END OF FLASHBACK
Tonna leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and predatory intent, as he whispered to the woman
"I'll definitely not disappoint you this time," he murmured, lips grazing the corner of her ear.
Mrs. Robinson leaned back on the arm of the leather bar chair, Her fingers tangled in his shirt collar before pressing her lips against his with feverish hunger. The dim lighting of the upscale lounge cast long shadows across the polished mahogany counter, where half-empty glasses of red liquid caught the faint glow from overhead pendants. The air was thick with the scent of aged wine and her floral perfume, mingling with the distant hum of jazz from hidden speakers. She pulled him down with her, her lips crashing against his in a hungry kiss that echoed through the nearly empty space. The private bartender with a stoic expression and sleeves rolled up to reveal intricate tattoos, busied himself refilling a crystal tumbler, his face a mask of indifference. But Ernest, standing rigid in the corner, vibrated with barely contained fury—his fists clenched, veins bulging on his neck like twisted ropes under strain. Wren on the other hand, was watching Ernest amused at the other's reaction.
Tonna's hands vanished under the flowing fabric of her lemon-green teal maxi dress, the material shimmering like rippling water under the low lights. She had made it effortless for him, forgoing any underwear, her skin warm and inviting against his probing fingers. Before she could even draw a full breath, he plunged two fingers inside her, his mouth trailing hot kisses along the curve of her neck. Her moan ripped through the air, loud and unfiltered, carrying beyond the lounge's heavy doors into the corridor where passersby might pause and wonder. It was raw, unrestrained, a symphony of pleasure that made the crystal glasses on the shelf vibrate subtly.
Ernest couldn't take it anymore. His face twisted in disgust and anger, he stormed out, the door slamming quietly behind him. Wren caught the movement from the corner of his eye and smirked, settling back onto his stool. He closed his eyes, savouring the sip of his own wine, letting the 'melodious' moans wash over him like a twisted lullaby. How ridiculous, he mused inwardly. Her husband was a pillar of society—a well-respected politician adored for his 'caring' attitude toward the masses and his staunch advocacy for family values. In public, they were the picture of marital bliss, all lovey-dovey smiles and hand-holding at rallies. But here, in this shadowed den, the truth unravelled: sinister threads of deception woven behind closed doors, secrets that could topple empires. Wren had learned that believing all the media sells is at one's own risk, and it only deepened his cynicism.
"You are so good with your hands," she gasped, her voice slurred from the alcohol, eyes hazy with lust as she cradled Tonna's face in her palms, her nails digging in just enough to leave faint marks.
"Way better than that useless husband of mine. I know you are after my husband," she continued, her words tumbling out in a tipsy rush.
Tonna paused, his rhythm faltering for a split second, surprise flickering across his sharp features. He had always pegged her as flighty, easily manipulated—a pawn in his grander scheme. But this revelation? It shifted the board. "I don't know the reason, nor do I care to know, as long as you do me a favour."
He stopped entirely now, withdrawing his hand slowly, his expression smoothing into that trademark calm. He had thought he held all the strings, but here she was, pulling back.
"Well, I see we have a little fox here," he murmured smoothly, almost in a whisper, his thumb gliding teasingly over her bottom lip. She shivered under the touch, a subtle tremor that made her dress rustle softly. He smiled, the kind of smile that promised both danger and delight.
"Then, will you tell me what I want to know?"
She met his gaze, her eyes sharpening despite the alcohol's haze. "I will, but you need to do me one. I don't care why you're fishing for info about my husband, but before I tell you anything, find a way to dissolve our marriage."
That caught him off guard, like a sudden gust in a still room. He sat up straight, helping her adjust to a sitting position on the chair, her dress pooling around her like spilt silk. "Dissolve your marriage?" he echoed, as if testing the words, his voice low and probing.
She pouted, a playful yet pointed expression that didn't quite mask the calculation in her eyes.
"I know the reason you deliberately approached me was for my husband."
He reached out, caressing the side of her face with a gentleness that belied his intentions, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw.
"It seems I have truly underestimated you," he admitted, a chuckle escaping his lips.
"It turns out you played along because you needed something, too. How sneaky."
She smirked, swinging her legs over his lap in a fluid motion, her bare skin brushing against his trousers. She poured wine into a fresh glass, the liquid glugging softly, then took a slow sip before offering it to him. He accepted, drinking seductively, his eyes never leaving hers, the glass stem cool against his lips.
"But that's not all you've uncovered, am I right?"
She took the glass back, swirling the wine before sipping again. Tipsy as she was, she looked ravishing—her hair slightly dishevelled, cheeks flushed, the maxi dress clinging to her curves in the humid air. Her gaze drifted past him, toward the door, as if she could see through the wood and metal.
"That little fool thinks he can play with me."
Tonna snickered, a newfound admiration sparking in his eyes like embers catching flame. "So you were using me; that's why you allowed him to watch us that day at the hotel?"
She ignored him, continuing to drink, her silence a deliberate veil. But pieces clicked in Tonna's mind—the faint click he'd heard back then, was Ernest slipping into the room unnoticed. So She had orchestrated it, handing him the access card in advance, turning the tables on her watcher.
"He's been watching me and reporting to my husband about each of my affairs," she said finally, before he could press.
"So I seduced the poor boy and slept with him once, so he could also tell me what he was telling him, and now he thinks he's something. I'd be a fool not to notice his temperament."
Tonna leaned back, processing. Women were scary, he thought—masters of shadows. This one had played the wanton fool perfectly, all while aware of every move. His perception shifted; she wasn't just a tool but a strategist, biding her time like a coiled serpent.
"What about your children?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"Children? Tsk!" She dismissed it with a wave, her tone sharp, closing the door on that topic. He eyed her suspiciously but didn't push; some wounds ran too deep for casual probing.
"May I at least ask why you want to dissolve this wedding?" he ventured, his voice softer now, probing the vulnerability he sensed.
A bitter smile twisted her lips, and tears gathered in her eyes, glistening like dew on petals. For the first time since he'd known her, she looked truly vulnerable—fragile, exposed, the tipsy facade cracking. She chugged the rest of her wine in one go, the glass clinking hard against the bar as she set it down. Slipping on her oversized sunglasses, she masked her eyes.
"This wine suddenly tastes bad. I'll take my leave now. Call me when it's done. I have a big gift for you if you accomplish this."
She smoothed her dress with deliberate care, the fabric whispering against her skin, then nodded to Wren, who returned the gesture with a knowing tilt of his head. As she sauntered out, her heels clicking on the tiled floor, Wren whistled low, setting his own glass down and turning to Tonna.
"Well, that was certainly a first," he said, his voice laced with dry humor.
Tonna chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "The crazy ones always surround you," Wren added, shaking his head.
"Why do you think she looked so sad just now?" Tonna asked, pouring himself a generous measure of whiskey from a nearby bottle. The liquid burned amber in the glass, promising the fortification he needed.
"Infidelity, maybe?" Wren suggested, shrugging. Tonna nodded, but his mind raced further. It felt deeper, like a well of resentment with no bottom. No love lingered there for her husband—that much was clear.
"Who would have thought the very revered Governor who preaches about family and the importance of it all has his own house coming down," Tonna mused aloud, swirling his drink.
Wren leaned in, his expression turning serious.
"Tonna, this man was elected based on his affection for family—or the vibe he gave of it, anyway. This won't be easy to accomplish. I mean, this family campaign is this man's bread and butter. He wouldn't let you take it away just like that. The people voted him into power because of how he showed off his family. He paraded the love and affection he had for his wife in public. To the world, he's a good and magnificent husband. If you or Mrs. Robinson go forward with this plan, you both will be the public's sinners and number one enemy."
The warning hung in the air like smoke, but Tonna's eyes sparkled with mischief. He knew Wren was right, yet futility never deterred him. Danger was his playground. Filling his glass again, he slid closer to Wren, their shoulders brushing. "Say, what's the worst thing that could happen to a politician who preaches one thing but does the opposite?"
He laughed maniacally, the sound echoing off the walls, as Wren stared at him with an unbelievable expression. "To be honest, you never needed Mrs. Robinson in the first place. I'm sure you've found out everything you needed to know about her husband and don't need her help."
"True," Tonna conceded, chugging another glass, the whiskey searing his throat. "But what's the fun in that?"
He whispered to himself, a callous smile creeping across his face.
"He shouldn't have been greedy for what was mine." Mr. Robinson, the Governor of Redwick, was next on his list.
The man had secretly bought shares in Tonna's ventures, then sabotaged them with underhanded tricks—filtering pure oils to dilute their quality, causing failed projects and lost investments. Aided by Bode, it had cost Tonna a crucial bidding spot, smearing his company's name. Anything that came between Tonna and his money ignited his fury, and he'd been savouring this revenge. Wren was spot on; Tonna had unearthed every secret about Robinson. The governor was cautious, having wiped his slate clean —well, almost, because determination was Tonna's weapon. And nothing stayed hidden from him.
Scooting even closer to Wren, Tonna smiled gleefully. "I'll let you witness something fun."
He pulled out his phone, dialling a number. "Do it!"
He twiddled his thumbs excitedly, raising his glass. Wren mirrored him, their glasses clinking in a toast that felt like the prelude to chaos.
"What are you up to?" Wren asked, suspicion etching his brow.
Tonna just smiled, enigmatic as ever. Soon, their phones erupted in a frenzy of pings—notifications flooding in like a digital storm. Wren ignored his at first, but curiosity won; he unlocked the screen, eyes widening at the content.
"Ton, you—"
"What?" Tonna threw his head back sassily, feigning innocence.
"Why do you have to go this far?" Wren pressed, scrolling through the viral storm.
"I just don't like the guy," Tonna replied casually, as if discussing the weather.
"But isn't this too much? I mean, you're already screwing the guy's wife."
"Oh, my darling," Tonna purred, raising Wren's chin with a sensuous touch, his fingers lingering.
"I'm afraid that's not nearly enough to appease me. He needs to suffer more."
Determination burned in his eyes, unyielding. Wren shook his head, baffled. He couldn't fathom why Tonna would go so far, blending business and personal vendettas in such a volatile mix. The man had doomed himself by crossing Tonna. The viral clip was a one-minute bombshell: a man, face obscured but build unmistakable, entangled in a depraved orgy with fifteen women. Six were heavily pregnant, their expressions dazed, likely drugged. The caption screamed: 'A very well-known politician indulging in debauchery.' The internet ignited—speculation raged, criticism poured in like acid rain. Calls for investigations echoed, demands to unmask and punish the corrupt.
Women from the video emerged, tears streaming, pleading for justice. Two had lost their unborn babies from the drugs and assault, backed by doctors' notes, test results, and CT scans showing haemorrhages. Four university students, shamed by threats, had taken their own lives. The rest included married women—wives of rival politicians—and five underage girls: two daughters of those wives, three sponsored by the Klarity Foundation. The foundation's involvement fueled outrage, and the public pieced it together swiftly.
MEANWHILE
The massive public outcry saw Robinson's camp scrambling, issuing denials across social media. They vowed to expose the plot by opponents, promising truth and exoneration. Tonna smiled wider; the governor was burying himself deeper, using the public adoration that would soon turn to venom. Not like he expected any less from the man.
HOWEVER
Joy and Oyinye darted through the sprawling halls of the new house, their laughter bouncing off the high ceilings like echoes in a cavern. The place was a marvel—marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, walls adorned with intricate mouldings that caught the afternoon sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Omg, Mom, this place is so big! It's even bigger than Brother's place!" Joy squealed, spinning in the vast living room where plush sofas invited lazy afternoons and a faux grand fireplace promised cozy evenings.
Mama D, didn't glance at them, her focus laser-sharp as she moved from room to room, inspecting every detail. The kitchen boasted state-of-the-art appliances, stainless steel surfaces reflecting her stern expression. Bedrooms were havens of luxury, with king-sized beds draped in silk linens and en-suite bathrooms featuring jacuzzi tubs that whispered indulgence. The girls trailed her, squirming and screeching with delight, their energy a whirlwind against her composed scrutiny.
Kaira, standing in the foyer with its sweeping staircase, turned to her mother-in-law with a warm smile. "What do you think, Mother? Do you like it?"
Mama D's face lit up, her eyes shining as she clasped her hands. "Like it? I love it!" she exclaimed, squealing with genuine excitement, her voice rising in pitch. "I didn't raise a useless son."
"Of course, Mother," Kaira replied, her tone laced with admiration.
"Duru has spent quite a huge sum of money on the wedding and the house. To be honest, I am surprised."
Mama D nodded knowingly, a secret satisfaction curling her lips. She was well aware of the truth—the funds stemmed from Amy's life insurance, a bitter inheritance from Duru's late wife. That wench, she thought venomously, should be grateful for contributing something in death, having been utterly useless in life. The house stood as a testament to that ironic legacy, every brick and beam a silent revenge against the past.