The living room of the Omolayo family house smelled of expensive air freshener and hidden rot. It was a grand space, filled with heavy mahogany furniture and framed photos of a father who was no longer there to keep the peace.
Sarah was draped across the velvet sofa like a queen awaiting her subjects. She was holding a glass of wine, her phone vibrating incessantly on the coffee table. When the front door creaked open and Mathew marched in, followed by Omolayo and a man she didn't immediately recognize in the dim light, she didn't even sit up.
"Mathew! You're back early," Sarah chirped, her voice like a flute played out of tune. "I told the cook to prepare the jollof for 8:00 PM. You've missed the best part of the gist."
"I think I've heard enough 'gist' for one lifetime, Sarah," Mathew said. He didn't sit down. He stood in the center of the rug, a dark pillar of suppressed rage.
Sarah finally tilted her head back, her eyes sliding past Omolayo to the man standing in the shadows behind her. As Ademola stepped into the pool of light from the chandelier, the wine glass in Sarah's hand tilted dangerously.
"Ademola?" she whispered. The name sounded like a curse.
"Hello, Sarah," Ademola said. He remained near the door, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked exactly as he had a year ago unbreakable, neat, and judging her with every silent breath. "It's been a while since you vanished from my apartment. You left a scarf behind. I burned it."
Sarah scrambled to sit up, her composure fracturing like dry glass. "What is he doing here? Mola, why did you bring him into this house?"
"Because he's the only person who told me the truth today," Omolayo said, stepping forward. She wasn't shaking anymore. The betrayal had gone so deep it had hit the bone, and the bone was cold and steady. "Where's Tokunbo, Sarah? Or should I check the guest room under your bed?"
"Mola, don't be dramatic," Sarah hissed, though her eyes were darting toward the hallway. "If you're upset because Tokunbo hasn't been picking up your calls, take it up with him. Don't bring your 'university flings' here to harass me."
"It's not a fling, Sarah," Mathew interrupted, his voice a low growl. "I just spoke to the gateman. He has a very interesting story about five hundred Naira notes and a black SUV that spends a lot of time here when Omolayo is in school."
At that moment, the back door the one leading from the garage swung open. Tokunbo walked in, jingling his car keys, a smug grin plastered on his face. He was wearing a shirt that cost more than a semester's tuition, unbuttoned halfway to show off a heavy gold chain.
"Sarah, baby, I forgot my "
Tokunbo stopped mid-sentence. He looked at Mathew. He looked at Omolayo. And then his eyes landed on Ademola. The grin didn't just fade; it died.
"Who the hell are you?" Tokunbo blurted out, trying to recover his arrogance. He stepped toward Ademola, attempting to use his height to intimidate him.
Ademola didn't flinch. He didn't even move. "I'm the ghost of Christmas past, Tokunbo. Or more accurately, I'm the man who knows exactly what Sarah does to people when she's finished using them. You think you're the hunter? You're just the next trophy on her shelf."
"Don't listen to him, Tokunbo!" Sarah cried out, standing up. "He's bitter! He's been obsessed with me since I dumped him!"
"Dumped him?" Omolayo laughed, and the sound was so sharp it made Tokunbo wince. "He didn't get dumped, Sarah. You got caught. Just like you're caught now."
Tokunbo looked between the two sisters, his chest heaving. He looked at Mathew, who was slowly rolling up his sleeves. The "big boy" bravado began to leak out of him.
"Look, Mathew, it's not what it looks like," Tokunbo started, his voice cracking. "Mola and I… we've been drifting. Sarah was just there to talk. We're business partners."
"Business partners who buy Valentino shoes and hide in cars at the Palms Hotel?" Ademola asked, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. "That's a very intimate business model, Tokunbo."
Mathew took a step toward Tokunbo. "Get out."
"Mathew, wait" Sarah tried to grab her brother's arm.
"I said GET OUT!" Mathew roared, and the force of it seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. "Both of you. Tokunbo, if I see your car near this gate again, I will make sure the police find enough 'irregularities' in your business to keep you in Kirikiri for a decade. And Sarah… you're my father's daughter, so I won't throw you onto the street tonight. but by Saturday? Your bags better be at the bus park."
Sarah fell back onto the sofa, her face twisting into something ugly and primal. The "queen" was gone. In her place was a girl who had gambled everything on a lie and lost.
"You think you've won, Omolayo?" Sarah spat, her eyes red with venom. "You think this 'neat' lawyer wants you? He's only using you to get back at me. Look at him! He doesn't love you. He loves the revenge."
Omolayo looked at Ademola. He was still standing by the door, the light catching the sharp line of his jaw. He didn't look like a man enjoying revenge. He looked like a man who had just finished a very painful chore.
"Even if he is using me," Omolayo said, turning back to her sister with a calm that was more terrifying than Mathew's rage, "he's still ten times the man Tokunbo will ever be. Because he didn't have to hide in the dark to prove it."
Tokunbo didn't wait for another word. He turned and bolted through the back door, the sound of his SUV engine screaming as he tore out of the driveway, nearly hitting the gateman's stool in his haste.
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Mathew walked over to Omolayo and pulled her into a brief, stiff hug. "I'm going to my room. I can't look at either of you right now."
He left, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. Sarah sat on the sofa, staring at her spilled wine, her phone finally falling silent.
Omolayo walked toward the front door where Ademola was waiting. They stepped out onto the porch, the night air finally feeling cool against their heated skin.
"Is it true?" Omolayo asked, looking up at the stars. "What she said? About the revenge?"
Ademola looked at his shoes, then back at her. "I'd be lying if I said seeing her lose didn't feel good. But I didn't stay because of her, Omolayo. I stayed because when I saw you at that Suya stand, I saw someone who deserved to have at least one person in this city stand up for her."
He reached out, his hand hesitating before he gently tucked a stray braid behind her ear. "The week isn't over. But the secret is."
"What happens now?" she whispered.
"Now," Ademola said, a small, tired smile appearing on his face, "we go and find Babatunde. I'm pretty sure he's still waiting in the car, and he's definitely going to demand that we buy him dinner for all this 'wahala'."
As they walked toward the gate, the lights of the house dimmed behind them. The "Saturday Plan" was dead, but something else something un ironed, messy, and real was just beginning to breathe.