CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
I watched the front gate of an estate slowly open after I had spent about forty minutes driving through the streets of Paris. Long palm trees lined the driveway as I drove through and stopped my car in front of the mansion.
Stepping out, I looked at the house and, despite my inner turmoil, I couldn’t help but admire the massive multi-story mansion, which, if I wasn’t mistaken, could house six to eight bedrooms. The modern architecture spoke of elegance—from the glass walls, clean lines, and neutral tones, to the huge terrace I caught sight of.
I must say, Frances is living the life.
You are not here for this, Bewa.
As I looked around for the front door, a young woman in her thirties, whom I assumed to be domestic staff, opened it.
“Please, come in. She is expecting you,” she urged me inside.
Bewaji, you don’t have to do this now. We can do this another time.
Even if I wanted to back off which I don’t, it is already too late.
I was ushered into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a panoramic view. The beauty of the interior nearly stole my breath. A giant chandelier emitted a warm golden light. At the center wall stood a massive flat-screen TV, and surrounding it were art pieces, some of which were abstract paintings and countless pictures of Kylian.
What the fuck?
The majority of the pictures were of him in football action, some with his family. But my eyes froze on a few photos of him with Frances in compromising positions. They were few, but they spoke volumes.
What the hell?
“Hello, Bewaji,” a voice called, and I tore my gaze from the sickly pictures of my husband with his mistress and focused on Frances, who gave me a smile that sent a shiver down my spine. But more importantly, my eyes fell on the stiffened back of a familiar man seated on the long sectional suede sofa.
“Kylian!”
My eyes widened unnaturally as he turned to face me. My heart slammed against my ribcage, fast and heavy, my knees weakening until I stumbled back. Kylian rushed toward me in fear, but fortunately, the wall caught me before I fell. He grabbed me.
“Are you okay?” he asked with concern.
I mustered every ounce of strength and shoved him away.
“Don’t touch me!” I shouted, gasping for breath. My hands shook uncontrollably, my mouth trembled, and my mind scrambled to stitch reality together. A piercing ache bloomed in my chest, sharp and consuming. Beneath the pain, anger brewed, ready to explode.
I wanted to shout. I wanted to scream.
Get out, Bewaji.
No! I am here already. Time to know the truth.
I looked from Frances who seemed to be enjoying herself to Kylian, who couldn’t even meet my eyes. Tears brimmed in mine as I looked at my husband, whose shoulders had slumped forward.
“So, this was it,” I said through gritted teeth. “This was why you didn’t want me coming to your house?”
“Bewaji, you shouldn’t be here. You’re not okay,” he said, trying to compose himself.
“How long?” I turned toward Frances.
“Bewaji! Please…” Kylian begged.
“How long have you been sleeping with my husband, you trans slut?!” I yelled in anger.
Frances chuckled loudly and sat down. “I think you’re seriously mistaken. The slut here isn’t me, it’s you.”
“What?” I muttered, taken aback.
“Kylian and I have been together for eight years.”
“Excuse me?” I retorted as a cold shiver shot down my spine.
“Seven years” Kylian admitted in a low voice, “before we broke up.”
I suddenly burst into laughter.
“You broke up? And when was that?” I asked between laughs. “When you told me you wanted to marry me? Or when you abandoned me in a hotel?” My laughter vanished. “Or was it when I spent months waiting for you to come back to me?” Tears gushed from my eyes. “Was it in Bali, or when you were in between my thighs professing your love to me?”
I stepped back, putting distance between us.
Bewaji, you need to leave now. We’ll deal with this after you have your baby.
No. I need to think about this rationally. My emotions are everywhere, but I need answers.
“You two were together for eight years…”
“Seven years and....” Kylian interjected sharply.
“Shut up!” I bellowed. “Shut the fuck up!” He opened his mouth but quickly closed it. I turned back to Frances. “You’ve been together for almost eight years. I assume this started back in his Monaco days?” Frances nodded. “And judging from these pictures” I pointed to the wall “you two were very much in love.”
Frances looked at Kylian, then nodded. “Inseparable. We had our lives planned out.” I caught the pain in her voice.
“Then why?” I demanded. “Why do this to me? Why ruin my life?” I turned to Kylian. “Is it because she can’t give you children? Is that it?”
“Part of it,” Frances confirmed.
“Part…” My gaze shifted back to Kylian. “Part of it? There’s more?”
Kylian closed the gap between us and held my hand, pleading. “Please, let go and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But you’re not okay. Think of the baby.”
The fuck?!
I yanked my hand free and slapped him hard across the face.
“How dare you? How dare you use my baby against me?”
“Bewaji, please,” he begged, tears now streaming down his face. “I’ll tell you anything you want, but we need to get you to the hospital.”
“I gave you the chance to explain yourself, but you kept lying to my face. I don’t want to hear another word from your mouth.” I turned to Frances, my expression hardening. “What’s the other reason?”
“Your citizenship.”
“My… citizenship?”
Frances tilted her head slightly and stood. “Do you know this was your idea? You started it.”
“You’re saying it was my idea for Kylian to deceive me?”
She nodded, a slow smile curling on one side of her lips, though her eyes stayed cold and calculating.
“Kylian built a school, a football academy of African talent away from the public eye. Train them for seven years, then bring them to Europe,” she said with that same chilling smile. “Do you remember?”
Of course, I remembered. Those were part of the ideas I once sent to Kylian in his Instagram DMs, years before he finally noticed me.
“What does that have to do with marrying me?” I asked, glancing at Kylian, who looked restless and broken.
“Everything,” Frances said, clapping her hands together in excitement. “When we researched your idea, it was expensive.... but the returns? Woah!
She jumped up excitement like a baby with a new toy and giggled loudly
"Hundreds of millions, if done right. But Cameroon was a no-go. Too many eyes. Since the originator of the idea was Nigerian, we chose Nigeria. As foreign investors, there were too many red tapes, too many bottlenecks, too many hands to grease. Of course, greasing hands is not a problem, it was just not sustainable in the long run with regime changes and what not. So...
She concentrated on me as she took few steps toward me "The only solution was for Kylian to become a citizen. And the best way to achieve that is…”
“Marriage,” I completed, as the reality sank in.
“As a reward for your brilliant idea and the undying love you profess to Kylian like someone with inferiority complex, we chose you.” She said acting like as If she did me a favour
The air suddenly felt too thin for my lungs. My vision blurred, and I stumbled against the wall, gasping.
“Breathe, Bewaji!” Kylian urged, panic in his voice. “Please, breathe.”
Breathe, Bewaji. Your baby needs you.
I placed a trembling hand on my belly and forced a sharp breath in.
Stay strong. If you lose this baby today, it’s on you. Hold it together.
I inhaled shakily, then exhaled. My lips, once pressed tight to hold back a tremor, softened. After steadying my breath, I straightened, squared my shoulders, and lifted my chin. My anger cooled into restraint, my grief buried under willpower and my shock hidden beneath composure. Then, I fixed Kylian with a piercing glare.
“You married me for a green card.”
“I love you, Bewaji.”
“No, you don’t. You never did. You married me for my nationality.” I sighed. “That must be why you sponsored my father’s election into the National Assembly.... to smooth your path and to clear the red tapes.”
“Bewaji, please…” His voice broke. “Please believe me. I love you.”
I turned to Frances with a contained fury “I opened up to you. I saw a savior, a friend. And you did this to me.”
“No!” she screamed, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to play the victim! I gave this man my youth, I sacrificed, compromised for our future and you just came from nowhere and shat over all of my hardwork"
She turned around and shook her head and when she looked back at me, tears brimmed in her eyes
"I should feel sorry for deceiving you but I don't because I was protecting my investment. You were only supposed to be his docile wife, have his kids, get paid, and be gone in ten years. But then you went crazy, wanting both the money and Kylian. You stole my man just because you have a natural vagina!”
You need to leave now.
Then I burst into laughter and turned to Kylian. "So, all the love you claim to have for me is because I fuck you better"
"Bewa, please let me explain myself..."
"Because I match your libido"
"You gave her a chance to talk to you, why won't me tell you tell you things from my side"
“Enough!" I ordered in a loud voice "Enough of your lies, I am tired of it. You did marry me for my nationality, did you not?" Then he looked away ashamed "You’ll be going to your Ballon d’Or on your own.”
“Please, let’s talk and...”
“We will, but not now. I can't even look at you right now, I need space from you. So, I will be going to the hospital, until this baby is a year old, I don’t want to see you or any of your family members.”
“You can’t steal his kid,” Frances snapped.
“If you or anyone comes near me or my baby, the world will know everything I know.”
“Bewaji, we can fix this” His eyes stayed fixed, burning with determination and unshed tears. "I will do anything you want me to do"Kylian stepped closer with his jaws unclench looking at me with hope. I could see fear and hope battling in his eyes as he reached out with his shaking hands but I recoiled.
“I hate you, I hate you so much. You made me into your hidden mistress. For the sake of your child, I hope my hatred for you would be gone in a year"
With that, I left
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT SATURDAY 9.00 PM WAT
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