Chapter 3: Freedom Has a Price

As our eyes met, I felt cold all over, my breath stuck in my chest.

Dapo’s gaze was sharp now, the haze of confusion fading. I could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he measured the danger in the room. My own hands clenched into fists, nails digging into my palm.

All the previous closeness disappeared. Dapo also noticed something was wrong and stabbed a dagger into his own thigh.

The sudden flash of steel made me gasp. Blood seeped through his wrapper, staining the sheets. It was a desperate move, but it worked—his eyes cleared, his jaw tightened in pain.

The pain slowly cleared his head, though his eyes were still red.

He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. The room was silent except for our breathing and the distant sound of the generator humming outside.

He looked around the room, held back a curse, and sneered, “She really get mind.”

His voice was low, dangerous. The way he spat out the words, I knew he meant Madam Yemisi. Only someone who’d been betrayed could sound like that.

He could only be talking about madam.

The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken but understood. In this house, madam’s power was second only to oga’s. If she wanted something done, no one dared question her.

Only then did I remember: in the original story, before madam married oga, she once drank poisoned drink for him, damaging her body and making her unable to have children.

I remembered the whispers from the older women, the way they told the story around the fire at night. "That woman get strong heart. She drink poison for love, but e cost am plenty."

Out of guilt, she sent a maid to the oga’s bed.

The story always ended with a sigh and a shake of the head. In this world, a woman’s worth was tied to her womb. Guilt could make people do desperate things.

A few days ago, I overheard some older maids gossiping that, when they served madam, they heard her planning to send someone to oga.

They spoke in hushed tones behind the kitchen, their voices full of fear and excitement. "E go soon happen. Madam don plan everything," they said, eyes darting around.

They even seemed to know who it would be, and said madam’s trusted bodyguard would handle it.

"Na that Musa go do am. Who else fit run such errand for madam?" one whispered, lips pursed in suspicion.

At the time, I foolishly waited to see the love-hate wahala between the couple, never thinking I’d become the main actor.

I laughed to myself then, thinking I was safe on the sidelines. I didn’t know the joke was on me.

Now I remembered: those two maids had looked at me with pity in their eyes.

Their glances made sense now—their soft sighs, the way they pressed extra groundnut paste into my hand. They knew my fate before I did.

So, they knew all along.

I swallowed hard. In this house, secrets were currency, and I was always the last to know.

They just didn’t tell me.

I clenched my jaw, vowing never to trust idle gossip again. In this world, everyone was fighting for survival.

"Oga, Musa—na your man?" Bitter anger rose in my chest, and I couldn’t help but ask, needing to know.

My voice trembled with hurt and accusation. "Oga, Musa na your own man? Na you two plan this wahala?" My heart pounded, desperate for an answer.

He denied it immediately.

Dapo shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "No be my man. Musa no dey answer me again."

“Three years ago, he started serving Madam Yemisi.”

His words were sharp, final. The truth hit me like a slap.

And Madam Yemisi was the madam of the house.

The realization stung—my husband, the man I trusted, had been serving another all along.

So, he’d been lying to me from the start…

I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out. In this world, trust was a luxury, and I had been foolish to believe in it.