Tomiwa Adebayo had been single for eight years, three months, and six days.
Not that she was counting.
Okay—she was counting.
She counted the way people counted calories, debts, or enemies. Carefully. Precisely. With purpose. Because eight years ago, she had promised herself something very important while crying on the bathroom floor of a café in Ughelli.
Never again.
Never again would she fall in love blindly.
Never again would she ignore red flags because a man smiled nicely.
And never—absolutely never again—would she allow herself to be publicly disgraced by a cheating boyfriend who had the audacity to say, "It's not what it looks like," while still zipping up his trousers.
That relationship had ended in tears, shame, and a vow of lifelong emotional celibacy.
Unfortunately, her mother had not signed that vow.
"Tomiwa!"
The shout tore through the house like thunder.
Tomiwa groaned from her bedroom and rolled over on the bed, pulling her pillow over her head.
"Tomiwa Adebayo! If you don't answer me now, I will assume you have fainted!"
"I am alive!" Tomiwa yelled back. "Unfortunately!"
She dragged herself out of bed and shuffled into the sitting room, where her mother, Mrs. Adebayo, sat with the rigid posture of a woman who had woken up already angry.
"Took you long enough," her mother said.
"It's Saturday," Tomiwa replied. "The day God created for rest."
"And grandchildren," Mrs. Adebayo added sharply.
Tomiwa stopped walking.
Ah.
So that was the agenda for today.
She sat slowly on the opposite couch. "Mama, please. I haven't even brushed my teeth."
"Brush it later," her mother said. "We need to talk."
Tomiwa sighed. "About?"
Mrs. Adebayo leaned forward. "About the fact that I am sixty-two years old and people my age are chasing grandchildren around their living rooms."
Tomiwa blinked. "Mama… who are these people? Are they happy?"
"That is not the point."
"It is exactly the point."
Her mother hissed. "You have an answer for everything."
"Yes," Tomiwa said proudly. "It's called education."
Mrs. Adebayo ignored her. "Eight years, Tomiwa. Eight years since that nonsense boy cheated on you, and you are still acting like men don't exist."
"They exist," Tomiwa replied calmly. "I see them every day. I just don't want them."
Her mother clutched her chest. "Jesus."
"Mama, please don't die," Tomiwa said quickly. "Who will continue stressing me?"
"You think this is stress?" Mrs. Adebayo snapped. "Stress is explaining to church women why my daughter is still unmarried."
Tomiwa laughed despite herself. "You can tell them I'm allergic."
"To what?"
"To nonsense."
Mrs. Adebayo stood up. "You think this is a joke?"
"A little," Tomiwa admitted.
Her mother pointed at her dramatically. "Marriage is not a joke. Children are not a joke. Legacy is not a joke."
Tomiwa raised an eyebrow. "Mama, I'm running a company. Isn't that legacy?"
"Company cannot call me 'Grandma.'"
There it was.
The real problem.
Tomiwa leaned back. "Mama, I'm happy."
Mrs. Adebayo scoffed. "You are comfortable, not happy."
"Comfortable people are very happy people."
Her mother shook her head. "You have closed your heart."
"I locked it," Tomiwa corrected. "With padlock."
"And threw away the key," Mrs. Adebayo added bitterly.
"Yes," Tomiwa said. "For safety reasons."
Mrs. Adebayo stared at her for a long moment, then said quietly, "I will not wait forever."
Tomiwa frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means," her mother said, "that if you cannot give this family the image it needs, I will start preparing your step-sisters more seriously."
Tomiwa sat up straight. "You wouldn't."
"I would," her mother replied. "And I will."
Silence fell between them.
That was not a joke.
That night, Tomiwa lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.
Eight years of peace.
Eight years of solitude.
And now—pressure.
By morning, she had developed a headache, a bad mood, and a terrible idea.
Ughelli market was loud, chaotic, and unforgiving.
Vendors shouted prices like they were in competition. Okada riders zoomed past like they had death wishes. Someone was selling shoes that looked suspiciously like slippers.
Tomiwa walked through it all with a frown on her face, replaying her mother's words.
I will not wait forever.
"Find a man," she muttered. "Like it's bread."
Lost in thought, she turned—
—and slammed straight into someone.
"Omo!"
She stumbled backward. "I'm so sorry—"
"You should be."
She looked up.
The man was tall. Annoyingly tall. Dressed simply, but confidently. His face carried the permanent expression of someone who hated nonsense and tolerated humans.
"You ran into me," he said flatly.
"And you couldn't move?" Tomiwa snapped.
"I was standing."
"So was I!"
He looked her up and down. "Madam, you were walking like your village people were chasing you."
Her mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?!"
"You heard me."
"Who raised you?"
"Same people that taught me how to mind my business."
Tomiwa folded her arms. "You're rude."
"And you're distracted."
They stared at each other.
Then she scoffed. "Whatever."
She turned to leave.
Two steps.
Then she stopped.
Her terrible idea knocked louder.
She turned back.
"Excuse me."
He sighed deeply. "Ah. God. What now?"
"Are you single?"
He froze.
Then blinked. "Sorry?"
"I asked if you're single."
"Is this a joke?"
"No."
"Is this a scam?"
"No."
"Are you okay?"
"Barely."
He stared at her like she had grown a second head. "You just walked into me, insulted me, and now you want to date me?"
"Not date," she said quickly. "Pretend."
"Pretend what?"
"That you're my boyfriend."
Silence.
Then—
He laughed.
Not a polite laugh. Not a small laugh.
A full, loud, bend-over laugh.
People stared.
"You want to fake-date me?" he said between laughs.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"My mother wants grandchildren."
He stopped laughing immediately.
"…Say no more."
She blinked. "Wait. That's it?"
"I understand pressure," he said. "I'm Kieran Okorie. And peace is expensive."
"I'll pay," she added quickly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Ah. I knew it."
"Rules," she said. "No feelings."
"Perfect."
"No questions."
"Even better."
"No falling in love."
He smirked. "Especially that."
They shook hands.
She had no idea she had just hired.