The Friday evening breeze sweeps through the open windows, sending a sharp chill across my skin. I jerk up with a hiss, irritated. I hate the cold. And worse, the rain, the dampness, the muddy streets it leaves behind. Annoyed, I toss the duvet off my body, exposing my warm, naked skin to the air, and immediately regret it.
The curtains are wide open, courtesy of my mother’s unannounced visit earlier. I can still hear her voice in my head.
“Aanoni, don’t you know it’s bad luck always to close your windows like a depressed person? Jo! Jo! (Please, please!) Fresh air must enter abeg.”
I smirk as I remember the way she had gone around, yanking the windows open while muttering about bad energy and how I needed to let light into my life. But another gust of cold air makes me shiver, snapping me back to the present. Damn, I need to close those windows.
I step onto the cold tiled floor, stretching my 6’4 frame as the city lights cast faint shadows over my broad chest and sculpted torso. My skin, deep and rich like polished onyx, absorbs the dim glow, emphasizing the sharp lines of my muscles. I roll my shoulders, my light beard neatly framing my strong jaw, lips full but unreadable.
The glass is cool against my large palm as I push the window shut, flexing powerful fingers. My legs are long, thick, and built for dominance; they shift effortlessly as I move. The night air is cold, but my body, hot and solid, radiates its own warmth. I exhale, gaze fixed on the skyline. Maybe my mother is right, I keep my world too closed off. But fresh air or not, I still hate the cold.
“fuck”
This is exactly why I don’t leave them open. My eyes scan the room for my slippers, and once I find them, I slip them on and stride to shut the windows. I take a glance at my phone on the bedside table.
**15 missed calls.**
I unlock the screen, and a string of messages floods my notifications. My family, obviously.
- Arin: Bro, hope you’re getting ready and have sorted yourself out for the new app launch. I no wan hear story o.”
- Ara: “Noni, I have called you eight times in the past hour, and it keeps saying busy. Please respond as soon as you see this.”
- Arin again: “Noni, the event is about to start, and you’re nowhere to be found.”
- event planner: “Mr. Aanoni sir, we’ve been tr—”
Knock. Knock.
I pause the voice note as a knock on the door interrupts.
"Who is it?"
"It’s me, Ahmed, the new driver, sir. Your mother reached out to me minutes ago, saying she couldn’t reach you, so I was told to, uh, kindly alert you of their calls."
I sigh. "I’m on it. Don’t worry. Prepare the car. I’ll be down soon."
"Yes, sir," he responds.
I toss my phone onto the bed and walk into the bathroom. Another impromptu event. Another night of pretending to give a damn.
**30 minutes later**
I stride down the stairs in cargo pants and a white tee, my movements unhurried. My face cap complements my black loafers, and the Richard Mille watch on my wrist gleams under the soft glow of the hallway lights. As I exit my apartment, stepping onto the ground floor, I spot Ahmed, dressed prim and proper, already waiting with the back door of the jeep held open for me.
“Welcome, sir. Your family is waiting, sir, but um… would you be going in this?"
I almost laugh, but I keep my expression blank, maintaining the tough boss look, not just for Ahmed, but for my family as well.
Over the years, I had earned my reputation as the arrogant, rebellious, and odd one in the family, the black sheep who had dared to defy tradition by rejecting the family’s media empire. From the moment I turned sixteen, I knew my heart was set on something else. Perfume-making was my one true love, and after five years in the business, two major awards, record-breaking sales, and a growing international reputation, I had proven that my decision wasn’t a mistake. The sky wasn’t even my limit.
“Ehm, ehm."
Ahmed clears his throat subtly, yet the sound is enough to pull me back from my thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” I say, brushing off his concern. “We’ll stop at a boutique near the venue. I’ll pick something for the event before heading to the hotel.”
He nods in understanding, and I slide into the backseat. As Ahmed starts the car, I fasten my seatbelt and scroll through my phone, quickly filtering through my notifications. I reply to Arin first, then Ara, ignoring the rest. The city lights blur past the tinted windows as I stare outside, lost in thought.
How far I had come.
I, Aanoni Adukolapo, had carved my own path, despite the firm opposition from my father, the castigation from my uncles, and the whispers that followed me at every family gathering. They had underestimated me. Now, I was respected, feared even. Some of them no longer dared to look me in the eye.
Yet, with every step I had taken toward success, I had also drifted further away from the people I once called my own.
"Hmm." I exhale deeply.
The price of doing what I love.
"We’re here, sir."
Ahmed’s voice pulls me back as he eases the car onto a well-lit street lined with boutiques. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the neatly arranged mannequins behind glass windows, each store showcasing its finest pieces.
“Stop here.”
My eyes settle on a display, a sky-blue senator draped over a mannequin. The cut, the structure, the quiet power it exudes.
Dominance, how I like it.
"Park properly, Ahmed. Wait for me," I say, reaching for the door handle.
Before I can step out, I see Ahmed hurriedly unbuckling his seatbelt, his hand already reaching for his door to assist me.
“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “I’ve got it.”
I step out, shutting the door behind me, and take in the boutique’s front. The air is thick with the scent of fabric and wealth, the kind of place where exclusivity is implied rather than advertised.
Time to find an outfit.