"What?" Dami and Eni said in unison.

Tyrel circled her slowly, like a predator assessing prey. "You think I'm stupid? You two fly off to Nigeria for this 'wedding,' and I never see either of you—or my money—again."

"I wouldn't—"

"You would." He stopped in front of her. "You're desperate. Desperate people run"

Dami's mind raced. This wasn't the plan—if she could even call it a plan. But the gun was back in his jacket, and he was still talking, which meant she had a chance.

"Fine," she said. "You're the groom."

"Good. Now convince me this isn't a complete waste of my time." Tyrel leaned against the car again, arms crossed. "Walk me through the numbers."

"The... numbers?"

"I'm a businessman, Dami. I'll be flying to Nigeria, playing dress-up at your family wedding, and betting on strangers throwing cash at us. Give me the business case."

She straightened, and despite everything—the bruises on her arms, the fear still coursing through her—she felt herself shift into pitch mode.

"Yoruba weddings, especially for families like mine, typically have three to five hundred guests. Conservative estimate: each guest sprays an average of five hundred to a thousand dollars. That's two hundred fifty thousand on the low end."

"Your father's that connected?"

"My father owns a shipping conglomerate. He has business dealings across West Africa, connections to government officials, entertainment industry moguls. His friends don't come to weddings empty-handed."

Tyrel rubbed his jaw, considering. "And your family won't find it suspicious that you're suddenly marrying an American they've never met?"

Dami's hand unconsciously moved to her throat where his grip had been moments before. "I'll... tell them we've been dating. That I wanted to keep it private until I was sure."

"They'll buy that?"

 She met Tyrel's eyes. "My father will be thrilled." A pause. "And that's all that matters."

"What about your mother?" Tyrel asked.

Dami blinked, surprised he'd thought to ask. "She'll be... She'll go along with whatever involves throwing a party"

Tyrel studied her for a long moment, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he could see straight through to the complicated truth of that statement.

"Eniola," Tyrel called out. "You're Nigerian. Is she selling me fantasy or reality?"

Eni stepped forward, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "It's real, boss. My cousin's wedding last year—the spray money was insane. People were literally making it rain. And since she's Chief Agbaje's daughter.." He nodded. "That's big-time. His network would show up and show out."

Tyrel pushed off the car, pacing now. She could see the wheels turning, the risk assessment happening in real time.

"Here's how this works," he said finally. "We do this wedding. We collect the money. But you're not in control—I am. I meet your family. I play the perfect fiancé. And if anything goes sideways, if you try to run, if this turns out to be a scam..." He stopped directly in front of her. "The consequences will be worse than what almost happened here today. Understood?"

Dami nodded, her throat tight.

"I need to hear you say it."

"I understand."

"Good." He turned to Eni. "Make the arrangements. I want a full breakdown of wedding customs, guest lists, everything. And Dami?" He looked back at her. "Start practicing your story about how we fell in love. Make it convincing."

He strode toward his car, then paused at the door.

"One more thing. When we get to Nigeria, you better hope your family's as wealthy as you say. Because if this wedding doesn't pay off my investment..." He let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but crystal clear.

Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Eni rushed over to Dami, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "Are you insane? A fake wedding? With Tyrel Booker?"

Dami slumped against the wall, adrenaline finally draining from her body. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Literally anything else!"

"He was going to kill me, Eni."

"And now you're going to marry him!" Eni threw his hands up.

"I know." Her voice was small.

"And what happens when Tyrel finds out this might not work? What if people don't spray enough money? What if—"

"It'll work." She had to believe that. Had to. "It has to work."

Eni studied her face, then sighed deeply. Dami couldn't bear the pity in his eyes. "What kind of gangster are you that you can't even hold a gun properly sef?" she snapped.

"Please, 'gang-ing' isn't just all about gun," Eni muttered defensively, hurt pride mixing with defiance. "I have other skills."

"Like what?"

Eni opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged helplessly. "I'm... good with spreadsheets?"

Despite everything, Dami almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, she pushed off the wall and headed for the exit. "Come on. We have a wedding to plan."