WHY DIDN’T I JUST GO HOME?

As I packed the last item into my bag, I paused and looked around the room, already missing it.

Hotel life did that to you. Quiet, orderly, and detached from responsibility. I would know, my work sent me on trips that required turning a hotel room to mine for a while. I had also lived in this one for five days straight. Four days of wedding preparations, fittings, chaos, and then last night, the actual wedding. But now it was morning. 

The newlyweds had retreated into their own bubble.

Still, I couldn’t shake the thought that settled in my chest as I zipped my bag.

I was not leaving this wedding empty-handed.

I was leaving with two men. Two men who wanted to know me better, and I liked them both.

The first message that came in that morning was from Ifeoluwa.

Good morning, Grace. How was your night? I hope you slept well.

I stared at the screen longer than necessary.

It was still unreal to me, the fact that a man like Ifeoluwa actually liked me. If it had been any other man, who was as rich, handsome, and had a celebrity-level status like him, I would have assumed there was an ulterior motive. Some angles I couldn’t see yet.

But Ifeoluwa wasn’t that kind of man.

Everyone knew that.

His integrity didn’t need defending; it announced itself everywhere; on social media, in interviews, and in the causes he stood for. If he said he had been watching me and liked what he saw, I believed him.

And the way he spoke made me feel important in a way I wasn’t used to. It still amazed me.

People often asked why he was named the Prince of the South, and why it was such a big deal.

If only they understood what that meant. In some places, he was spoken of as the prince of the Black race itself, not because he ruled everyone, but because his lineage stretched back to a time before Africa had borders, before villages became towns, towns became states, and states became countries.

His forefathers had reigned across lands that would later be divided into more than a hundred nations. And even now, long after those empires had fractured, his family name still carried weight.

But it wasn’t just his bloodline that commanded respect.

Ifeoluwa himself was a prince of stature, always fighting for someone, always standing up for the voiceless, always winning battles that mattered. To have a man like that single me out, to speak of loving me so plainly, felt like the most extraordinary thing I had ever experienced.

And yet…

Why was it happening at the exact same time that Adrian had appeared?

Why now?

Why hadn’t Adrian noticed me before the wedding? Before yesterday? Why did attention arrive in two directions at once?

I shook my head, trying to quiet the thoughts as another message came in.

Good morning, Grace. How are you? I would have reached out earlier, but I thought you deserved to sleep.

The thoughtfulness made me smile.

I replied immediately.

I’ve been awake. I didn’t really sleep much. I’m packing now, about to head home.

His response was instant.

I’ll send a driver to pick you. I am in a meeting.

I smiled again.

Then another message followed.

If you don’t mind, he can bring you to me first. I’m rounding off a meeting. We could have brunch.

I laughed softly to myself.

We agreed to meet on Wednesday. Don’t move our date forward. 

There was a pause.

Then:

I’m sorry. I was just looking forward to being in your presence again so soon.

That line did something to me. I literally felt a butterfly in my belly.

Yet, I was determined to restrain myself, to make this budding friendship special, by not rushing it, so I typed:

I can’t do brunch today. I really need to go home. I am resuming work tomorrow.

After sending, I immediately started editing, wondering if I was too dismissive, but his reply came in almost immediately.

No worries, he replied. If you need me, I’m here. I’m not withdrawing the driver, let him take you home.

I smiled like a kid in a candy store. This level of kindness was special, and I was determined to enjoy it.

I zipped my bag and opened the door, then froze.

Adrian stood there, already dressed. He was smiling.

“How are you here already?” I asked, blinking. “You’re giving… stalker energy.”

He laughed. “Trust me, it’s a coincidence. I was checking out too, so I decided to check up on you first. I have been hovering here for a minute wondering what you are up to.”

I folded my arms. “Creepy.”

“Do you actually find me creepy?” he asked.

I looked him in the eye and decided to be honest. “No.”

His smile shifted, slower now, curious.

“So how do you see me?”

“What kind of question is that?” I asked.

“No,” he said gently. “I really want to know.”

I sighed. “You’re a fine boy who I don’t know.”

He grinned. “Do you want to know me?”

“I don’t know, maybe” I said truthfully.

He nodded, as though that answer pleased him.

“Let me drive you home then. You’re leaving anyway, right?”

I shook my head. “No. I’d rather take a taxi. I’ve seen how you drive.”

He laughed. “My driver is here. We’ll sit at the back, together.”

“I already have a ride,” I said. “I’ll take a rain check.”

His smile didn’t fade. “Who’s offering?”

I hesitated.

I didn’t want to explain Prince Ifeoluwa. And if I was honest with myself, I didn’t want Adrian to know there was already someone else.

I liked the attention.

And I didn’t want it to stop, even though I didn’t yet know what to make of him.

I exhaled. “You know what? It’s fine. I’ll ride with you.”

His smile widened. “I like the sound of that.”

I pulled out my phone immediately and texted Prince.

Don’t worry about the driver. Someone else is taking me home.

For someone who said he was in a meeting, his reply came almost instantly, as though he had an emergency alert for my texts.

Who?

The truth felt strange in my chest.

Adrian.

An eye-roll emoji followed.

Please be careful, he wrote.

I’m a big girl, I replied. I can handle myself.

There was a pause.

Then Ifeoluwa texted again, while Adrian looked at me with lazy smile, patiently waiting for me as I texted on:

I want you to be my girl, Grace. And I’m not comfortable with my girl being with a man who has already said he wants to sleep with her.

I smiled softly as I typed.

But I’m not your girl yet.

Adrian lifted my bag, and walked ahead. “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” I said, following him.

Even though I knew, deep down, that whatever I was doing made no sense. Ifeoluwa didn’t deserve my drama.

———————————————————————————————————————

I should call myself a hypocrite.

Because tell me why I told Prince I couldn’t do brunch, told him to wait till Wednesday because I needed to go home, rest, prepare for resuming work the next day, and yet here I was, allowing Adrian sway me without much resistance.

I knew it.

I knew it even as it was happening.

Adrian was… a catch. White. Fine to a fault, and successful in a trendy way. There was a pull about him, an energy that made you feel chosen just by proximity. Still, somewhere beneath the excitement, I wondered if he was good for me.

If I was being truthful, I knew he was not. I could feel it in my body, in the way my chest tightened when he spoke, and in the way my instincts whispered.

But knowing didn’t stop me, instead my curiosity raged.

We were at the back seat of his car, not really a car, more like a mini tour bus. His band was there with him, relaxed, loud, and familiar with one another in the way people who live on the road often are. They greeted me easily, joking, welcoming me into their space as though I already belonged there.

It felt… cool. These guys were stars.

The hotel we left was in Ikoyi. I lived in Yaba, Adrian lived somewhere else entirely so he had taken a detour to drop me home. By the time we crossed the bridge and approached the Adekunle area, my body had already relaxed into the rhythm of the ride.

That was when Adrian said, “I’m actually singing at a lounge in Ikeja City Mall today. Come with me.”

I should have said no.

It should have been as easy as saying no to brunch with Ifeoluwa earlier, but for some reason, the idea of being backstage while he performed was appealing to me.

“I have work tomorrow,” I said weakly.

“So?” he smiled. “The event is today.”

I hesitated.

“What about my luggage?” I asked.

“It’ll be fine with the driver,” he said easily, and I smiled with a proud pout, not quite agreeing, yet agreeing by my silence.

When we got to the mall, he held my hand as we stepped down from the car.

The way he held it, firm, and familiar, you would have thought we were together.

“Why are you holding my hand?” I asked.

“To keep you safe,” he replied.

I laughed. “Safe from what?”

He didn’t answer.

Inside the mall, his manager and bodyguards moved ahead of us. People were already whispering, recognising him. Someone tried to take a picture. Someone else called his name.

His fame was buzzing, not explosive yet, but humming loudly enough to promise something bigger.

“You really shouldn’t be walking into malls like this,” I said. “One day it won’t be safe.”

“These are the last days of that,” he replied calmly. “I want to be that relatable superstar. I want people to feel familiar with me. It’s part of my branding.”

We stopped in front of a boutique.

“This is a female store,” I said. “Why are we here?”

He smiled. “We’re here for you.”

I shook my head immediately. “I’m not buying clothes or getting all dressed up just to watch you perform in a mall. I’m fine.”

“It’s not just a performance,” he said. “It’s dinner.”

I frowned. “What do you mean dinner?”

“You will spend the day with me, then at night you will be my date before I step on stage to sing,” he said casually, as though he hadn’t tricked me here on the guise that this was something fast. “The event is at six,” he continued. “Let’s have lunch first. There’s a private restaurant behind here. Once we are done, we will go for a sound check. I just want you with me today.”

I stared at him. “As what? Do you think I’m jobless?”

“Calm down,” he laughed. “Feisty. I like it.”

“I’m going home,” I said, turning to leave.

He pulled me back.

Just enough.

Our faces were suddenly close, almost breath to breath, space collapsing too quickly for thought.

“Why are you proving hard to get?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just not playing games.”

“Please,” he said, softer now. “I need you.”

That was it.

He didn’t say anything else.

And somehow, that was enough.

Something about a beautiful white boy telling me he needed me slipped past all my defenses. I followed him into the boutique.

He picked out clothes, and encouraged me to try out options I wouldn’t normally choose. The one he preferred was a very low cut dress.

“I’m not comfortable showing this much skin,” I said.

“It’s not that much,” he replied. “You’re fine.”

Everyone agreed.

The stylist. His team. Voices rising around me, praising how beautiful I looked. How the outfit suited me. How I should wear things like this more often.

I barely recognised myself in the mirror.

We picked shoes.

“I’m a sneakers girl,” I said. “I actually have white sneakers in the car.”

“No,” he said immediately. “Wear heels.”

I hesitated. My legs still hadn’t recovered from the heels I was forced to wear for Tolu’s wedding. Ifeoluwa’s sneakers had saved me then.

“Can you walk in them?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, though I wasn’t sure, yet I let him pay for them.

As we left the boutique, I laughed nervously. “I really don’t know why I’m letting you pull me into all these.”

He smiled and tugged my hand gently. “I’m pulling you to me. By the time today ends, you’ll be my girlfriend.”

I scoffed. “Is that how people become someone’s girlfriend now?”

He laughed. “Relax. I was joking. I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”

“Then what are you looking for?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Fun.”

“What kind of fun?”

“You know what fun means,” he said lightly.

“I don’t,” I replied.

“Don’t think too much,” he said, touching my face. “Don’t squeeze that beautiful face of yours.”

I smiled, even though confusion was beginning to cloud my sense of judgement,.

Still, I followed him.

——————————————————————————————————————

Adrian had promised fun, and it turned out that fun was a language he spoke fluently.

Even though this wasn’t my world, and I didn’t recognise most of the faces or understand the unspoken rules of settings like this, I found myself easing into it. Laughing. Relaxing. Feeling something oddly familiar. Nostalgic, almost.

Which didn’t make sense, because I had never been here before.

Yet, a part of me felt like it had always wanted to be.

We went for lunch first. A beautiful place. Quiet enough to hear yourself think, polished enough to make you sit up straighter. I realised how long it had been since someone else paid for my meal without it being an occasion, without it being family. That alone felt indulgent.

But before I could even look properly at the menu, Adrian ordered.

For me.

I paused, surprised.

I would have liked to choose. I would have liked him to ask. It felt like a small thing, but it wasn’t. You asked a woman what she wanted, you don’t just decide for her.

I told myself not to attach a meaning to it, that it probably meant nothing. He was used to being in control, to deciding, and to people following. Still, that jumped at me, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

As we ate, he asked questions about my work, my life, my plans. I told him about my love for film, and how I feel stuck here, unable to get a visa that makes it possible to travel for my education and global exposure. He leaned back thoughtfully, then said casually, “You know, marrying me would solve your visa issues.”

I laughed. “Sorry, what?”

He shrugged. “It would. It’d be easier.”

“Adrian,” I said slowly, “pick a struggle. Just a while ago, you said you didn’t want a girlfriend. Now you’re talking about marriage.”

“I want to help you,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“That’s confusing.”

He smiled. “I already told you I want to sleep with you. Anything that helps my cause, I’ll do.”

Something in me stiffened.

“That’s rude,” I said. “And yesterday, you said you were joking.”

He laughed lightly. “That’s your problem. You don’t know the difference between the truth and a joke.”

“And this?” I asked, trying to wave off my annoyance..

“Another joke. Relax, I am just joking.”

I didn’t laugh this time. I felt… diminished, and reduced. I couldn’t explain it properly, but something about the way he said it made me feel less like a person and more like a prize.

Still, I finished my meal.

Then he made three jokes in quick succession, ridiculous, charming, stupid jokes, and just like that, the tension dissolved. I hated how easy it was for him to do that.

Soon after, we headed out for soundcheck. He insisted I come with him.

The moment he stepped onto the stage and began to sing, everything else disappeared.

Oh. This man could sing.

He wasn’t just singing well and impressively, he sang like someone who knew exactly who he was on that stage. Like the music lived somewhere inside him and he was simply letting it out. The crowd, empty seats and crew members alike, responded instantly.

I stood there, stunned.

When he finished, someone handed him a bottle. He drank deeply, wiped his mouth, then walked straight to me and kissed me.

On the lips.

I froze. The taste of strong liquor in my mouth. 

“What is wrong with you?” I hissed.

He smiled, unbothered. “What’s wrong with you? I like you, you like me. Let’s have fun”

That was the moment I should have left.

Instead, I stayed.

I followed him to the hotel near the mall where we were meant to change. We had just one room for this and it should have irked me, but I told myself it was just a logistics convenience. I would change in the room, and he could use the bathroom.

However, as soon as we entered the room, he pulled off his shirt without warning.

His abs stirred something in me and I swallowed. 

I inhaled slowly, annoyed with myself. Annoyed that even now, especially now, I was noticing his beautiful body and admiring it. 

“So,” he said, catching my expression. “You like what you see?”

“I do not,” I said too quickly.

He grinned. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Don’t you dare,” I snapped. “Go and get ready in the bathroom.”

He laughed, then started unbuckling his belt. Immediately, I grabbed my bag and went into the bathroom, needing space, and distance.

As I changed, I caught my reflection in the mirror and frowned. I should have been bolting for the door, leaving, not here, changed into an outfit that would shock my mum.

What was I wearing?

Half my chest and thighs were exposed. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t how I dressed. How had I let him convince me?

I was about to change into my previous outfit when the bathroom door opened.

Adrian stepped in.

“Oh my God,” he murmured.

He pulled me to him by the waist, cupped my face, leaned in, as though to kiss me again, and my brain finally worked. I knew I had to leave.

I pushed him hard in the chest.

“No,” I said firmly. “What are you doing? I’m not that kind of girl.”

He frowned. “Then why are you dressed like this?”

“You made me pick it.”

“I suggested,” he said smoothly. “You chose it. Nobody forced you.”

“Adrian,” I said, stepping back, “don’t do this.”

“Don’t fight me,” he said, pulling me close again. “Relax.”

I shoved him away, gathered my clothes from the floor, and walked out.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my voice shaking now. “Please leave me alone.”

He didn’t follow me as I left the room floor in a hurry, got into the elevator, and that was when it hit me.

My luggage was still in his crew bus.

I stopped abruptly, my heart pounding.

I reached for my phone, ready to text Adrian, but someone else was waiting.

Five missed calls.

From Prince Ifeoluwa.

Before I could think, his name lit up my screen again.

I answered.

“Hello.”

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Are you home?”

I hesitated. “No. I’m… in a situation. At Ikeja City Mall… But I’ll sort it out.”

A pause.

“What kind of situation?”

I closed my eyes.

“It’s not something I’m proud to talk about.”

He didn’t laugh.

“What situation?” Ifeoluwa asked.

I closed my eyes.

“It’s not something I’m proud to talk about,” I said, already regretting opening my mouth. Why did I even answer the phone? Why didn’t I just say I was fine and hang up like a sensible person?

There was a brief silence on the line.

“Try me,” he said gently.

I swallowed. “I went out with someone.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“A friend?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

I hesitated. Then sighed. “Adrian.”

“The one you met yesterday?”

“Yes.”

I pressed my lips together, heat rising to my face even though he couldn’t see me. “I think I’m stupid.”

“No,” he said immediately. “Please don’t ever say that about yourself again. Where exactly are you?”

The firmness in his voice caught me off guard. 

I exhaled shakily. “My bag is with his people, in their crew bus. I’m at a hotel close to Ikeja City Mall. I was going to just take an Uber and go home.”

“Well,” he said, as though thinking aloud, “you’re in luck.”

“How?”

“Remember the meeting I told you about?”

“Yes.”

“It’s with one of the ministries in Alausa. I’m about five minutes away from you.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Please don’t. I don’t even feel presentable right now.”

“You can’t stop me,” he replied calmly. “I’m already on my way.”

I let out a small, helpless laugh. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re going my way anyway,” he added. “I’ll drop you in Yaba.”

I asked where he lived.

“Ikoyi.”

Of course. Big boy.

I hung up and immediately started looking for somewhere, anywhere, to change. There was no way I could let him see me dressed like this.

One restroom in the lobby was out of order, the other was occupied. I waited. Knocked lightly. Waited again. Nothing.

I stood there, waiting for whoever was inside the bathroom to come out, but they didn’t. So, I stared at my reflection in the mirror by the lobby wall, and for the first time that day, the noise inside my head caught up with me.

I like to think of myself as sensible. Grounded. The kind of woman who knows herself.

But what had just happened didn’t prove that I was all that.

Why would I ever allow a man disrespect me by kissing me like that?

I wasn’t that girl.

Except… for half a second, I had been. I couldn’t control how a person would choose to behave, but I had control over my response.

That was the part that unsettled me most. 

I knew exactly how I should have responded to him, but I had been numb or maybe a little too intimidated and star struck. By the time my pride and anger arrived, the moment had already passed, and I hated myself a little for that delay.

Why was I intimidated by Adrian?

Was it the fame? The charm? Or the fact that he was a fine white boy with confidence and access, and a part of me had been flattered to be with him, despite myself?

I hated how easily I could answer that, because I liked to believe I was different, not desperate or easily swayed. But standing there, dressed in something that didn’t feel like me, waiting to change, I wondered how many times I had excused disrespect because of my inferiority.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

Prince Ifeoluwa: I am outside.

My stomach dropped.

I stepped out of the hotel lobby before I could change my mind.

The white SUV was already there, parked neatly by the entrance, engine running. It looked exactly the way I remembered it from the wedding, quietly expensive, unbothered, and waiting, like it knew no one would question its place by the entrance.

Ifeoluwa stood a few steps away, phone in hand, waiting for me. When he saw me, his gaze lifted instinctively.

He looked me over once. Slowly. From my shoes to my shoulders.

I braced myself for his judgment, disappointment, and for the tightening of a face that had admired me only yesterday.

None of it came.

Instead, he frowned slightly. “You’re going to be cold in my car,” he said. “Even if I turn down the AC.”

I blinked. “How do you know I can’t stand the cold?”

He smiled faintly. “You posted about it two weeks ago. Said air-conditioning was your personal enemy.”

I laughed despite myself. “Wow. Stalker.”

“No,” he said calmly. “I just like you.”

That landed harder than it should have, because why was I fooling around with Adrian, when royalty like Ifeoluwa was declaring affections. My village people were certainly working overtime.

“So,” I said, trying to sound playful, “you like everything about me?”

He tilted his head. “Not everything.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “What don’t you like?”

He studied me for a moment, then shook his head. “This is not the time or the place.”

Then, without ceremony, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

“Wear that,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

The warmth surprised me. Not just the fabric, but the way he did it. His hands didn’t even graze my skin, nor did his eyes linger on my breast. He simply covered me.

As we walked toward the car, my stomach tightened. I felt exposed. Not because of what I was wearing, but by the entire day, my choices, my weakness, the mess of it all.

Ifeoluwa opened the door for me, but I couldn’t enter because I heard my name.

“Grace.”

I froze.

I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Adrian walked toward us from the side of the driveway, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He looked from Ifeoluwa to me, then back at Ifeoluwa.

“Good evening,” he said lightly.

Ifeoluwa nodded. “Good Evening.”

Then Adrian smiled. “Cousin.”

I looked between them. “You’re related?”

Ifeoluwa answered calmly. “Yes. That’s how I attended the wedding. We are both related to Tolu”

Adrian scoffed. “We’re not really related. He’s my stepmother’s nephew.”

I exhaled sharply. Of course. Of course this was how the universe chose to arrange things.

Adrian turned to me. “You’re not actually going with him, are you? We have a show. You are with me.”

Ifeoluwa said nothing. He simply stepped behind me, waiting for me to make a choice. Adrian was waiting too.

I swallowed, then put one leg inside Ifeoluwa’s car. “I’m going home,” I said. “Where can I get my bags?”

Adrian’s jaw tightened.

“You picked the wrong cousin,” he muttered.

Then he turned and walked away.

——————————————————————————————————————–

What a plot twist! Cousins?? Whew!

But I love Prince Ifeoluwa!!! 

It feels like both men are representing choices. And like life, we know the good choice but the bad one feels “not so bad” and very catchy. Anyway, I refuse to speak too soon. I honestly can’t wait for episode 3 and what Mrs Jenrola is cooking for us. I’m literally counting days because, one week? Oh my God!

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