By the time we left Ikeja, my brain had reset itself completely. I didn’t need a judge to tell me I had messed up, I already knew.

Too much had happened in one day. Too many versions of myself had surfaced and disappeared too quickly: the confident one, the careless one, the one who knew better, and the one who still followed anyway.

Worst of all, the version of me who had shamelessly let the most eligible bachelor in the country see just how gullible I could be.

I sat in the passenger seat of Prince Ifeoluwa’s car, staring straight ahead, wrapped in his jacket, silent, trying not to replay everything that had happened with Adrian only hours earlier.

The car moved smoothly onto the road, and for a while, neither of us spoke. Music filled the space between us.

Not the kind I had heard before.

It was intentionally slow, almost reverent in its depth. The kind of music that made you listen without realising you were listening.

“This music is… beautiful,” I said finally. “I don’t think I’m familiar with the artist.”

Ifeoluwa glanced at me briefly, pleased that I noticed, then focused back on the road. “That’s me.”

I blinked. “You sing?”

A faint smile touched his lips. “Almost everyone in my family does.”

I turned fully toward him now. “Wait. You sing? And it’s this good? Where can I find the song? Spotify? YouTube? This is… superstar-level music.”

Ifeoluwa was quiet for a moment. He looked as though he was weighing whether to tell me a secret, then he said, “This song isn’t for the world.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s for my father,” he replied simply.

I stared at him. “Your father?”

“Yes. The songs I write are about his kingdom. His exploits. His reign. I sing to honour him. To document his history.”

Something shifted in my chest.

“You’re doing this… for your father?”

“My father is a king,” he said calmly. “Kings like to be praised.”

I shook my head slowly, trying to reconcile what I was hearing. “So all this talent, all this ability, you use it only to sing about your father?”

He glanced at me again, and smiled. This man smiles a lot. It was as though he had a well of happiness inside him, always quick to express joy.

“I can sing for you too.”

The words landed softly, but they hit.

I laughed, uneasy. “You just told me you sing only for your father.”

“I sing to praise,” he said. “I can sing out of love too. Love for my father. Love for the woman I want in my life.”

I think I died a little then.

Because no, this couldn’t be real. Nobody was this perfect. Nobody spoke like this and meant it. I didn’t trust it. I couldn’t. Something this beautiful had to be hiding something underneath.

My lips trembled, but it wasn’t from the cold. It was from being near him.

He reached forward and turned off the air-conditioning.

“The world deserves to hear this,” I said quietly. “Music like this shouldn’t be hidden.”

He shook his head. “The world already knows who I am.”

I scoffed lightly. “Do you know how big you’d be if people knew you could sing like this?”

“I’m already big,” he replied. “Do you know who my father is? Do you know who I am?”

I stared at him.

“I have other ambitions,” he continued. “Bigger ones. But this, this music, is for the glory of my father.”

I hesitated. “So you don’t want praise for yourself?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“My glory comes from my father,” he said. “The more glorious he is, the more glorious I become. I carry his name.”

Wow.

I wanted to ask more questions. A thousand of them but my mind couldn’t keep up with my heart. Everything he said felt… structured. Intentional. Like a life built on something solid.

By the time we reached my bus stop, I was overwhelmed.

“Please drop me here,” I said quickly. “I’ll take a bike home.”

“No,” he replied. “I’ll take you home.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want you coming into this area. Besides… Where’s your driver?”

“I asked him to take a taxi home.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted privacy with you,” he said. “And this seemed like the only way I’d get it.”

Shame crept up my spine.

“I’m not even sure you’ll honour our Wednesday,” he added quietly. “My cousin seems to have caught your attention. Correct?”

That one hurt, because it had been true. I didn’t answer.

I gave him my address instead. When we arrived, he parked and turned to me. “You’re home.”

I slipped his jacket off my shoulders and held it out to him. The moment the jacket left my body, awareness crashed into me.

The outfit revealed too much skin.

The version of myself I had walked around in today.

Shame settled heavily.

“I’m not proud of today,” I said quickly. “Please don’t judge me.”

He looked at me steadily. “It’s not for me to judge you. I think you’ve already done enough of that for yourself.”

I swallowed.

“I’m never seeing Adrian again,” I said. “I’ll just call him to get my bag.”

“If it’s about the bag,” Prince said calmly, “I can get it for you.”

He pulled out his phone, dialed, then paused. Changed his mind.

He ended the call and typed a message instead.

“You’ll get your bag tonight,” he said. “It’ll be delivered to you.”

I frowned. “How do you know?”

He looked at me. “You don’t need that excuse to call Adrian again.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Thank you.”

“If you still want to see me on Wednesday,” he added, “I’d be happy to. Just text me.”

I nodded, then stepped out of the car.

For a moment, we both hesitated, waiting for the other to leave first. Finally, I turned and walked toward the gate. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time.

I closed the gate behind me and leaned against it, heart racing.

What kind of man is this?

—————————————————————————————-

By the time I entered the house, the living room was empty. I was relieved.

If my parents had been sitting there, or if my brother had seen me walk in dressed like that, it would have turned into something else. There would have been a lot to say, and I didn’t have the strength for any of it.

The spare key was still in my purse, thankfully. So I simply unlocked the door quietly and went straight to my room.

The first thing I did was pull off the dress.

I stood there for a second, holding it, then dropped it on the bed like it had offended me personally. If it wasn’t expensive, I would have thrown it away. I knew I wasn’t wearing it again. Ever.

I went into the bathroom and showered.

By the time I came out, I was calmer but still unsettled, my phone vibrated.

Adrian:

If you want your bag, call me yourself. Don’t send your errand boy.

I frowned.

Me:

He’s not my errand boy. I didn’t send him to you. He only offered to help. I just need my bag back.

A reply came almost immediately.

Adrian:

Send your address.

I paused.

I didn’t want him to know where I lived. After today, I needed a clean break. So instead, I sent my office address.

Me:

Send it here. I’m resuming work tomorrow anyway.

There was a short pause.

Adrian:

That’s not your house address.

My phone started ringing.

I let it ring once. Twice. Then I picked it up.

“Adrian, what?”

“Why are you acting like we’re fighting?” he said. “We had a good time today. You left with another man, yet you’re the one behaving like I did something wrong.”

“You kissed me without asking,” I said. “You disrespected me.”

He scoffed lightly. “Wow. Okay. I am sorry. I lost my manners because I am so into you, it’s hard to think clearly.”

I took a breath. “I’m grateful for the attention, but we don’t want the same things and I respect myself too much to stay in situations that already feel off.”

There was a pause. Then his tone changed, it became soft.

“Before I go on stage, I get overwhelmed,” he said. “You don’t know what my childhood was like. I’ve been through things. Trauma. I used to hide to sing because if my step mother ever caught me, I would serve punishment for disturbing the peace of the house.”

I closed my eyes.

I had heard this script before.

“I’m sorry for whatever you’ve been through,” I said. “But please just send my bag and let’s leave it at that.”

“I can’t,” he replied. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I sighed.

“Did you know I cancelled my performance tonight?” he added.

I blinked. “You cancelled your show? Why?”

“Because of you. I wanted you there with me.”

I didn’t respond.

“I know I look unserious,” he continued. “Worldly. But I have a heart too. Ever since I saw you on Instagram, something about you stayed with me. Please don’t cut me off. Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll bring your bag.”

“Goodnight, Adrian,” I said, and ended the call.

I didn’t send my house address.

I wasn’t ready to find out what crossing that line would cost me.

I changed into my nightdress and headed for my door. After today, I needed to be around my familiar people. 

—————————————————————————————————-

As I stepped out of my room, my mum was coming down the stairs with my brother, who was already halfway ahead of her, jumping the steps two at a time like he always did.

“See you,” my mum said sharply, “you’re nineteen now. Nineteen. Your mates are already getting married and you’re still behaving like a small boy.”

My brother groaned. “Mummy, abeg. Marriage ke? I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“Good,” she said immediately. “Keep it that way. Focus on your books.”

“I’m just saying you should be more mature,” she added, still walking.

They were still going back and forth when she finally noticed me.

“Grace,” she said, pausing. “How far? Where have you been all day?”

I hesitated.

“Yesterday after the wedding, we thought you’d come home. You didn’t. Today again, you didn’t come on time.”

“Something came up,” I said carefully. “I went out with some friends.”

She studied my face. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” I said quickly.

She sighed. “You won’t believe what I’ve been dealing with.”

I already knew what was coming.

“Mrs Idris and Mrs Adekoye still haven’t finished paying their money for the Aso-Ebi,” she said. “You were the one that said I should give them the materials first. Now that the wedding is over, they’ll never pay the balance.”

“Mummy,” I said, “why would someone book if they don’t have the money?”

She looked at me like I was asking a foolish question. “You don’t know this Nigeria? People like to show. They don’t want to be left out.”

I sighed. “So what now?”

“You will pay the balance,” she said plainly.

“Mummy—”

“It’s paining me,” she continued. “The money is plenty.”

I rubbed my forehead. “How much is the balance?”

She picked up her notebook from the dining table. “One is one hundred and fifty. The other is two hundred and fifty.”

“Wait,” I said. “How much was the full thing?”

“Five hundred thousand each.”

I stared at her. “Five hundred thousand? For aso-ebi?”

She waved her hand. “Your child gets married once in a lifetime. What kind of list do you think we’ll wear?”

“But mummy,” I said, “those women don’t have money like that, one is retired. How are they even affording this?”

She shrugged. “That one is their problem. You can pay for them.”

I shook my head. “No. If they agreed with their full chest to pay five hundred thousand, then they don’t need help. Let them pay.”

She laughed, like the matter amused her.

I escaped into the kitchen.

Our house help, Titi, was turning Semo, and the smell hit me immediately. Relief washed over me. I hadn’t eaten since afternoon.

“Please,” I said, “don’t put mine in the cooler. Just plate it.”

That was when my brother stuck his head into the kitchen.

“There’s a dispatch for you.”

“For me?” I frowned. “I didn’t order anything.”

I followed him outside. It was my bag. I froze for a second.

I hadn’t sent Adrian my house address, but relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled.

Thankfully, my mum had gone back upstairs. I grabbed the bag quickly and took it into my room before anyone could ask questions.

I picked up my phone, about to call Adrian, when Prince’s call came in.

“Have you gotten your bag?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But I don’t understand. Adrian was still asking for my address.”

Prince laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” I asked.

“Because Adrian makes me laugh,” he said. “He didn’t need your address.”

“How?”

“I called his team.”

I blinked. “But he was still telling me—”

“By the time he called you,” Prince said, “that bag was already on its way.”

I sat down slowly.

“So… he knew?”

Prince didn’t hesitate. “Of course he knew. He just wanted your address.”

Something cold settled in my chest. Who is this man? “But how did you get the bag sent across so soon?”

“Don’t be shocked,” Prince continued. “If I say I’ll do something for you, it’s because I can. That bag was never going to stay with him.”

I swallowed. “I will do anything I can to take away your burden, and limit your interaction with my competition. I don’t like games.”

There was a pause.

“So,” he said, “are we still seeing tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is not Wednesday,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied. “But if you want, I can pick you up after work.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “See you tomorrow.”

When the call ended, a message came in  almost immediately.

Adrian:

I’m still waiting for the address.

I stared at it for a second.

Then I laughed.

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

I dropped my phone on the bed.

I wasn’t in the mood for that conversation. 

Liar…

I went back to the kitchen, picked up my food, and ate it right there, standing. I didn’t bother carrying it to the dining table. When I was done, I rinsed the plate and left it in the sink.

Normally, after eating, I would sit outside for a while. Sometimes two, sometimes three hours. Or I’d go into the study and do a bit of work, scroll, think, plan. But today, I didn’t have the energy for any of that.

I just wanted to disappear under my duvet.

One night wouldn’t give me a potbelly, I hoped.

I went back into my room and climbed onto the bed. That was when my phone buzzed again.

It was Prince.

I know you think I’m just a man you met yesterday.

But nothing about what we’ve always been meant to be is just.

I look forward to showing you.

I stared at the screen for a long moment.

Who taught this man how to write like this?

How was someone not supposed to feel wanted when they were spoken to this way?

I typed back.

You really know how to make a girl feel special.

A heart emoji came almost immediately.

I smiled despite myself.

Sleep was already creeping in when I set the phone aside. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, the day replaying itself in fragments, and somewhere between thinking and not thinking at all, I drifted off.

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

The next morning, I told myself something very clearly.

This was a new day.

Whatever version of me I had been yesterday, I wasn’t carrying her into today.

I refused to, instead I picked my clothes very carefully. I always looked good, but that day, I wanted to look my best.

Ifelouwa was picking me up from work.

That thought alone made me smile as I got ready. I hadn’t told anyone else about him. Only Tolu knew, and she was on honeymoon, sending voice notes in fragments between sightseeing and love. There was no space for a full conversation.

So it was just me and my thoughts as I headed out that morning.

And my phone.

On the ride to work, I found myself on Ifeoluwa’s page again. I told myself I was just checking one post. But honestly? I binged.

That man was fine.

Not just fine in the obvious way alone. Yes, he is tall, well-built, unapologetically handsome, but his intelligence was fine too. The way he spoke, the things he cared about, the calm authority in his presence, even through a screen.

I was busy admiring him when I suddenly heard what he was saying.

The girls.

Two hundred girls.

They had been released.

I stopped scrolling.

The video played again.

He was talking about the return of two hundred abducted girls in Katsina State. Speaking calmly as though it was not a big thing. 

My heart began to race.

I had some serious work waiting for me in the office. How could I have ignored the news?

This was my department’s work: Crisis communication, Narrative control, Information dissemination at the highest level. The kind of thing we were supposed to know before it hit social media.

How did he do this?

The government didn’t negotiate with terrorists, everyone knew that. And yet, somehow, these girls were back. No ransom, public concessions, or messy fallout.

I felt something close to awe.

By the time I got to the office, the place was buzzing. People weren’t even greeting each other properly. Screens were monitoring different media outlets. Phones were ringing. Everyone was talking about the same thing.

My boss arrived almost at the same time as I did.

“Grace,” he said, walking into his office while I followed. “We need to interview that man.”

“What man?” I asked, though I already knew.

“That prince,” he said. “The one who handled this Katsina issue. What’s his name again?”

“Ife,” someone supplied from behind a desk.

“Yes. Him,” my boss said. “This won’t be easy. Every station will be chasing him now but we need a sit-down with him and the Governor of Katsina. We need to frame this properly.”

I nodded slowly, as he spoke.

“I want you in charge of securing him,” he continued. “If we can get him to do a joint appearance, then part of this success reflects on the state, on the administration. It’s our job to make the government look good, and trust me, it won’t if everyone gives that prince the entire glory. I will get his number for you in a minute. Make sure you book him.”

My stomach tightened.

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“I’d be proud of you,” he replied.

I walked to my desk in a daze.

I couldn’t exactly say, Sir, he was texting me last night.”

Instead, I picked up my phone and typed.

Me: Poster man for liberation.

Well done. Congratulations.

His reply came quickly. I wondered if this was how he replied to everyone quickly.

Ifeoluwa: That wasn’t me.

The wisdom came from my father.

Of course it did.

Grace: You give your father credit for everything.

Ifeoluwa: He is a very wise king, Grace. He gave me the counsel that helped me.

Grace: Is your father a lawyer too? 

Ifeoluwa: My father is more than a lawyer.

He has wisdom across all sectors.

I smiled at my screen.

People spoke of his father like a legend, but hearing it from Ifeoluwa, his son, was something else entirely.

I hesitated. How do I bring up this interview?

I didn’t want to take advantage of him, or blur the lines between whatever this was and my job. 

Ifeoluwa: My day is already mad.

Everyone wants an interview.

I exhaled.

Before I could overthink it, he sent another.

      Ifeoluwa: I sense you want to ask me something.

I paused.

Grace: I don’t want to take advantage of our… friendship.

Ifeoluwa: Grace, please ask, he replied.

Take advantage.

So I did.

I explained what my boss wanted. The sit-down. The optics. The politics of it all.

There was a pause, then his response came.

Ifeoluwa: I don’t usually align myself with government narratives. I know what         they’re trying to do and I don’t want to be positioned that way.

My heart sank.

Grace: I understand, I really do.

And I did.

Still… a part of me was disappointed. I hated that I felt it, but I did. He liked me, he said he did and yet this one thing, this thing that mattered so much to my work, was a line he wouldn’t cross. 

“Stop being so entitled,” I chided myself, yet I was left with this big issue.

I was still sitting with that confusion when my boss’s voice cut through the office.

“Grace, why are you texting? You just returned from leave. Are you not supposed to be working on securing that prince? I sent you his number already. Call him.”

“I’m working on it, sir,” I said quickly.

“Work harder,” he snapped.

I sighed.

Then the receptionist called me.

“There’s a delivery for you.”

I assumed it was food. I was going to need it today.

But when I stepped outside, there were flowers.

A bouquet.

I frowned, then picked up the card.

I’m really sorry I was an idiot yesterday.

Please give me a chance to redeem myself.

I want to be in your life.

— Adrian

I was still standing there, flowers in hand, when my phone vibrated again.

It was my boss.

Before I could even brace myself, the receptionist leaned over, eyes bright.

“I wish I had a man that sends me flowers,” she said lightly, smelling the bouquet.

I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

My phone vibrated.

Boss:

The Governor just called personally.

I guessed right. He wants to sit-down with Prince Ifeoluwa on T.V to brief Nigerians.

This is no longer a suggestion.

My chest tightened as I walked back into the office with the flowers..

I stared at my phone screen again, the words blurring for a moment. The office noise faded into a dull hum, keyboards clicking, phones ringing, people moving, all of it suddenly distant.

I typed back slowly.

Me:

Sir, I already reached out. He declined.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Boss:

Try again.

This time, make him understand what’s at stake.

I closed my eyes.

Try again.

As if he were a resource.

As if the man who had wrapped his jacket around my shoulders without asking for anything in return was just another lever to pull.

Another buzz came from my phone. It was a message from Prince.

I hope your day is going better than yesterday.

I’m thinking of you.

The timing made my stomach drop.

I looked down at the flowers on my desk. 

These men.

But right now, I couldn’t even think about them.

I had to focus on my job.

I didn’t reply to the message.

How do I convince Ifeoluwa to do this? Should I?

I set my phone face down on the desk and sat back slowly, staring at nothing in particular.

I worried about what choice to make, knowing that whatever choice I made next, someone was going to be disappointed.

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

I honestly don’t envy Grace right now. Is it okay to use her relationship with Prince Ifeoluwa as an advantage for the interview? Especially since the government is trying to restructure the narrative.

And who is Prince Ifeoluwa’s father exactly?

• Editor’s Comment