₦airaland Forum

edydeyemi:
Ghengen... game on.

😂😂

Abdulreheem:
Getting more hotter

in baba t's voice.. he dey burn like kerosene 😂😂😂😂😂

Getting better and better

I like the fact that you give us long episodes which we can savour. That love scene needs to be completed jare.

I am enjoying this. The personalities of all the various characters are coming out.

As a die hard Barcelona fan. No update tonight o. The match pain me die. I should have finished the next episode before watching the match but I only wanted to use the ginger to write incase we won. Now my plan has backfired. Darous might die in the next episode... Ahswear....

If there is something your writings has taught me ehn, it's on wittiness. A smart move from all corners. 😁😁

TheBlessedMAN:
As a die hard Barcelona fan. No update tonight o. The match pain me die. I should have finished the next episode before watching the match but I only wanted to use the ginger to write incase we won. Now my plan has backfired. Darous might die in the next episode... Ahswear....

Please someone needs to put this yamal in order oo. Make that guy no go mess up.

Damilgodwin:
Please someone needs to put this yamal in order oo. Make that guy no go mess up.

what yamal

TheBlessedMAN:
what yamal

@tbm e sweet me die say barca loose,cos all the noise last season be say barca for beat psg for final ,anyways man u still dey do me chometin Sorry for Una defeat

Seems this circle guys dey craze for head,na everywhere dem dey chook nose, so Darous no fit cough or mess in peace say him join confra ni
Walahi I love the night with Tiffany,so romantic,u know say kpeshi(sex) wey person nor expect na him dey sweet pass ,and that toyosi babe be like who get hot pant,I see in future say she go straff darous
Abeg Mr writer,I know say writers are killers,abeg no kpai Darous say cos your over hyped club lose ooo
You're always the best entertaining writer on this forum thanks so much for this update TBM baba🤗one luv♥️💯

dawno2008:
@tbm e sweet me die say barca loose,cos all the noise last season be say barca for beat psg for final ,anyways man u still dey do me chometin Sorry for Una defeat

Seems this circle guys dey craze for head,na everywhere dem dey chook nose, so Darous no fit cough or mess in peace say him join confra ni
Walahi I love the night with Tiffany,so romantic,u know say kpeshi(sex) wey person nor expect na him dey sweet pass ,and that toyosi babe be like who get hot pant,I see in future say she go straff darous
Abeg Mr writer,I know say writers are killers,abeg no kpai Darous say cos your over hyped club lose ooo
You're always the best entertaining writer on this forum thanks so much for this update TBM baba🤗one luv♥️💯

😂😂 My guy, you too dey burst brain with your comments o! Na true you talk—sometimes me sef dey laugh when I dey write those crazy circle moves. As for Darous, no fear, I no go kpai am because Barca lose, writing no be football pitch 🤣.

Big respect for always following and vibing with the story 🙌. Na readers like you dey ginger me to keep dropping updates steady. One love always ❤️💯

TheBlessedMAN:
what yamal

Lamine na, 😁😁, abeg shey na because of the losing ni that's y you loose guard your star player name😁😁😁. I so much love the part of satisfaction wae Darous dae ditch out to all the bannies he has encountered 😁😁. D for Delete.

DELETE EVERY SPIRIT OF I AM NOT SATISFIED 😁😁

Episode 13. Between Truth and Prison.


Detective Kalu got home late that night, and sleep was nowhere to be found. He sat on the edge of his bed, his shirt hanging loose across his shoulders, staring into the dark. The face of the young man from the crime scene—Darous—kept flashing through his mind.
‎
‎Probably in his early thirties, with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, Darous had a way of noticing things others missed, almost like he could see into even the most deepest corners of anything at all. Kalu couldn't shake the memory of his late brother-Thomas, who had that same gift. Thomas could connect dots in ways that made the chaotic world around them feel manageable. But that brilliance had cost him his life. Kalu ground his teeth. He couldn’t save Thomas from the Circle, but he was determined not to fail Darous.
‎He moved to the fridge, grabbed a whiskey bottle, and poured half a glass. With one tilt, he emptied it, then eased himself onto the edge of his cushion chair. The house was quiet; his wife and only daughter, Naomi — named after his late sister — were already deep in sleep in their rooms.
"Why hasn’t the Circle approached Darous yet?” he wondered. “With the kind of gift that boy has, he’s exactly the type they would want to recruit and twist to their use. But here he is — still free, moving about like nothing. If the Circle had gotten to him already, Darous wouldn’t even dream of standing before a cop like me, let alone talking the way he did.”
Kalu’s mind slipped back to the image he couldn’t shake — the lifeless body he’d seen at Mrs. Adeoye’s party. The man’s name was Ebenezer.
‎Ebenezer had been his target for a long time. Kalu had collected enough evidence tying him to the Circle, but just when he was closing in, they silenced Ebenezer forever to keep him chasing shadows like he had been doing for more than a decade. And as if that wasn’t enough, the Circle had unleashed their deadliest assassin, The Limping Man— a name that made even powerful men shiver. A man with a limp, who always left a trail of blood behind. So when Darous mentioned seeing someone slip away with a limp in his left leg, Kalu felt a strange relief. It meant he was on the right track. It also confirmed what he already suspected — Darous was truly gifted.

Kalu buried his face in his hands. The Circle wouldn’t stay silent forever. If Darous continue living his life this way, sooner or later, they would come for him. Kalu swore he will never let history repeat itself—he couldn’t lose another person born with the same gift as his late brother.
‎A good thing he had told Darous to show up at the station the following monday. "I'll try my best to make sure he doesn't end up like my brother." He muttered to himself that night before entering the dream land.
‎
‎*****
‎I couldn’t sleep that night. My bed suddenly turned into a courtroom bench. My pillow? An evidence file, heavy with secrets, waiting to swallow me whole.
How do you even lie to a police officer? Not just any officer, but Detective Kalu—the kind of man whose eyes don’t just look, they record, rewind, and play back like CCTV. Just imagining it made my chest feel like I was inside a locked cell.

So, like every confused Nigerian youth looking for deliverance, I picked up my phone and asked Google the big question:

“Punishment for lying to police in Nigeria during a murder investigation.”

The answer nearly made me drop my phone. My hands were shaking as if the phone had turned into hot coal.

Section 125A of the Criminal Code Act (Nigeria): giving false information to mislead a public officer—punishable by up to two years in prison. If the lie is connected to a murder case of someone going to the right hand of God? Congratulations, you just upgraded yourself to accessory to murder and the —life imprisonment. And if by bad luck your lie is linked to the death of someone going to hell fire ? Forget prison, just start practicing your final words because death-row is waiting with open arms.

My whole body went cold. I could feel prison winking at me, like one fine babe across the bar, whispering, “I dey wait for you.” I could even see my title changing from “Mr.” to “Ex-con.”

And the truth? Prison is one thing, but graduating with the badge of “Ex-convict” is another. The University of Prison is not for everybody—some don’t survive till convocation, some fail out before exams, some never even see results. Yet here I was, standing in line to enroll in that unwanted institution.

My brain was scattered, my thoughts chasing each other in circles, and in the middle of all the panic… sleep still found me and carried me away like a thief.
‎As human beings, mornings hit us all in different ways. Some people wake up thinking about food—bread, yam, leftover rice, or maybe that soup hiding in the fridge. Some wake up already calculating how to survive the bills waiting for them. Some wake up and remember the one match that cut their betting tickets the previous night, denying them the opportunity to buy the filling station they had priced in their heads when the 'potential winnings' showed on the screen of their phone. Others open their eyes with smiles, replaying a sweet dream, while some wake up annoyed because the dream stopped just when it was getting interesting. There are even people who wake up and the first thing they grab is their phone, scrolling to see if Lionel Messi scored while they were snoring.
‎Truth is, what crosses your mind first thing in the morning has a seventy-five percent rate of shaping your whole day.
‎For me, the moment I opened my eyes, I didn’t think of food, work, or even prayer. What jumped straight into my head was the memory of last night—the call from Chuka, him telling me I had broken a circle rule, and the strange mission that he had sent me in that cursed WhatsApp group.‎
‎I was still contemplating on how to go about the whole thing when my phone rang. The screen flashed a name: Chuka.

‎I picked up, still feeling a bit groggy.
‎“Guy, don't tell me you are still sleeping by this time when you know what's at stake,” Chuka’s voice boomed like a generator. “Anyway, I have information that might help you.”
‎I rubbed my eyes. “What type of information?”
‎He chuckled the way people do when they know they’re about to mess up your life.
‎“Detective Kalu always reach his office before almost everyone in that department. Sometimes one hour earlier. If you can get there before others, you will have like… eighty percent chance to run your mission clean.”
‎I froze. Eighty percent? This wasn’t WAEC. This was prison or freedom.
‎I didn’t know whether to thank him or tell him to go to hell, but I just swallowed spit and muttered, “Alright. Noted.”
‎I jumped into the shower like my life depended on it, because it actually did. The plan had been to first drop the G-Wagon at the rental office based on the contract I signed before the car was rented to me, but forget that. Missing this early-bird window might mean I’d never see outside of prison walls again.
‎So I got dressed as quickly as I could and zoomed straight to the Lagos State police headquarters.. I checked the time, it was ten minus two minutes after eight. In simpler un-mathematical terms, 8:08am..
‎My palms were sweating as I asked for Kalu’s office. One officer pointed down the hallway, and in less than two minutes, I was standing before a glass door with transparent blinds. True to his words, that area of the station was silent.

I peeped inside Mr Kalu's office and there he was — Calm as a rock, stacking files on a shelf like a man who had been waiting his whole life for someone like me to walk in.
I knocked.

“Come in,” he said. His voice carried command, but there was a strange calm in it that made me relax a little.
I stepped in. He turned, stretched out his hand, and gave me a warm handshake.
“Good morning, sir,” I said.

"Have your seat.* He said back.

I sat across the table. The table was a battlefield — files scattered everywhere, books stacked like barricades. Kalu finished with the shelf and came to sit opposite me.

I don’t know how it happened, but the moment I stepped into that office, something strange washed over me — the same calm I felt when the muffled gun went off at that party. A flat, brazen calm, like the whole world had pressed pause just for me.

Kalu adjusted his glasses, leaned back, and said, “So… Darous. Let’s talk.”

“Alright, sir,” I said, trying to sound calm and collected. He packed some files aside and placed another one directly in front of him.

“Darous,” he said, looking at me straight. “First, tell me about yourself. Start with the basics.”

I folded my hands on my knees and answered, “Well, my name is Adigun Darous.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Where are you from?”

“Lanlate in Oyo State, but I’ve been in Lagos a few years.”

He nodded slowly. “What do you do?”

“I’m a bricklayer. I do building work. I take contracts — renovations, shops, anything.”

“And how did you get to that event where the incident happened?”

“The host invited me, sir.”

“Hmmm. How do you know her?”

“I worked for her. I renovated a wall in her house some weeks back. She was the one that called me.”

“And how long have you been working for her?”

“That was the first time, sir.”

“First time?” He raised a brow, doubt creeping into his tone.

“Ye…es,” I dragged the word, trying to figure out what he was fishing for.

“And you said she called you? Mrs. Adeoye?”

“Yes… she did.”

“How did she get your contact? Or did someone give her your number?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. As long as she paid me for the job, I don’t care if she got it from my ex.” I forced a smile. “Or is that a crime too?”

He didn’t answer. Just wrote something down, then looked up again.

“What’s your highest education?”

“SSCE,” I said.

“Really?” He leaned back. “Why haven’t you used that ability? You notice things sharper than the average man. Why settle for this kind of work instead of pushing for more education?”

“My father died a few years after I finished secondary school,” I said quietly. “I couldn’t afford the fees. I had to work. So I stopped school and started bricklaying.”

He was silent for a moment, just studying me with those sharp eyes. Then he muttered, almost to himself, “You remind me of someone I knew.” His face tightened. Then he cleared his throat and went on.

He opened a file and skimmed through it quickly. “Let’s go over what you told me at the party. This has your statement… and others. If you remember anything else — anything at all — now is the time to say it. I’m all ears.”

My chest tightened. Chuka’s warning echoed in my head — saying the Circle wouldn’t spare me if I give this man any information about what happened at the event of Mrs Adeoye. Also that the assassin would stop at nothing, and the next coffin in my family would have my name on it. That thought rang in my mind like an alarm. I swallowed hard and forced a smile. I had no choice but to lie.

I took the calmest breath I could and said, “Errm, sir… everything I said that night were just words of a drunk man. I was wasted. I don’t even remember much. I swear.”

The room went silent. The kind of silence that presses on your skin, heavy and cold. The only sound was the clock on the wall, each tick stabbing the air like a knife. My throat dried up, and I could hear my own heartbeat, thumping too loud inside my chest. Detective Kalu just stared at me, his eyes sharp, searching, like he was peeling away the layers of my lie.

I forced myself not to look away. My palms were sweating, my lips almost trembling, but I kept them still. The silence stretched longer, tighter, like a rope pulling around my neck. For a moment, I thought he could hear the fear screaming in my head. Then, slowly, a small smile crawled across his face.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my face as blank as the broken screen of an old phone. “I was drunk. I don’t remember what happened. It was only when I got home that my friends told me all I had said. I’m sorry if I troubled you with my immature behavior. I’m deeply sorry.”

The words left my mouth, but they didn’t feel like mine. Each one felt heavy, like swallowing stones. My stomach twisted, my chest burned. I felt small, like a child caught in a lie but still refusing to confess. My whole body screamed for me to stand up and run, yet my legs were glued to the chair.

But even with all that boiling inside me, I forced myself into calm. My voice stayed steady, my face showed nothing. I sat there like a man with nothing to hide, wearing a mask so perfect that even Detective Kalu couldn’t see the storm tearing me apart on the inside.

He turned his head to the window, looked outside for a long moment. Then his eyes dropped to my wrist. The Rolex watch on my wrist. His gaze lingered, then came back to my face. He wrote something in the file.

“You came here this morning with a car, right?” he asked suddenly.

“Ye…es,” I stuttered.

He stood up, walked to the window, pulled the blinds, and scanned the row of cars outside. Then he looked back at me, nodded like he had figured something out, and sat down again.

“You drove a G-Wagon here?”

“Errrm… yes. Is that against the law?”

“Nooo. Not at all. Is it yours?” His tone carried a hidden smile.

“Nooo. Where will I see that kind of money? I rented it for the party on Saturday.”

“How much?” he asked, straight-faced.

“Four hundred K,” I said.

“And you’re a bricklayer?”

Silence. My stomach turned. That was the moment I knew I had walked into my own trap. I could already hear the ringtone of Prison itself calling my name.

Right there, the biggest mistake I’d made that day slapped me across the face: coming to a police station in a G-Wagon. What sane bricklayer from a poor home drives that kind of machine and wears a Rolex on his wrist? What was I thinking? Even if I want to lie to him that I borrowed the money, how do I explain to this smart detective that I borrowed money just to show off at a party? Will he believe me at all?

I felt like a goat that had walked into a lion’s den, carrying pepper soup ingredients on its own head. My mouth was dry. My throat locked up. I could see his eyes studying me, weighing me, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for me to hang myself with my own tongue.

“Alright.* He said suddenly , cutting across my thoughts. "But if I later find out you lied, or you’re hiding something that could lead us to the killer, I will not be kind to you. This is your chance, Darous. Tell me everything you know now.”

“I told you,” I said quickly. “I was drunk. Or is it now a crime to drink in this country?” I faked annoyance.

A sly smile crossed his face. Then he bent over the file and started writing. His pen scratched the paper for minutes before he stopped.

I sat there expecting him to slam the desk or bark at me or worst get me arrested..But he didn’t.
"Thank God." I muttered to myself with a very big feeling of relief.

But this was just half of why I came. The real job was the files. I needed to know how much they had on this dead man’s case.

Finally, he looked up and said, “In this line of work, I’ve seen plenty. Innocent lives destroyed because someone had to choose between truth and lie. Some chose truth and it set them free. Some chose lie and it buried them alive. But one thing is certain… the truth always comes out. Always.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a threat or advice. But either way, he wasn’t acting how I expected.

He stood up suddenly. “I need to grab some papers from the next office. I want you to write a fresh statement about what you just told me. Wait here.”

The door clicked behind him.

My heart jumped for joy. This was it — a golden opportunity, like the referee handing my team a last-minute penalty in a must-win match we were drawing.

The file sat there, witness notes stacked on top. Names visible on the edges. Time stamps. Short lines.

I moved slowly, pretending to adjust the desk, and let my eyes drop to the file. My fingers hovered above the paper. My brain screamed hurry. My chest screamed no. The wall clock ticked louder than ever.

Then as I was about to open the file, the door handle turned.
I froze.

To be continued.

See hot back to back updates like Christmas gift.. 🎁😁 TBM you too much. Every read Na joy. Every read Na cliffhanger.

Every read Na banger. Soo interesting. Darous and the circle issue go hot gan I'm sure of that. A big bomb go explode soon.

Ride on sweetheart. The sex-scene with Tiffany needs to be completed ooooo😁😁😁😁

Na man you be... 👍

SmartestPopQUEEN:
How did you find out this man is back... You little snake... 🐍

I can ask you same thing sis. Wetin you dey find here

😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁

That lemon game wan finish me with laughter. Cos I perfectly relate with it. I've played that game before. I ended up drunk ahswear. But let me give you a warning. No play am with women o. Those creature know how to play it like mad 😂😂😂😂😂

This man Na legend jare. Darous in his usual pot of soup. Detective Kalu don suspect this guy. He better come clean before the detective turn to his enemy.

PrinceOFprince:
😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁

That lemon game wan finish me with laughter. Cos I perfectly relate with it. I've played that game before. I ended up drunk ahswear. But let me give you a warning. No play am with women o. Those creature know how to play it like mad 😂😂😂😂😂

Mr Prince, the first time I played that game with some ladies at my birthday party, I almost died. Those girls nearly finished me with shots! 😂 The funny part? The game barely caught them at all. They even added a rule that someone can help you take your drink only three times in a row. But me? I carried all my shots by myself like a stubborn warrior — and honestly, it was not funny at all. POP! 😂😂😂

pFolar:
See hot back to back updates like Christmas gift.. 🎁😁 TBM you too much. Every read Na joy. Every read Na cliffhanger.

Every read Na banger. Soo interesting. Darous and the circle issue go hot gan I'm sure of that. A big bomb go explode soon.

Ride on sweetheart. The sex-scene with Tiffany needs to be completed ooooo😁😁😁😁

I appreciate your comments

Na fuel to my spirit 😁

Wow 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Darous don enter am 😁😁, mehn. That song of adekunle gold is always ringing in my head.

I am not moved by what I see

Episode 14 – Behind the Smiles

The door cracked open just as my fingers brushed the file. My soul nearly jumped out of my body.

A woman dressed in full police uniform poked her head in.
“Good morning, Inspe—” Her voice stopped the moment she saw me frozen in Kalu’s office. My hand was stiff in the air, hovering like a student caught cheating in an exam.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Ermm… Mr Kalu told me to wait here,” I blurted, finally finding my voice. “He’s in the other office.”

“Alright. Thank you,” she said, and the door clicked shut behind her.

I let out a long breath. My heart was hammering like a pestle pounding yam inside a mortar. I glanced back at the file. One page stuck out — messy handwriting, rushed notes. I squinted and picked out the lines:

“…limp… left leg… exit… 19:52… Ebenezer, shot once… 4 witnesses so far. Gunshot wound… no exit wound…”

My ears picked sounds of footsteps approaching. I scrambled back into my chair. Kalu walked in holding a blank sheet.

“Here,” he said, handing it to me. “Write everything you just told me. Keep it clear.”

My palms were still damp as I wrote. I rushed the lies out, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble in my writing. He took the paper without looking at my face, slid it into the file, and said: “You can go now.”

I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I left the office.


---

I returned the G-Wagon to the rental office. The man behind the desk checked the clock and whistled.
“Oga, you’re three hours late. That’s extra thirty K.”

“Thirty K?” I gasped.

He nodded. “Yes. Ten K per hour. Check your contract.”

I bit my lip, paid, and walked out. So the car that had already swallowed 400k opened its mouth again and collected another 30k — all because I wanted to play big man for one night. And the fuel money? Close to forty thousand naira gone.

By the time I reached home, my head was banging. I tore off my shirt, dropped my phone, and collapsed on the bed. Before sleep could take me, I typed everything I’d seen in Kalu’s file and sent it to Chuka. I also told him I’d withdrawn my earlier statement — hoping that would take the assassin off my back.

His reply came in minutes:
“Good job. Payment will come soon. Rest.”

For once, those words sounded like a lullaby to my battered mind.


---

Hours later, I was deep in sleep when my phone rang. I cracked one eye open, yawned, and dragged the phone closer. The name on the screen almost chased sleep away completely — Tiffany.

I cleared my throat and put on my smoothest voice.
“Hello, Miss International Trouble.”

She giggled. “International what?”

“Trouble. Because since the day I met you, I’ve been suffering from PTSD… Post Tiffany Stress Disorder.”

“You this guy…” She burst into loud laughter.

“I swear, I’m about to open a GoFundMe for therapy. I’m traumatized.”

“Darous, you’re crazy.” She laughed again, and I joined her.

Then she asked, “So, what are you doing?”

“Right now? I’m stretching my back on the bed. But if you want, I can quickly stand up and start washing plates, just so I look responsible.”

Another round of laughter. She shook her head through the phone.
“You’re so unserious. Anyway… I’m kind of bored. I feel like paying you a visit today. I want to know where you live.”

I sat up immediately. “Wait… visiting me? Like physically? In my own humble abode?”

“Yes,” she said, laughing.

“You coming with your friend?”

“Nooo. I’m coming alone. Just send me your address.”

I hesitated, then typed it in and sent it. The moment the message delivered, I shot out of bed like a soldier on parade. Plates — washed. Pots — washed. Every washable thing in the house — washed. I rearranged the sitting room, took a long shower, and even put on the generator. My humidifier did the rest, filling the air with a fresh scent that made my small apartment smell like one of those showrooms in Lekki.

Episode 14 continuation.


A few hours later, she drove into the compound in the same black GLE she’d used at the party. Tiffany stepped out of her Benz in a plain gown, the kind that didn’t try too hard—yet it shaped her in a way no man could ignore.
Nothing too loud—just that calm, soft elegance she always carried. The fabric flowed with her steps, and even the evening breeze seemed to respect her presence. Her hair was packed neatly, a little gloss on her lips, sandals on her feet—yet she stood out like a diamond hidden inside sand.

The moment she opened the car door and kissed me, I felt the eyes of one of my neighbours burning holes into my back. The man froze, pretending to adjust his slippers, but his eyes didn’t move. I could almost hear the thought running through his head: “Na bricklayer get this kain babe? How?”

I didn’t blame him. Tiffany wasn’t the type to dress to be noticed—she just got noticed, effortlessly.

When Tiffany walked into my apartment, her eyes moved from wall to wall, scanning everything. Small sitting room. Old tiles. Simple chairs. I saw her face drop, quick like a battery going flat.

“This is where you live?” she asked.

“Err… yes. Welcome to my palace.” I tried to joke, but the smile didn’t reach her face.

She folded her arms. “But you own a G-Wagon?”

I scratched my head, torn between lying and telling the truth. I sighed. “Oh, that one. I… uh… rented it for the party.”

“Whaaaat?!” she almost screamed.

“Why are you shouting na?” I raised my palms. “Everybody does it. Even your celebrities rent cars.”

Her eyes narrowed like knives. “You rented a car worth seventy million naira just to show off at a party?”

“Noo. Not seventy million. I paid only four hundred K for it.”

“Oh my God…” she gasped, shaking her head. “Can you hear yourself, Darous? You are obviously more dumb than you care to admit.”

Her words stung, but I tried not to show it. I forced a smile, hoping to calm her.
“Tiffany, calm down. It’s not like—”

“Calm down?!” She cut me off, her voice sharp as a slap. “You’re living in this… this place, and you’re throwing away money just to fake a lifestyle that’s not yours? Are you mad?”

My chest tightened like someone had tied a rope around it. I tried to speak, my voice low.
“Look… it’s not about being fake. It’s about—”

She cut me off, her words like bullets. “No, it is fake. You wanted to impress people who don’t even care if you exist. And you think that makes sense?”

I raised my hands like I was surrendering to the police. “Tiffany, please. It’s not like that. I just—”

“I don’t think I can be with a man who lies and lives a fake life. I can’t. Obviously you men are the same breed everywhere...”

Her words hit me like a slap. I felt my throat close up, but I forced a smile. “Okay… but at least you can’t deny I made you laugh."

“Laugh?” she snapped. “You think laughter will pay rent? You think jokes will buy food? Why not just become a comedian if that's what you really want out of your life?”

I was speechless. The atmosphere was thick, my walls echoing with her anger.

“You are more foolish than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. You are even worse than my ex-boyfriend. All of you are birds of—”

“Hey… will you just shut the fvck up?” I roared. That was the height of it. I can take any kind of insult in my life, but here’s where I draw the line. Don’t ever compare me with your ex. I hate that more than I hate poverty itself.

“What did you just say to me? Darous?” Tiffany snapped, stepping closer, her perfume hitting me sharp. “I dare you to tell it to my face.” Her anger was burning. Every breath from her nose felt like hot steam rising from a boiling pot.

I gritted my teeth, heat rising in my chest. “This is about survival! About respect! Nobody sees you in this city unless you shine. Nobody listens to your story if you look broke. They’ll step on you, spit on you, and keep walking like you don’t exist. I’m tired of being invisible!.”

Her eyes widened, but I pressed on, my voice shaking now, half anger, half pain.
“You think I like wasting money? You think I enjoy living in a place like this, struggling to pay bills? I’ve worked myself half-dead on construction sites just so people won’t call me a failure. But no matter what I do, it’s never enough. People respect the car, not the man inside it!.”

Silence. She just stood there, arms folded tighter. I felt my throat burning, but the words kept coming out. I couldn't control it.
“That G-Wagon… it wasn’t about showing off. It was about finally walking into a place and not feeling small. For once, people looked at me like I mattered. For once, I wasn’t just ‘Darous the bricklayer’.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “But here I am again — exposed. Foolish like a clown in front of you.”

Tiffany’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her face had softened, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t died.

“You can call me stupid, call me mad,” I said, my voice low now, almost breaking. “But all I ever wanted was to be seen… to feel like I belong.”

I dropped onto the chair, covering my face with my hands. My chest heaved. For a moment, the whole room was quiet, except for the hum of the generator outside.

Then after some moments of silence, Tiffany whispered, “Darous… you don’t need a G-Wagon for me to see you.”

But I didn’t look up. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed her, because the moment all those words left my mouth, I knew I’d messed up. My anger had gotten the best of me, and now the room felt heavier. I hated myself instantly. This was Tiffany — the same sweet girl who had driven all the way here just to spend time with me. She came to laugh, to catch a vibe, not to sit in this thick air we’d created.

I almost give myself a knock on the head right there. Why did I let anger win? Why did I turn what could’ve been a soft evening into this?

But one thing life had taught me: when a woman who likes you is upset, you don’t try to act like a boss, you don’t try to be the macho man. That’s a losing game. Here's a tip on what really works. You lean in, you breathe, you play the victim — but so gently she won’t even realize that’s what you’re doing.

So I leaned forward, my voice low and calm, like water.

“Tiffany… I’m sorry. You’re right. I was stupid. But you don’t know where I’m coming from. You don't know my background.”

She folded her arms, eyes are now getting soft but they still carry some hidden fury in them. “ Oya, tell me. Because right now all I see is just another copy of every other irresponsible guy out there."

I swallowed hard and started talking slowly.

“I grew up in a polygamous home. Food was never enough. My father, bless his soul… he tried, oh he tried, but most times we managed with whatever came our way. Even if it was garri without sugar. At least, we ate something.”

Her eyes softened a little. She sat down opposite me, still silent.

“Then my father died,” I continued, “and everything scattered. No university, no college. I couldn’t. I just started bricklaying. Carrying blocks when my mates were carrying textbooks.”

Tiffany’s face changed, the fury completely leaving.

“Then I came to Lagos, after few months, I was tired of life. I almost killed myself ” My voice cracked deliberately. “But my friend Jude found me. Took me in, gave me shelter, gave me hope. That’s how I survived.”

Her lips parted. She was no longer angry; she was listening.

“So when Mrs Adeoye called me for that job… I worked with all my heart. She paid me more than I ever expected. And when she invited me to her party… I just… I didn’t want to look like the odd one out. You know the saying: fake it till you make it. That’s what I did.”

I lowered my head, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Tiffany. If I hurt you with my foolishness. I didn’t mean to.”

Silence. Her breathing slowed. I looked up. The fire in her eyes was gone. Pity had replaced it.

She sighed deeply. “Maybe… I was too harsh on you. I judged you before knowing your story. I’m sorry too.”

I nodded slowly, my chest loosening. “Thank you.”

Then she looked me straight in the eyes and said something that shocked me.

“You know… I was once in your shoes.”

I frowned. “You? No way. You? The elegant Tiffany? You don’t look like someone who ever suffered. In fact you look like someone who only knew the location of her building after it had been completed”

She smiled bitterly. “Don’t be fooled. I came from a very wealthy family. My father was a successful lawyer. He worked for powerful people, made good money. I was his only child. He loved me more than life itself.”

She paused, then her voice dropped.

“But when trouble came, he lost everything. His own brother betrayed him and sold him to the wolves. Like I told you that night, he even went to prison. His reputation gone. His name spoiled. My father died in prison and that same uncle stripped me of all my inheritance. You’d think a lawyer would protect his only child with ironclad documents. But it happened anyway, my uncle found a way to strip me of everything. I was thrown to the streets.”

I blinked, shocked. “You? On the street?”

“Yes. I slept in uncompleted buildings. I wrapped myself in torn cloth so men wouldn’t see me as an attractive prey. I lived like that for almost a week until Toyosi found me.”

Her eyes glistened as she smiled. “That girl you saw at the party with me… Toyosi is my savior. She picked me up from the street, gave me clothes, gave me food. Even the business I’m running today, she gave me fifty million naira to start. The car outside?… it was hers too. Everything… she gave me. I'm forever in her debt.”

I exhaled, shaking my head. “Wow. That’s… that’s crazy. What about your mother?”

She chuckled sadly. “My mother? I never knew her. She had a mental crisis after giving birth to me. They call it Postpartum psychosis. My dad and her separated afterwards. He raised me alone. My uncle later told me she had died.

"And you believe him?"

"Honestly… I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

For a while, we both sat there, two wounded souls, trading scars like war veterans. The tension had melted into something deeper.

She leaned closer. “So please, stop faking it. Don’t waste your energy pretending. Put it into building yourself. You have talent, Darous. Don’t destroy it with lies.”

I nodded, feeling touched. “I hear you. And… thank you for opening up to me also.”

She smiled faintly, then stood up. “I actually came here to… give you a proper chance to complete the job we started on Saturday night when we slept together. To be honest, you made me feel really good that night but it was unfair of me to leave you like that and just sleep off.”

Her words sent my blood rushing.

“But now,” she sighed, “my mood is gone. Maybe next time.”

She leaned over and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Just like that, the tension melted away. We spent the next hour curled up, watching the final episode of Alice in Borderland. Then, right at the peak of the suspense, my generator coughed, grumbled, and went off on its own. Not because of fuel — no. It was simply my generator’s way of telling me, “Guy, after five years of loyal service, abeg go and buy another one.”

One good thing about dating a girl that has her own car is you don’t have to stress yourself trekking long distance to see her off. And you also escape those neighbor’s suspicious eyes, the ones that always think you two just finished having sex. Truth is, many times like ours, boyfriend and girlfriend can spend hours inside a room without even touching each other at all. There's more to this life than just hammering each other in the name of sex every time.
So I stood by and watched as she drove out in her sleek Benz. And for the first time, I didn’t just see a fine woman. I saw someone carrying scars like mine. It hit me—this girl actually cared. She loved me. And before I knew it, I was falling for her too.

It was around 3 p.m., evening already pushing its way in, when I walked back inside and my phone buzzed. Binance notification. I opened it and almost fainted — 3 ETH had just dropped. The Circle just paid me for the mission at the detective's office. Even though I still felt somehow bad for lying to Mr Kalu, but man must survive. I told myself as I converted the Ethereum to naira.

At last, all the stress of the day had produced something good. I leaned back on my sofa, smiling like a man that just hit jackpot. Without wasting time, I sent some money to my siblings, then marched straight to the generator shop. Got myself a brand new one and some other things.


“Later that evening, I called the boys to our usual joint. With the money in my account, I could have carried them to one fine resort like the place I first met Tiffany. But her words kept echoing in my head—no more fake life. So I told myself: forget resorts, forget rented cars. Just me and my guys, the way we always do.

The table was filled with beer bottles, grilled fish, and roasted meat.

Kenny, in his usual clown mode, pointed at me.
“See this Darous. You carry G-Wagon go party, but na keke you dey take come here. Abeg, na two people dey live inside you?”

The boys exploded in laughter.

I leaned back, sipped my drink slowly, then shot back:
“Kenny, at least me I dey switch rides. You, na only one vehicle you get since dem born you—your two left legs.”

The whole place shook with laughter, people at other tables turning to look at us like we were mad. Kenny held his head.

Baba T almost fell off his chair laughing. “Correct comeback!”

Kenny held his chest, pretending to faint. “Jesus, e pain me o!”

We laughed so hard that drinks nearly spilled off the table.

Jude, smiling like a satisfied goat, leaned back.
“Forget una own. My own na Toyosi. That girl na gift from heaven. Best night I’ve had in years.”

“Ehn ehn!” I shouted. “Jude don collect oil for head. No wonder him dey shine like new tyre.”

Everybody roared, banging the table.

“Darous, I like this babe ah swear,” Jude continued. “But I forgot to collect her number that day... abeg, help me tell Tiffany to send you her number na.”

Before I could even answer, Kenny nearly fell off his chair laughing.
“Jude, you dey craze? So after you claim say you knack Toyosi, na only bedframe you carry commot? You no even fit carry her number join?”

The boys scattered, choking on their drinks.

Then Baba T added the finishing strike.
“Wait o… Jude, how person go talk say him sleep with woman but no collect her number? No be juju be that?” He ended it in that Asari-Dokubo’s meme tone.

The whole bar collapsed with laughter. Jude just smiled faintly, probably thinking of what to say.

I was about to come to Jude's rescue when a sharp but familiar voice cut through the laughter.

“So… Toyosi is her name. The girl you’ve been cheating on me with?”

We all turned.

Standing at the door was Cynthia — Jude’s girlfriend. The same Cynthia we had all crowned “wife” for more than two years. She wasn’t just Jude’s girl; she was our girl too. She cooked for us, laughed with us, sometimes even scolded us like we were her younger brothers.

But this Cynthia standing at the door tonight was not the same one we knew. Her hair was scattered, her eyes red and wet like she had been crying for hours. Her chest rose and fell fast, like someone running on fumes. Her hand trembled slightly, but her grip on the knife was firm — the kind of grip that told us she had already decided what to do with it.

And in her right hand… was a knife.

Not just holding it — gripping it tight. This wasn’t kitchen play. This was rage. This was pain. This was heartbreak walking into our room, wearing the face of a woman we thought we knew.


To be continued.

Next update drops when ever we reach page 5. Thanks y'all. I appreciate all those that have been dropping encouraging comments since. Esheey gan.

Interesting

I command page 5 to come right now. Another nice update bro. This delayed action between Tiffany and Darious.....I am waiting oh

This man.. you be decendant of Shakespeare 😁😁😁😁see as I dey giggle when I saw more than 5 update for only me. Any other story, I would have skipped it but not this man's story. Every update Na banger. Hot hot. Wetin Cynthia come do for there Na... I expect Darous or even Kenny to use their sweet mouth to talk her out of anything she wants to do...

Ride on TBM. This space have really missed you. 🎁❤️💯

Page 5 here we come

Rage kee 😳😳😳😳

Please Boss Darous you will just have to re-edit ooo. Nothing must happen to my calm jude

TBM see as you make grown man dey laugh like hyena for midnight.... you're the best writer I've come across on nairaland.

Page 5..............