Chapter Twenty-eight

Damian's P.O.V

Today, May 14, 2024, felt like the rain was a preview of judgment day.

The weather was particularly concerning because of the biting cold.

I used to enjoy cold weather, but not anymore. If I preferred cold over warm and sunny days, how would my freshly washed clothes ever dry?

For a moment, I thought we were already in the August break, but that's still three months away.

I feel for those standing in the rain, waiting for taxis and cabs.

I genuinely sympathize because getting an Uber while it's raining is incredibly difficult.

Anyway, my two friends, Elliot and Brandon, and I are gathered around the coffee table.

To make this freezing day more enjoyable, I invited them to join me for coffee this morning, but not at my mansion. We're at a classy café nearby.

It seems like we coordinated our outfits, as we're all wearing black signature hoodies and blue or black pants.

Both of them are in blue pants, while I'm dressed entirely in black.

Honestly, black never goes out of style. Never.

If someone with a narrow-minded perspective saw us, they might assume we're part of some cult or gang.

I huddle deeper into my hoodie.

The cold today is unbearable, almost like I'm living inside a snowstorm, reminiscent of my two-year stay in Frankfurt, Germany, three years ago.

While they sip their American frappuccinos, I reluctantly gulp down my plain black coffee, devoid of sugar and milk.

"Bro, I don't get this rough play you're into," Brandon said in Nigerian Pidgin English. "Alright, listen up, let me explain," he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table to have a serious talk with me.

"Pretending to be handicapped by sitting in a wheelchair isn't the best way to find out if she really loves you or not. It's just going to mess up your love life, like a bad game of truth or dare."

"Exactly," Elliot agreed, taking a big bite of his strawberry iced doughnut.

That's it!

I shrugged and exclaimed, "Simple!" as I took a sip of my coffee. They gave me strange looks, trying to figure out what I was getting at.

I set down the mug and continued, "That's the point. Exactly what I want to say. You see," I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper, "I'm so into Alicia that I'd give up my academic credentials and bank accounts just to be with her, like a car crash. But the thing is, I don't really know if she loves me or is as into me as I am into her. And I don't care about the consequences afterward."

Honestly, I have no idea what came over me yesterday when I decided to go out and buy a wheelchair without even negotiating.

I mean, it's completely crazy, right? But Nathaniel said it was the best thing to do.

Yes, I talked to Nat about it last night and couldn't sleep, so I finally gathered the nerve to get the wheelchair.

I didn't go myself, though; I sent one of my other bodyguards—not Nathaniel—because I didn't want anyone to suspect anything.

According to Nathaniel, pretending to be crippled will reveal Alicia's true feelings for me.

Even though I love her deeply, I don't know what she did to me or why, but one thing I know for sure is that I won't give up on her.

"Have you really considered the consequences of this? I mean, did you drink too much while you were in London? Because it sounds like you're talking nonsense, and honestly, it seems like your brain isn't working properly." Elliot is baffled by what I'm saying and thinks my ideas are delusional. But as far as I'm concerned, I know I'm making a valid point.

I get where he's coming from. He used to be like my old self—completely uninterested in romance, rejecting the very idea of "true love." But then, one perfect angel came into his life and changed everything. Now, he can't believe I'm acting this way because he knows it's not who I used to be.

I drummed my fingers on the table, counting the minutes and seconds as I looked at them. "Guys, this has to work so I can know where I stand."

"You were on the right track before this ridiculous plan. Now, you're on the wrong one," Brandon snapped, still annoyed by my idea. His brows knitted together, and he gritted his teeth, muttering, "What do you think this is, a Nollywood movie? Do you think it'll end happily ever after like in the movies?" He scoffed. "Well, Mr. Minister, this might seem like the right move, but the end of this tunnel isn't going to be pretty, bro."

I laughed, "Just wait and see how the end of the tunnel turns out. I've already planned it. I know it might look bad—"

"It won't 'MIGHT'—it WILL," Elliot muttered, cutting me off. I shot him a warning glare.

Without breaking eye contact, I continued, "But eventually, I'll make everything right."

They were silent for a moment, just staring at me and then at each other.

What my friends don't realize is that I have a plan B up my sleeve, one that they wouldn't expect. I am quick-witted—aware of things before they even unfold. I know Alicia might have her own scheme, which she hasn't yet shared with me in person. While they are focused on my wheelchair ruse to test Alicia's feelings, there's another strategy I've devised, one that remains solely my secret. Not Nathaniel knew about it. It will appear like it's judgement day. It's this secondary plan that I'm effectively working on, and it's crucial to my ultimate goal.

**************

THIRD PERSON P.O.V

For about twenty minutes, Dayo stayed inside his black G-Wagon, reluctant to step out.

Ignoring the air-conditioning, he didn't want to risk catching pneumonia.

He leaned his head against the seat's headrest, face tilted upward, eyes closed.

Countless thoughts swirled in his mind.

He's been through a lot lately.

Through thick and thin.

First, it was his wife—sorry, ex-wife. They broke up long ago, but it wasn't official, no paperwork signed.

Then there's his beloved daughter, Sharon. She's been away from him for a long time, and he's not used to this kind of life at all.

Once, he had his family. Now, he doesn't.

It's very complicated.

No one died, but to him, it feels like a funeral—actually, two funerals. It's as if he's lost the two most important people in his life.

If he tries to forcefully take back his daughter, Adira will sign the divorce papers, officially ending their relationship and cutting him off from Sharon forever.

And that's his biggest fear.

Yet, part of him still longs for Adira's presence in his life.

He realizes that what happened between them was a moment of misunderstanding, something he wants to clear up.

He wants to make amends, but the question is, how?

How, when the damage is already done?

How, after the big fight?

He's exhausted from taking his migraine medication. This whole situation is wreaking havoc on his brain.

He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and reached for his migraine pills.

He took two instead of one.

Call it drug abuse—he didn't care.

A bottle of water was already in the cup holder.

He took a few sips before mustering the strength to get out of the car.

He straightened his sleeves and knocked on the door when he reached the entrance.

Adila, a professional fashion designer, was busy discussing a new design concept with one of her staff over the phone, explaining how she had sent a sample to the company's email. However, when she heard multiple knocks on the door, she excused herself and ended the call.

"Who is it?" she called out as she walked to the door. For the first time since returning from police custody, she peeked through the peephole before opening the door.

Her expression suggested she hadn't eaten all day. "Yes? What do you want?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest and blocking the doorway to prevent him from entering.

"Adira–"

"Adila, please," she corrected him sharply, with a hiss that conveyed rudeness. "First, Adira doesn't have a mole under her mouth or on her jaw, and she didn't pierce her nose or wear more than one earring in each ear. Secondly, she hates colored lashes. And thirdly, you've already visited more than you should to see Sharon this week." She held up two fingers, "Two times a week, remember? Besides, she's not even here—my niece, Sharon, is with Mom visiting my grandfather."

Very clear. He mentally noted these details.

"I'm not here to see Sharon," he clarified.

Alright, if not Sharon, then who? She knew the answer but wanted him to say it.

When he didn't respond but sighed tiredly, as if acknowledging she already knew, she pretended to get an idea. "Oh, my twin sister, right?" She clicked her tongue. "Too bad, she's not home. She's out shopping alone at Sharon's favorite mall."

"Why would she go shopping alone?" he demanded, and Adila looked at him as if he were crazy. "She's not even sure about what Sharon likes."

Adila tilted her head, as if he had missed something. "Sorry, Sharon is my niece, my sister's child–"

"And my biological daughter too," he added.

"Fine!" Adila snapped, dropping her hands and clenching her fists. "You two should sort things out yourselves and stop making me look like the bad guy! Stop dragging Sharon into your mess like butter between bread slices. You both need to come to your senses and fix this co-parenting disaster for Sharon's sake, ugh!" She shut the door in his face.

Hopelessness.

That's what was written on Dayo's face now because he knew Adila was right. But how could he end this chaos?