Chapter Thirteen
---
Chapter Thirteen – Of Peppers, Playlists & Private Investigations
Tammy stared at the TV like it personally offended her. DSTV was playing a Nollywood movie where the evil twin had just slept with the good twin's husband. Again.
She rolled her eyes, tossed the remote to the other couch, and reached for her chilled glass of zobo. It had just the right amount of ginger to burn the nonsense out of her throat. Ayra Starr's "A Lagos Love Story" played low on the Bluetooth speaker, adding a soft vibe to her deep sigh.
This life.
Before she could process anything else, Jeremy walked in—hair messy, shirt sleeves rolled, and chin chin in hand like a rich kid whose only job in life was to look fine and chew loud.
Tammy squinted at him. "What?"
He paused mid-crunch. "Why do you sound like I offended your spirit?"
"You exist loudly."
Jeremy dropped beside her on the couch. "Na me buy the couch."
She gave him side eye. "And you'll sleep on it soon."
He smirked, tossed her the extra pack of chin chin, and said, "Soft type. I know you have sensitive molars."
Tammy gasped. "Not you calling out my dental history."
"You literally ran from roasted corn last week."
She shook the pack. "Soft chin chin is elite. Don't play with me."
The music changed. Ruger's "My Love" bounced through the speakers with its spicy rhythm. For a second, they both just vibed in silence—him scrolling on his phone, her sipping zobo and staring into space.
Then Jeremy looked up. "You good?"
"Define good."
"You're not breaking anything or screaming Yoruba insults, so…"
She leaned back. "I'm not good. I'm tired. I'm angry. I'm trying not to lose it. My sister betrayed me. Your ex-business partner tried to ruin your life. And the whole world thinks this marriage is a fairy tale."
Jeremy sighed. "It's not."
"No shit, Sherlock."
They paused.
Then he added, "But it's something."
Tammy raised a brow. "Something like what?"
He looked at her, deadpan. "Something we survive. Together."
She blinked. "Please, who gave you the right to say something so deep with your fine face and useless eating habit?"
Jeremy smirked. "Just saying. You're stronger than you think." Although he didn't still want to admit it, he was falling hard. His cold persona wasn't even showing anymore. He liked teasing her and flirting too.
Before she could roll her eyes again, a voice echoed from the hallway. "Y'all need Jesus and jollof."
Rita Wright walked in, dressed in soft denim shorts, a cropped tee that said "Too Rich for This Stress", and heels—because of course. Her lipgloss shone like heaven, and her afro was tied in a high puff that screamed: I did not come to play.
Tammy stood immediately and ran towards her . "Rita!"
"Tammyyyy," she squealed, hugging her tight. "You didn't tell me your house now comes with full kitchen, fine man, and a gossip column subscription!"
Jeremy gave her a polite nod. "Rita."
"Mr. Husband," she grinned, then turned back to Tammy. "Girl. Your husband looks like fine shyt. Like, respectfully. But still, whew."
Tammy blinked. "Jesus! What's if he heard you(but it was too late as he looked over and met her eyes whispering i look like fine shyt?)… I mean…" She was at loss for words.
Rita just laughed and clapped her hands. "Relax, baddie. I'm just admiring from a distance. I've been defending your name all week like I'm your PR manager. These rich women are savage!"
"I know," Tammy groaned. "Jeremy's mom called my outfit 'bold' yesterday."
"Was it backless?"
"Barely."
"She meant slutty."
"I figured."
Rita plopped on the couch, stole a chin chin from Jeremy's pack, and threw her legs on the center table like she paid rent.
"I'm staying here for a few days."
Jeremy blinked. "Do I have a say?"
"Nope," both girls said in sync.
Tammy added, "She's our chaos. Accept it."
---
Across town, in a private Abuja club, Zion Carter was sipping Chapman and cracking codes. Literally. With his laptop open and VPN on beast mode, he was running deep searches on Tayo's burner lines.
Finally, one hit: multiple late-night calls to a number registered under a shell company in Port Harcourt.
He grinned.
"Sweetheart, you're messy."
He quickly organized the data into a drive, sent encrypted links to both Jeremy and Tammy, and typed:
Zion:
"We need to talk. In person. Come to Abuja. This is bigger than you think."
---
Back in Lagos, Tammy was in the kitchen making indomie with boiled egg and peppered turkey.
"Real naija girl special," she muttered to herself, moving like a pro.
She danced around the marble kitchen to Fireboy's "I'll Be Fine", singing into a wooden spoon and whining her waist in oversized shorts. Rita sat on the counter, legs swinging, humming along and occasionally hyping her up like a DJ.
Jeremy walked in mid-chorus and just froze.
Tammy didn't notice until she turned with the spoon in hand and nearly screamed.
"Guy! If you keep sneaking up on me like that I might hit you with a stick one day."
Jeremy smirked. "You sing loud for someone who burned plantain last week."
Tammy gasped. "I didn't burn it. I caramelized it... aggressively."
He rolled up his sleeves. "Need help?"
"You know how to cook?" Rita asked surprised. While looking at Tammy who shrugged.
Jeremy smirked. "Enough to not starve."
Rita narrowed her eyes. "Come. Let's see."
They cooked together—Tammy instructing, Jeremy fumbling, Rita taking videos while calling them TikTok's worst couple. Somewhere between frying, teasing, singing Joeboy's "Baby", and chasing each other with spatulas, it became… easy.
And fun.
And real.
---
Later, while they ate on the balcony under fairy lights, Tammy got a message.
Zion:
"New evidence. Serious stuff. Get your butts to Abuja tomorrow."
She looked at Jeremy. "We're going to Abuja."
He paused, mouth full of noodles. "Road trip?"
She smiled slowly. "Business trip. But maybe we'll make it fun."
Rita raised her glass. "I'll start packing."
Jeremy blinked. "Wait, you too?"
She winked. "I'm the rich circle. I have to supervise."
And just like that, the next chapter of madness was on its way.
---