The Untainted
Chapter 14
At the Party — Folakemi's House
The party began at exactly noon, as though the sun itself had been invited to witness the spectacle.
After the quiet storm that had unfolded in the living room that morning—after her appearance—no one would have guessed the house would transform into something so grand, so dazzling, so… intimidating.
To call it a simple "welcome home party" would be an insult to the chandeliers glittering above, the marble floors reflecting silk and diamonds, and the polished laughter of wealthy guests drifting like perfume in the air.
It wasn't a party.
It was an exhibition of influence.
An orchestra of power suits and designer gowns.
A gathering of people who did not merely exist in society — they shaped it.
Rihannat swallowed.
Can I even say enormous? she thought.
Everywhere she turned, conversations were about investments, partnerships, international trips, foundations, shares, and expansion. The women sparkled in diamonds that probably cost more than her entire street back home. The men wore confidence like cologne.
She exhaled quietly.
"All the people here are above my level…"
Her thoughts were interrupted by a warm, familiar voice.
"Rihannat, my dear."
She turned to see Folakemi's mother approaching, her smile soft and motherly as always.
"If there is anything you need, call the servers, okay? Don't feel shy. Take this place as your second home."
The tenderness in her tone wrapped around Rihannat like a shawl.
"Yes ma, thank you so much," Rihannat replied, her voice sincere.
Before she could say more, another elegantly dressed woman swept in with a delighted gasp.
"Fola! Finally I see you!"
They embraced, laughter spilling between them like old memories.
"Oh please," the woman teased dramatically, "now you won't shout and complain about how your son refuses to come home, marry a wife and give you grandchildren!"
Folakemi's mother laughed, covering her mouth.
"You don't know what I'm going through. His brother complains to me every time we meet at the office." the woman continues
"Tell your friend to be patient with our poor souls," they both giggled. "These boys think life is endless!"
Their voices faded into cheerful chatter as they walked away.
Rihannat sighed softly.
"Poor souls…" she muttered to herself.
If only they knew the kind of worries that kept other mothers awake at night.
She had retreated to a quieter corner after making her rounds earlier.
At first, she had felt completely out of place.
But then something unexpected happened.
Her art spoke for her.
When word spread that she did calligraphy and paintings, a small circle formed around her. Curious. Interested. Impressed.
She carefully opened the folder she had brought, displaying her handwritten verses and intricate designs.
Gasps.
Whispers.
"How much for this one?"
"Can you customize something for my daughter?"
"Do you take bulk orders?"
Before she knew it, every single sample she brought was sold.
All of them.
And that wasn't all.
Several families requested on-the-spot pieces. She sat at a small decorative table, brush gliding smoothly, ink flowing like quiet confidence. Names were written in elegant Arabic strokes. Verses curved like poetry breathing on paper.
One elderly man stood watching her for a long time.
His eyes were moist.
"It's been a while since I saw writing like this," he said softly. "It reminds me of my late father."
He insisted on doubling her payment.
Rihannat tried to protest.
He refused.
By the time she stepped away, her hands were slightly stained with ink — and her purse was heavier than it had ever been.
Orders kept coming.
Paintings.
Customized calligraphy.
Event designs.
She would be busy for months.
For the first time that day, her smile was effortless.
"Alhamdulillah Rabbil 'Alamin," she whispered gratefully.
Maybe coming here wasn't a mistake after all.
Across the hall, Folakemi waved at her dramatically from a group of laughing girls.
Rihannat waved back.
Folakemi was trying — truly trying — to divide herself into two.
One half devoted daughter of a prestigious family.
One half carefree friend among club-loving socialites.
Her other friends had arrived dressed to impress. Loud laughter. Louder perfume. Carefree energy.
Yet it was painfully obvious that the family's warmth did not extend to them the way it did to Rihannat.
Polite smiles.
Measured responses.
Controlled hospitality.
But the girls didn't seem bothered.
They carried themselves with the confidence of people used to not being welcomed — and not caring.
Rihannat noticed earlier how some of them openly flirted with Folakemi's brothers and their well-tailored friends when the celebrant was introduced.
Giggles.
Hair flips.
Intentional touches.
Her eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hairline.
Their shamelessness is on a top notch, she thought. A high level I cannot even grade.
She shook her head, amused and slightly scandalized.
Folakemi had tried to sit with her again, but Rihannat insisted.
"Go and enjoy with your friends. I'm fine. When I'm ready to leave, I'll call you."
And she meant it.
She didn't want to be a burden.
Now she sat alone, replaying the day's blessings in her mind.
Orders.
Money.
Recognition.
Possibilities.
Her future felt less frightening.
For once.
"Cough. Cough."
The sound came from directly behind her.
She stiffened.
"Who are you looking at so intensely, my lady?"
The voice was smooth. Amused.
Startled, she turned.
And there he was.
Folakemi's brother.
The celebrant.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. A confident smile playing on his lips as though he had been observing her for a while.
Her heart did a small, traitorous jump.
"I—I wasn't looking at anyone," she replied quickly.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? So you were just staring into space with that serious face?"
She flushed.
"I was thinking."
"About?"
She hesitated.
"None of your business." She thought
But she said instead, "Work."
He chuckled.
"At a party?"
"Yes."
He folded his arms, studying her like she was the interesting one in a room full of powerful people.
"You're different," he said casually.
Her spine straightened immediately.
"I hope that's not an insult."
"It's not," he replied quickly, smile softening. "It's refreshing."
She looked away.
Compliments from men like him were dangerous territory.
"I saw what you did earlier," he continued. "With the calligraphy."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You were watching?"
"For a while."
Her pulse quickened.
"And?" she asked carefully.
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
"I've never seen my father that impressed by anyone under thirty."
That caught her attention.
"Your dad?"
He nodded subtly toward a distinguished-looking man across the hall speaking with investors. Their father truly, he waved at Rihannat when he saw her looking at him, which she returned.
"He asked for your contact."
Her breath caught.
"He did...from you?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"And not just for art."
Her brows knitted.
"What does that mean?"
His smile turned mysterious.
"I suppose you'll find out soon."
Silence stretched between them — not awkward, but charged.
For a moment, the loud music and glittering crowd faded.
It was just them.
Two people from very different worlds, one standing while the other sits under the same chandelier.
He cleared his throat softly.
"By the way… I didn't properly introduce myself earlier."
She waited.
He extended his hand.
"I'm—Qazeem Olalekan "
And just like that, the afternoon took a turn Rihannat had not prepared for.