–Wine and Homecomings
Dust and Silk
The early evening light spilled into the room like golden syrup, soft and rich against the sleek tiles of the penthouse suite. Tunde Adewale stood shirtless by the window, the silk curtains lazily shifting around his frame. He was a striking vision — tall, built like a god carved out of smooth onyx, with hard abs that told stories of early morning gym sessions and discipline money couldn't buy.
His skin gleamed, deep brown and velvet-rich, kissed with golden undertones. A large tattoo curled from the left side of his chest, snaking down his muscular arm in an intricate swirl of tribal symbols and roses that looked both dangerous and poetic. Another tattoo, hidden until he turned slightly, danced across his back — bold angel wings stretching from shoulder to shoulder, inked in a way that moved with his muscles like they were alive.
The mansion behind him was nothing short of a masterpiece. A blend of glass, white stone, and tasteful minimalism, it stood proudly in the middle of a rural village like a misplaced palace. Outside, the village air smelled of burning firewood, roasted corn, and faint palm oil — nostalgic scents Tunde hadn't inhaled in nearly a decade.
He moved smoothly toward the marble bar counter tucked into one corner of the vast living space. His movements were deliberate, refined — a man used to quiet power and being watched. He pulled open the wine fridge, selecting a dark bottle of red, something imported and rich. Just as he grabbed the opener, the front door opened with a confident push.
A figure stood in the entryway — broad, tall, and familiar. The man walked in with an easy smile, mirroring Tunde in height and almost matching his intimidating build. He wore a crisp shirt rolled at the sleeves, and a silver wristwatch glinted under the chandelier.
"I'm at your service, sir," the man said with a mock bow.
Tunde chuckled, deep and low. "Dude, you're not serious."
They both laughed.
His name was Fisayo Ajibola, Tunde's childhood friend from their days growing up in Nigeria — back when the only mansion they knew was the one they used to draw in notebooks. Ten years had passed since they'd last seen each other, but somehow the bond hadn't cracked.
"God damn," Fisayo said, letting his eyes roam around the high ceilings and flawless design, "they literally worship you in this village. I was outside and two women almost fainted when you waved at them."
Tunde poured the wine into a glass and smirked. "The power of money, my guy."
"You're not lying." Fisayo took the second wine glass without asking and poured for himself. "But for real — you've got a lot going on here. Serious investments. What's with this place? Why here? Why this… Igbo village? You could've built all this in some bougie Lagos estate or even Abeokuta — Yoruba land."
Tunde leaned back on the counter, swirling his wine with a thoughtful tilt of his head. "You forget this is my mum's hometown," he said calmly, his British accent slicing cleanly through the words. "She grew up here. Always talked about fixing the place, giving back. She's gone now… but I owe her that much. What's the point of being this rich if I don't do something meaningful with it?"
Fisayo stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Well said. Respect."
They drank in silence for a moment, the village sounds humming faintly in the background — the clang of someone hammering metal, a distant rooster crowing again even though evening was fast approaching, and the muted noise of children running.
Fisayo grinned suddenly. "But low-key, you've got some fine babes in this village. Thick. Curvy. Natural. The way you like 'em."
Tunde rolled his eyes with a laugh. "They're a bit local, bro."
"And what's wrong with local girls?" Fisayo teased, raising his brows and sipping from his glass. "I heard they're sweeter."
Tunde smirked, setting down his drink. "I'm not here for women, man. I'm just trying to make the place better."
"Ehn, that's what you're telling yourself. But I see the way the girls look at you like you're Jesus Christ in designer."
"They act like I'm their god," Tunde admitted, laughing as he ran a hand over his neatly trimmed beard. "It's mad."
"And they got those hips, bro. Big backyards."
"You're a fool," Tunde said, laughing again.
Fisayo stood up and reached for the wine bottle, topping up his glass. "For real though… this house? Clean. Sharp. You outdid yourself."
Tunde smiled, his white teeth bright against his dark skin. "Thanks, man."
They clinked their glasses together casually, the kind of simple gesture only years of brotherhood could carry. The laughter settled, but the air stayed light.
"So what's next?" Fisayo asked, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the village.
Tunde sipped his wine again, gaze flickering out to the horizon where the red sun dipped behind the hills. "I've got a few projects to finish… and maybe one or two things to discover."
Fisayo smirked. "Like?"
Tunde didn't answer. He just smiled quietly, like a man with a plan.
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