1—Threatened.

Aramide Bankole stormed towards her Dad's office, anger pulsing through her veins. If she were a cartoon character, there would be steam coming out of her head and ears.

How could he? How could he do something like that? How could he decide on this important matter without consulting her about it? She had just received an email informing her that threats had been made, so he employed a bodyguard for her.

A bodyguard? A bloody bodyguard?! Was he freaking kidding her! Like hell she'd accept a bodyguard. She hadn't accepted one when her mother had been killed, and Dad feared for Aramide's life. Or even when her husband had died in a fatal car accident, that Dad suspected wasn't an accident. There was no way she would allow him to force one on her now. Plus, what threats? She had not received any threats.

She waved at Toke, her dad's secretary. Her smile was tight as she pushed the door open. She closed the door calmly, the picture of grace. She wasn't going to show him how irritated she was. She walked closer to his table, crossed her hands under her chest, and took a stance: She would not be swayed on this topic.

"No," she said simply, glaring at her dad.

She saw black out of the corner of her eye and looked up. "Hi Fola," she waved at Dad's bodyguard.

But Folarin was never really in Dad's office, which meant—the wheels in her brain started turning, and she realized exactly who her father had called in to be her bodyguard. "Folarin! You want Folarin to be my bodyguard?!" She all but shouted at her father. "Oh hell no."

"Language," he said, tilting his head towards her belly. Folarin didn't flinch, flappable as always.

"Sorry, Dad," she said, looking down at her tummy. She pressed one hand to her belly and smiled. "Sorry, girlie,"

"So, it's a girl?" Her father looked at her, his face awash in happiness. He was more excited than her where the baby was concerned.

She laughed. "I don't know yet, Pop. It's just a feeling I have, an intuition. You'll be the first to know when I do."

He smiled. "She is the reason you need protection. If you won't do it for you, why not do it for my girlie?"

"I'm your girlie,"

"No, you're my girl," he said, pointing at Ara. "She is my girlie." His finger moved to her stomach, which housed a baby.

"Folarin is very busy, he should be—"

"Folarin is the best, and he is the only person I trust with your life."

"Thank you, sir," Folarin said, his voice brimming with pride.

Ara rolled her eyes and glared at him; his only reply was a shrug. She sighed. He was no help. What did she expect from him anyway?

"Dad!" she whined, since logic wasn't working. She switched to spoiled brat mode.

"My love," he said, standing up and walking over to her. "The threat is real."

"What threats, Dad? I didn't receive any threats!" Her voice increased in octave.

"I have been screening your mails," her dad sighed. "I didn't want to scare you, but you have been receiving some threats. So, I didn't tell you about it."

"Dad?!" Ara whispered, it was just starting to sink. Dad had not conjured up threats to scare her into accepting a bodyguard. He was serious. This was serious.

"I'm sorry, my love."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just wanted to protect you."

"Dad, I am a grown woman, I'm about to become a mother myself."

"Then you understand how I feel. This is my first grandchild we are talking about."

"Only grandchild, Dad," she touched her stomach. "I'm not getting married again,"

"We will see," he shrugged.

She rolled her eyes once she realised that they had gotten off topic. He probably did that on purpose to distract her. "Dad, that was not my point." She glared at him.

"But it is my point," he smiled. "So you will accept?"

"I want to see the threat first."

"Mide mi—" he used the nickname he only reserved for special occasions.

"Daddy, don't Mide me." She kept her voice stern. It had to be; any softer and he would press his advantage. She knew all his tricks at this point. "I deserve to know just how deep a threat this is."

"Fine," He sighed. "Fola,"

"Yes, sir." Folarin nodded and left the room.

"They sent it to the house?" She asked her father, and he just nodded. "Who opened it?"

"The first one was opened by Lauren."

"Poor Lauren." She could imagine the horror on Lauren's face when she realised what she had just opened. Something he said sank in. "Wait, the first one?! How many threats did they send?"

He remained silent for a while.

"Dad!"

"Ten," he whispered under his breath.

"Ten?!" Ara gasped. Her breath was coming out in loud puffs. "And you said nothing. This is my life, Dad!"

He guided her over to the couch in front of his desk, then settled in beside her.

"You think I don't care?" his voice was soft, but she heard the tension in his voice. "I was managing the situation. I had it under control. Folarin was around; we had it under control."

"So why push a bodyguard on me? Why now?!"

His hand scrubbed his face. "The threats escalated,"

"Escalated how?" she needed to know.

He remained silent.

"How, Dad?" Her voice was a whisper.

"They sent a dead animal this time," he whispered, too, like he didn't want her to hear.

Aramide swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. She wanted to go back to this morning when she had been oblivious of this threat. But she was a grown adult; she couldn't hide behind her dad anymore. Even though he was more than willing to let her continue as such. He was willing to shelter her from every storm. Some storms you had to face yourself.

"Have they sent an animal before?"

"Animal parts, yes, but not an animal,"

"Animal parts like?"

"Fingers, toes, head, eyes—" he trailed off.

“So, what was so different about this recent one?” Ara wondered aloud.

“They gutted the rabbit and—” he trailed off like he couldn’t say it.

Aramide nodded. That must have really scared him, and Dad didn’t scare easily. She understood that he wanted to protect her, but she hated that he kept this from her if she were a fragile piece of furniture that would break at any pressure.

She had watched her Mom get shot in front of her when she was just seventeen by her dad’s competitor. Then she lost her husband just a few days away from their first wedding anniversary in a fatal accident. Becoming widowed at the young age of twenty-eight was not on her five-year plan.

She had retreated into her shell of grief, only to be kicked out of her marital home by her in-laws because her husband didn’t leave a will. She knew the laws and everything, but she didn’t have the energy to fight them.

There had been too many memories in that house anyway. Memories she had wanted to escape.

So, she packed her things, like an obedient puppy, and moved back in with Dad while she found herself a place. Being back home was like eating warm soup on a cold rainy day; it was warm and familiar. She spent most of her time mourning the loss, while her father investigated her husband’s accident because he didn’t believe it was an accident.

Of course, his first suspect was Dee’s family, but she didn’t want to think of that. Yes, they had been mean to her; she understood that. They hated what she represented, but they loved Adeolu. He had been the apple of their eyes; everyone adored him. There was no way they would kill him. She also didn’t want to alienate them because they were all she had left of Ade, his family.

Then she found out she was pregnant, three months after she buried her husband, and his child was growing within her. She told his family, and they rejected her and her unborn child, insinuating that it probably wasn’t for Dee. They said to her that she and her child would not be inheriting anything. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t about money; she was rich on her own without their inheritance. Her father was wealthy, goddamit. All she wanted her child to know was their father’s family and vice versa.

Their rejection had cut like a knife, because she understood when it was just her. She had even made excuses for them when Dee had been appalled by their behaviour and dishing out ultimatums. She had defended them, but now! Now, she was just so sad. So broken, so alone. The people who should celebrate her child’s existence for the miracle it was were rejecting it and, by extension, her.

They were rejecting the last piece of Dee on their earth because of her. Because they hated her. She had drowned in self-loathing, regretting everything. She went through every stage of grief and invented a few new ones on her way. One of them was terrified. She had spent days being terrified.

She had never thought she would be a single mother. She had always expected her husband to be with her while she went to doctor’s appointments and stuff, but here she was pregnant and no husband. Dad had found her hyperventilating on the floor of her bathroom one evening, and he just held her. Her was her rock, he always had been.

He reminded her of her support system and his billions of dollars. It was just like her father bragging about his wealth to help her snap out of her panic. The next day, a giant teddy bear arrived at the house. He started painting a nursery and buying furniture. He pushed her to come back to work to distract herself from the situation. He followed her to her first checkup, and some people probably assumed he was her sugar daddy, except the doctor who had known her since forever. When she told him, he carried her through the lobby and gave a loud peck in front of their audience. Making her laugh.

She was grateful for him, she understood why he did what she did, but she hated that he had left her in the dark. It felt like she was back in those dark days when Mom was on life support and they weren’t sure which side of heaven she would pick. The lack of control she had felt, the feeling that she couldn’t do anything.

“Dad, I understand why you did it, but I want to be in the know from now on. Okay?”

He nodded.

“I need your words, Dad,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “You need to promise me that no matter how tough it gets, you won't try to lock me up in a tower like Rapunzel.”

He chuckled bitterly. “If I thought that would help, I would ask a witch to lock you up and throw away the key.”

She smacked his arm jokingly.

“I love you, Princess,” he pulled her into his arms and pecked her forehead.

“I love you too, my sugar daddy,”

He disengaged from the hug and waggled his brows suggestively. She smacked his arm again.

“Stop it,” she pointed her finger. “You still didn’t promise.”

“You caught me,” he raised his hands in surrender. “I promise,”

“Promise to do what, Dad?”

“I promise always to keep you in the know, even if it is hurtful stuff.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Anything for my girl,”

She snorted her disbelief, that statement twisted his promise into something else, but she refused to think about it. This would have to be enough for now.