her arrival.
She only hoped Damian wouldn't mind. Speaking of which, she hadn't seen him since he left.
He was probably off at one of the viewing centers in London, watching soccer with his Western friends, she thought to herself.
Her eyes wandered as she made her way downstairs. The interior design was so stunning it left her momentarily dazed.
A woman with blonde hair, likely in her fifties, approached her and bowed curtly. She was dressed in a black-and-white maiden uniform.
Bummi must have seen the woman among the household staff when she first arrived, though she hadn't recognized her at the time.
She was striking—fair-skinned with silvery-grey eyes, pink lips, and finely curled hair. A nameplate on her chest read Coral.
Bummi stood quietly, studying her appearance. This was the first time she'd ever interacted with a Westerner in person, and she wasn't quite sure how to approach the conversation.
She offered a hesitant smile, unsure where to begin.
"Good day, ma'am," Coral's strong British accent instantly warmed Bummi's heart. "I'm Coral, the housekeeper here," she said with a polite smile. "Is there anything you need or anything I can assist you with?"
Bummi smiled nervously and shook her head. "Yeah—no—I mean, yes. Actually, I... um... I need to go for a walk." She fumbled for the right words, but the latter part was true. She needed to clear her head.
"Of course!" Coral returned the smile, her tone friendly. "But I think it might be best if you rested a bit since you've just arrived. You can take your walk later."
"Well, I already did, about an hour ago."
"Alright then. I'll arrange for someone to accompany you, ma'am."
Bummi raised an eyebrow. "Someone like... Damian?"
Coral shook her head. "No, ma'am. A guard will accompany you."
Knowing that Bummi was Damian's wife, Coral couldn't help but feel a sense of joy. It had been years since she'd seen her master with a woman. For a while, she even wondered if he had changed his preferences.
Bummi sighed. "I wish I could go alone…"
"Ma'am, have you ever been to the UK before?" Coral asked, her voice soft.
"No," Bummi replied.
Coral smiled kindly. "You see? It's not advisable for you to be wandering the streets by yourself." When Bummi nodded in agreement, Coral quickly arranged for a security guard to accompany her.
*********
As Bummi walked along the street, taking in the sights, she realized how much more vibrant and lively London's streets were compared to those in Lagos.
Here, the vehicles followed the rules—adhering to traffic lights and stopping for pedestrians at zebra crossings. They even had designated walkways for children.
In Lagos, however, drivers often ignored traffic rules, leading to minor accidents, and sometimes even major ones, all because of impatience.
Bummi's attention was caught by a red-haired teenage girl who was helping an elderly blonde woman cross the busy road.
Wow. It's reassuring to see that there are still kind-hearted people in the world. If this were Lagos, the old woman would likely have been left to struggle across the highway on her own.
Bummi had already taken her first selfie and shared it on her friends' group platform for Ojo and Lola to see. She was about to take another when something across the street caught her eye.
A breathtaking dress.
The security guard quickly helped her cross the busy road.
She stopped in front of a high-end boutique, gazing through the clear glass at the elegant gown draped on a golden mannequin. The fabric shimmered under the store lights, instantly drawing her in.
In that moment, it all came rushing back—the real reason she had come to London with Damian.
The party.
A new idea flickered in Bummi's mind, and a sly smirk tugged at her lips.
The thought of wearing that dress—to stir a little jealousy, maybe even exact a subtle form of revenge—was too tempting to resist.
As she stepped into the boutique, a young brunette sales attendant greeted her. "Good day, ma'am."
"Hi," Bummi replied, her eyes still fixed on the dress.
The attendant hesitated, clearly trying to divert her attention—the dress had already been claimed by another shopper.
"I want that dress," Bummi said, pointing just over the woman's shoulder.
Right on cue, the customer who had picked it up returned it to the display, a look of disappointment on her face—either it didn't fit, or the price tag had made her reconsider.
The store attendant directed Bummi in. "Oh. Sure, come in."
Bummi took the dress after it was handed to her. It was a black bodycon cat suit, a handless jumpsuit made of crystals—covering the front and back of the dress.
"Where's the changing room?" Bummi's eyes lit up in a twinkle of an eye. She couldn't wait to put it on. This dress would surely cause a very big confusion in the path of men when worn.
Within the next five minutes, Bummi had changed into the dress and checked her figure in the big standing mirror.
Behold, the dress was mind-blowing. Its back was exposed with a huge slit down to her lower back, exposing the spinal cords that leds to the ass.
And the handless straps gave the front a big 'V' cutting with 'see-through' netty fabric that clearly showed part of her belly and deep cleavage line.
The dress fit her beautifully, accentuating her natural curves and elegant hourglass shape.
The dress came with a pair of four-inch crystal heels and a dainty crystal ball purse.
Bummi was stunned. She couldn't wait to slip into it tonight. She knew Damian would be left breathless, craving a kiss by the end of the evening.
She was going to make him jealous tonight—thanks to this dress.
She let out a soft giggle, but then her eyes flicked to the price tag. "10,000 sterling pounds!?" she gasped, her voice almost a shout.
Quickly, she removed the dress and examined the label closely. "Berprern Beautiful Sheer Mesh Patchwork Crystal Jumpsuit with Fitted Diamonds."
Size: UK 19, US 36, Greece 38.
Made by Alexander McQueen.
Made in Bangladesh.
Price: £10,000.
Bummi wasn't familiar with the exchange rate between pounds and Nigeria's naira.
After doing the calculations, her eyes went wide. "5,250,000 naira—five million, two hundred and fifty thousand naira."
She started fanning her face with her hands, feeling a wave of dizziness. The price nearly gave her a heart attack.
Jesus.
She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself.
The knock of the attendant on the door jolted her back to reality. "Ma'am, are you finished?"
"Y-yes, just a minute," Bummi replied, still flustered.
"Okay, ma'am."
She stood there, still weighing her options, until she remembered her phone.
She removed the phone's patch and found the black unlimited credit card Damian had given her. She'd tucked it away there, never once using it since.
"I'll use this to pay for the dress," she whispered to herself as she prepared to leave.
"Thank you for your patronage," the cashier smiled as she returned the card to Bummi.
Bummi clutched the white, stylish paper bag as she walked out of the boutique. Her security guard was waiting patiently for her outside.
Just as she was about to turn away, her gaze landed on another luxury store—a jewelry store, and a large one at that.
She had often wondered about the value of her ring. Maybe it was time to find out.
Her security guard followed closely as she entered. A middle-aged man with brown hair greeted her from behind the front desk. "Good afternoon, ma'am. How can I assist you?"
She placed her sparkling diamond ring on the counter and asked, "If I were to sell this, what would I get for it?" If the price was right, she wouldn't hesitate. After all, she could always replace it with a cheaper duplicate later.
The old man slid on his prescription glasses and studied the ring closely. "This is worth a fortune, ma'am. It's called The Pink Star Diamond Ring. It's the most expensive ring ever sold, whether at auction or in stores, even by companies. It went for an eye-watering amount of $71.2 million."
Bummi was stunned, her eyes darting from the ring to the old man in disbelief.
The old man continued, handing the ring back to her. "The centerpiece is a 59.60-carat, oval-shaped, fancy vivid pink type 'IIA' diamond, one of the largest and finest of its kind."
Bummi swallowed hard, trying to absorb everything he had just said.
But, then again, she shouldn't be so shocked. With someone like Damian—so ridiculously wealthy it was almost godlike—nothing should surprise her anymore.
But the fact that Damian had spent such an astronomical amount on a small, sparkling ring for her was difficult for Bummi to wrap her mind around.
Why would he spend so much on a diamond ring for her? As just an ordinary person, did she really deserve him and all the lavish gifts he gave her?
What was her worth that he would spend over $71.2 million US dollar on a single ring?
It was as if the old man could sense her confusion. He smiled gently and said, "Ma'am, I can see your husband truly loves you. If a man like him is willing to give such an expensive ring to his wife, imagine what else he could do for her, what more he might offer." He sighed, shaking his head. "I only hope a man like him crosses my granddaughter's path someday."
Bummi forced a smile. "Hopefully," she replied softly, and walked out with the ring now gracing her finger.