Chapter 6

The first time Teni met him was at a networking event in Lagos, one of those tech-focused gatherings where everyone wanted to sound important. The air was thick with buzzwords, blockchain, Web3, scalable solutions. Young men in slim-fitted native wears and knockoff designer sneakers floated around, clutching glasses of free champagne, waiting for someone to ask, So what do you do?

He had walked up to her with that effortless confidence that masked incompetence well.

"I'm a frontend developer," he said, smiling like he had the key to Silicon Valley in his back pocket. "Also deep into crypto. Just building silently, you know? Thinking of launching my own startup soon."

Teni had been struggling to push her jewelry brand at the time, scraping together money for marketing, juggling supplier delays, and dealing with customers who thought 'supporting small businesses' meant demanding discounts on already discounted items.

But this man! his energy was intoxicating.

He spoke about NFTs, the metaverse, 'the future of finance' like he had inside knowledge. His Twitter was full of threads on "the importance of digital assets," all littered with buzzwords and retweets from foreign tech bros he would never meet.

"I like women who think big," he had told her, sipping his overpriced Chapman. "Small-minded girls bore me."

Teni had blushed, feeling seen. A man who wanted more out of life, just like her.

But looking back? It was all a script.

The Fake Tech Bro phase was a fever dream.

He had a secondhand MacBook, barely functioning but never used it for anything except watching YouTube tutorials. He would tweet things like "Building in silence… soon, y'all will understand" but never actually built anything. He claimed to be learning Python but never made it past Chapter One of any free Udemy course.

Somehow, he always found money for data but never for rent. He lived on borrowed funds, reselling gadgets from Jiji, and the kindness of women who didn't yet know better.Then came the Crypto Guru phase.

Suddenly, he was deep into crypto trading, eyes glued to candle charts, constantly talking about "holding the dip." He convinced Teni to invest in a meme coin that supposedly had "massive potential," and she, blinded by love, had put in 50K.

Everything crashed overnight.

"It's just a dip," he assured her, shifting blame onto the government, the dollar rate, "haters," and even God. Two months later, he took out a loan without her knowledge and invested in another coin. Lost it again.

By then, she had learned not to ask too many questions.

Then came the worst phase, The Project Manager Era.

Tech and crypto had failed him, so he rebranded as a corporate guy. Started wearing glasses to look serious. Spent days watching LinkedIn tutorials.

He needed just 200K to get new clothes because "appearance is key, babe."

Teni had stood her ground for once.

"I'm barely making it myself. I can't just throw 200K at you for… "

"Wow." He had shaken his head, as if she had personally hindered his destiny. "You really don't believe in me, do you?"

She had felt guilty. She always did.

But the worst betrayal was The cheating.

It had rained heavily that day, then in the evening, Teni had gone over unannounced, something she rarely did. His cramped self-contained apartment smelled of Indomie and sweat. The dim light from the bulb cast eerie shadows against the peeling walls. The TV played some old Nollywood movie in the background.

She pushed the door open.

And there he was.

A girl was pinned against the wall, her back arching slightly, his hands roaming under her top, his lips grazing her neck.

Time slowed.

The girl gasped, pulling away. Teni stood frozen, her stomach twisting, her mind struggling to process what her eyes were seeing.

Her boyfriend?

He just exhaled, rubbing his head like she was the problem.

"Babe, I can explain"

She had turned and walked away. Not a single word.

Two weeks later, after bombarding her phone with missed calls, he showed up at her place, standing outside in the rain like a rejected Nollywood villain.

He came bearing gifts, a perfume she had casually mentioned liking months ago and an apology so pathetic, it would have been funny if it hadn't been so painful.

"She was just delivering a perfume to me," he had pleaded, hands clasped together like she was his pastor and he was seeking divine forgiveness. "She wore aphrodisiacs, babe. I lost control. You know how these things run."

He prostrated.

He swore on his ancestors.

And like a fool, she forgave him.

Now, two years later, through a phone call, he was telling her she was the problem.

"You never have time, and even when you do, what do you have to show for it?"

Her hands trembled.

"You're so unlucky, Teni. Your bad energy is rubbing off on me. I have big plans, and I need someone who actually believes in me. Someone who will help me achieve what you couldn't."

Her throat burned.

"Also, I needed that 200K. Since you refused, it's clear we're not on the same page. I don't think this is working anymore."

And just like that, the call ended.

Her whole world shattered.

Teni stared at her phone screen, unable to process what had just happened. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot.

She had given him everything. Her time. Her money. Her patience. She had stood by him through his tech bro delusions, his failed investments, his corporate rebrand. She had been his emotional, financial, and mental support system. And now, now, she was bad luck?

A sharp sob escaped her throat before she could stop it.

Teni slumped onto the couch, her body shaking as the weight of it all pressed down on her chest.

She thought of all the sacrifices.

The times she had stayed up late, helping him craft professional emails for jobs he never got. The nights she sent him money she didn't have, just so he wouldn't sleep hungry. The times she reassured him when he doubted himself, when he said the world was against him, when he called himself unlucky.

She had been carrying his bad luck all along.

The realization hit like a slap.

She had spent two years making excuses for a man who had no real ambition. Who only saw women as stepping stones, support systems, financial backers.

And she had loved him.

Her stomach twisted in disgust at him, at herself.

She wanted to scream. To throw something. To rewind time and slap sense into the girl who had blushed at a networking event, thinking she had met a man with vision.

She wiped her face, but the tears kept coming.