Chapter 1

Here's a refined version of your story while maintaining the tone and flow:

---

New Twitter Notification:

"Danlad, what's up? You coming to the gig at Michael's house?"

That was a DM I received from Asamoah on December 24, 2024.

"Asamoah," I muttered under my breath.

I called him "A$AP Blackey," partly because of his love for rap and partly because he was unapologetically Ghanaian—he flaunted it with pride. Tall, dark (the real tall, dark, and handsome), and most importantly, loaded. Rich kid problems? He had them in spades.

He was the fourth and only son in a family of eight (five kids, two wives, one husband).

At eighteen (same age as I was), Asamoah already knew how to drive. He blackmailed the drivers into giving him the car keys whenever he wanted. To put it simply, he was a spoiled brat living in a Garden City owned by Victoria (VGC).

Michael was Asamoah's senior at Greensprings School. Did I mention how attractive Asamoah's sisters were? I don't know how they do it, but Ghanaian girls rock!

Anyway, back to reality.

Me: "Dude, I'm broke. My uncle traveled, and I don't even have transport fare, let alone money for tickets to enter Michael's party."

Asamoah: "Lol! Your 419 uncle ran from EFCC again? Don't worry, I'll come pick you up, and the ticket is 'a boy and a girl.'"

Asamoah: "Please, I'm begging you—don't bring a girl you have feelings for. I heard there'll be pools and lots of empty rooms."

Asamoah: "Check my last tweet for the details."

At this point, as a young, cultured boy from a humble home, I found myself wondering: "What kind of event center has pools and empty rooms?"

Mind you, I attended a government secondary school in Ajah, Lagos.

Recently, I moved in with my uncle to help with his business. The only time I ever touched the steering wheel of his 2022 Honda Accord or 2021 Lexus RX 350 was when I washed them. Trust me, I washed those cars so much that I almost auditioned for Peak Talent Show just to showcase my car-washing skills.

You might be wondering, "How did I end up associating with these rich kids?"

Well, shoutout to RCCG City of David Parish and Jesus Embassy Parish. If you know, you know. Also, when I rolled with my uncle, who lived in a neighboring estate along Lekki Expressway, you'd think I was an ajebota (born with a silver spoon).

(Back to my conversation with Asamoah)

Me: "Alright, bro, but please lend me one of your Nike Air Force Ones! Which event center is it, though?"

Asamoah: "Ahaha! Charlie, I got you. It's at Michael's house. His dad is out of town, and his mom is a cool woman."

Seriously? How spoiled could these kids be? Could I ever dream of throwing a party at my dad's house? Would my mom even allow it?

But as a confirmed Edo boy, I prepped, packaged, and ironed my personality.

I was about to reply when I got a notification: "You have exhausted your data."

I wished they had sent that earlier.

So, I texted Asamoah:

"Data is finished, bro. Please, help me find a Greensprings girl. I don't want to bring any of my low-cut classmates. And when you come, make sure to shout loudly so my uncle's wife hears you say, 'Today is a special Christmas Eve event hosted by City of David's Youth! Why haven't you taken your bath?' Charlie, don't embarrass me!! OVER AND OUT!"

Then I dropped my iPhone 7 and ran off to do my chores.

---

If you are a married woman and your husband is wealthy, please, never treat his family badly.

Even with my uncle's wife's three sisters—Esther (23), Faith (20), and Abigail (18)—in the house, I still had to do all the work, while they acted as if they had built my uncle's wealth with him.

That's why I started calling myself "The Houseboy." Definitely not a cool experience. Seeing my uncle controlled by a woman just because her father was a major contract provider, while I, who came to enjoy some company money, ended up being used as a houseboy—life was unfair.

After chores, I picked two clothes my uncle had given me before he traveled. Straight to the backyard to wash my Paul Smith shirt.

"Oh Lord! God bless that tailor!" I laughed at the XL label, staring at my reflection in the window.

The tailors opposite the estate were my best friends. Anytime they saw me, they'd ask, "Uncle don dash you again?" Sometimes, when I had no money, they even did the work for free.

I had to wash at the backyard because my uncle's wife once caught me washing clothes in my room and starved me for days, calling me a village boy. Which, to be fair, was true—I spent my first fourteen years in the village. But I was well-educated and could speak good English.

So, she ordered me to start washing my clothes outside.

That faithful day was my first.

And it marked the end of an era.

---

Earbuds in, Davido's Funds blasting, I headed to the backyard. Passing the storeroom, I suddenly felt like I was shouting along with the music.

So, I paused to test my voice.

And that's when I heard it.

A soft moan.

Coming from the storeroom.

Now, this was strange. It was just a storeroom, after all.

I positioned myself like I used to whenever I wanted to peep at Indecency from a neighbor's window.

As I crept closer, the moaning became clearer.

Damn.

It sounded exactly like it did in Indecency.

The storeroom had no curtains, and the window wasn't fully shut. But the sun was rising, and I remembered something about shadows in physics, so I remained physically calm.

I tiptoed like a ninja.

And then I saw him.

Abu.

My uncle's family friend who had visited earlier that morning.

But I couldn't see the girl. The window opening was too small.

I tried guessing.

Then I remembered—Abigail and Faith had gone out while I was washing their sister's car.

So, I concluded.

It was Esther. The eldest of the three sisters.

Still deep in thought, I tiptoed back to my abandoned mission: washing my Paul Smith shirt.

I stood there, biting my nails, thinking.

Jack Sparrow wouldn't let this slide.

Esther had treated me like a houseboy, made me eat leftovers, and even insulted my parents—which I hated the most.

And yet, here she was.

Oh my.

I was so lost in thought I didn't even realize—I had a hard-on from the live Indecency I had just witnessed.

I had to reposition Lagbaja (my dick).

I wasn't going to leave things like that.

So, I headed back inside, leaving my bucket, soap, and shirt behind.

Straight to the house with my evil thoughts.

---

In my Perry Cole boxers, Lagbaja was semi-erect as I entered the house.

Then, I got the shock of the year.

(Okay, it was December 24th, so technically, still the shock of the year.)

I opened the door, looking straight toward my room—when a voice called from the kitchen:

"Danladi!"

At that moment, I froze.

The rate at which Lagbaja inflated couldn't be measured.

All I knew was—if Perry Cole himself saw me in these boxers, he'd be depressed.

In that split second, I panicked.

I turned, and there she was.

Esther.

Still in her nightie. Hair all over the place like she had just rolled out of bed.

I froze.

No escape plan.

It was game over.

I prayed to the heavens.

God, please turn me into an owl—so I could spin my head 360 degrees and vanish from the scene.

Because if I stayed any longer…

Esther would see the other me.

And that was NOT the kind of introduction I wanted.