The main house was everything Dami remembered and more—high ceilings with crown molding, marble floors that echoed with footsteps, family portraits lining the walls in ornate frames. Her childhood home had always felt grand, but seeing it through Tyrel's eyes, she wondered if it seemed excessive. Ostentatious.

A display of wealth meant to impress.

 “Get settled.” her father said, gesturing toward the sweeping staircase. “Dinner is at seven."

Tyrel had been shown to the guest house—a separate structure at the edge of the compound. Traditional. Proper. A bride and groom shouldn't stay under the same roof before the wedding.

Dami climbed the stairs, dragging her suitcase, and pushed open the door to her childhood bedroom.

It was like stepping into a time capsule. Her old desk, covered with stickers from highschool. Posters of Beyoncé and Wizkid still on the walls. Her bed with its purple duvet, the stuffed animals she'd been too sentimental to throw away arranged on the pillows.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of it all pressing down.

Four days.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Tyrel: Your family is...impressive. Staying in character. You good?

She typed back: Fine. See you at dinner.

Another buzz. This time from her mother: Dinner at 7. Don't be late. Wear something nice. First impressions matter.

Dami stared at the message. Her mother hadn't come to the airport but now, hours before the performance of family dinner, she was concerned about first impressions.

She tossed the phone on the bed and went to shower.

***

At 6:55, Dami descended the stairs.

She'd changed into a simple but elegant dress—navy blue, fitted, appropriate for family dinner but not trying too hard. Her hair was pulled back, minimal makeup. She wanted to look like herself, not a bride playing dress-up.

Voices drifted from the dining room—her father's booming laugh, a younger voice she recognized as Tobi's, and then...

Her mother.

Dami paused at the doorway, taking in the scene.

The grand dining hall glowed under the chandeliered ceiling, the table set formally—china, crystal, candles already lit even though the sun hadn't fully set. Her father sat at the head, already changed into a fresh agbada. To his right sat her mother, Asake Agbaje, radiant in a flowing wrapper of emerald green, jewelry glinting at her neck and wrists.

Two young men sat across from each other. Tade, her younger brother, now in his mid-twenties, looked sharp in a button-down and slacks, scrolling through his phone. Tobi, still gangly at seventeen, was trying to sneak food from a serving dish until their mother swatted his hand away.

And at the far end of the table, looking somewhat out of place but maintaining his composure, sat Tyrel.

He'd changed too—dark slacks, a crisp white shirt, no tie. Respectful but not overly formal. When he saw Dami in the doorway, he stood.

The gesture didn't go unnoticed. Her father smiled approvingly.

"Ah, there she is!" Chief Agbaje announced. "My daughter, finally home where she belongs."

Her mother turned, and her face transformed into a brilliant smile—performative, practiced, perfect for company. "Damilola, darling. Come, sit next to your fiancé."

Dami moved to the table, acutely aware of everyone's eyes on her. Tyrel pulled out the chair next to him, and she sat.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Of course," he replied, his hand briefly touching her shoulder—a casual gesture of affection that looked natural, effortless.

He was good at this. Too good.

"So!" Her mother clapped her hands together. "Let's not wait. I'm starving, and the food is getting cold." She gestured to the staff hovering near the kitchen door, and they began bringing out dishes—jollof rice, egusi soup, pounded yam, grilled fish, pepper soup, plantains.

A feast. A spectacle.

Tobi reached for the jollof immediately. "Finally. I've been smelling this for hours."

"Tobi, wait for grace," their mother chided.

Chief Agbaje bowed his head, and everyone followed. "Lord, we thank you for this food, for family, for bringing my daughter safely home, and for her future husband. Bless this union and this celebration. Amen."

"Amen," they echoed.

Then the chaos of family dinner began—plates passing, conversations overlapping, the particular energy of the Agbaje household.

Tade finally looked up from his phone. "So, Tyrel. Venture capital, right?"

"That's right," Tyrel said smoothly. "Small firm in Seattle. We focus on tech startups."

"Profitable?"

"Profitable enough."

Tade's eyes narrowed slightly—assessing, calculating. "And you met Dami through...?"

"A mutual friend," Dami cut in quickly. "Eni. You remember him."

"The gay one?" Tobi asked through a mouthful of rice.

"Tobi!" Their mother's voice was sharp.

"What? He is. He told me himself last time he was here." Tobi shrugged, unbothered.

"Eni works for me," Tyrel said calmly. "He mentioned Dami was looking for funding. I was intrigued."

"By the business or by her?" Tade asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Both." Tyrel's smile was easy, but his eyes held Tade's. "The business had potential. Your sister had more than that."

Chief Agbaje chuckled. "Well said. A man who can appreciate both brains and beauty is a wise man."

Dami's mother leaned forward, her bracelets clinking. "Tell us about your family, Tyrel. Where are your parents? Will they be coming for the wedding?"

A beat of silence. Dami tensed.

"My mother passed when I was young," Tyrel said, his voice even. "Cancer. My father... we're not in contact."

The table quieted. Even Tobi stopped eating.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Chief Agbaje said, genuine sympathy in his voice. "Family is everything. You'll have family here now. That's what this union means."

"I appreciate that, sir. More than you know."

Dami's mother recovered quickly, her smile back in place. "Well, then we'll just have to make sure your groomsmen are well taken care of. How many did you bring?"

"Four. My best man Marcus, and Joey, Devon, and Trent."

"Good, good. The more, the merrier!" She took a sip of her wine, then turned to Dami with sudden interest. "Speaking of which—Dami, have you thought about your bridesmaids?

Dami's stomach clenched. "I... I thought maybe just Eni. Keep it simple."

Her mother's laugh was light but dismissive. "Just Eni? Darling, no. That won't do at all."

"Mummy, I don't need—"

"You need a proper bridal party. What will people think?" Asake waved her hand as if brushing away Dami's protest. "Don't worry, I've already thought of this. I'll recruit some girls from my circle—you know, the daughters of my friends. Beautiful girls, all of them. They'll be thrilled to be part of such a grand wedding."

"I don't even know them—"

"That doesn't matter. They know me." Her mother's smile was brilliant, final. "It's handled. I'll have their measurements by tomorrow and put a rush on their dresses."

Dami opened her mouth to argue, but her father cut in. "Your mother has already sent out fifteen hundred invitations."

Tyrel's brows lifted slightly, though his expression remained neutral. His gaze slid toward Dami with the faintest flicker of are you serious?

"Haba, Mummy!" Dami groaned. "I said only important friends."

"They are all important to me," Asake countered with a dazzling smile. "I am mother to many."

Dami grimaced at the irony. Tyrel noticed, his eyes narrowing with the faintest flicker of recognition—he was reading the family tension already.

"All these people will only come to eat and take souvenirs," Dami snapped.

The air shifted. Chief Agbaje placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Dami, don't worry. There's no amount of money I won't spend on you." He pulled her into a hug.

Dami shook her head, pulling back from the embrace. "Daddy, I don't need you to spend so much."

Her mother hummed knowingly. "Is this not the same man who rented a whole island for the wedding?"

Dami's head snapped around. "What?"

Chief Agbaje grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "The Ibrahims' Beach Resort. Takwa Bay. The whole place for the weekend. All the rooms, even boats to ferry everyone across. I can't risk traffic. Everything must be perfect."

Tyrel's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Efficient. I like that."

Dami glared at both men, exasperated.

Then her mother leaned forward with the question that froze the room. "So… are you two expecting?"

Tyrel had just lifted his wine. He sputtered mid-sip, coughing into his napkin as the liquid burned his throat. The table burst into awkward laughter.

"Mom!" Dami cried, scandalized.

Asake only waved her hand, grinning. "I'm just asking! This wedding came so fast, we must wonder."

Tyrel leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth, his lips quirking into a half-smile. "With respect, ma'am," he said smoothly, "when that day comes, you'll be the first to know."

The answer earned a chorus of approving "ehen!" noises from the aunties who'd materialized from somewhere—Dami hadn't even noticed them arrive, but suddenly there were at least five more people around the table.

Tade stood abruptly. "I have a call with London. Excuse me."

He left without waiting for a response.

Tobi, sensing freedom, jumped up too. "Can I be excused? I have homework."

"Since when do you care about homework?" their mother asked dryly.

"Since Dami's fiancé is here and everyone's being boring." He grinned and bolted before she could object.

The aunties filled the void, peppering Tyrel with questions:

"So, Tyrel, what do you do?"

He gave a smile that revealed nothing. "Finance. Investments."

Another auntie chimed in. "Do you pray? Dami needs a prayerful husband."

Tyrel met her gaze calmly. "Every day." He didn't specify what he prayed to, or for, but the confidence in his tone drew murmurs of approval.

A younger cousin asked if he liked suya. Tyrel chuckled and replied, "I'll eat anything if it's spicy enough."

Laughter erupted around the table, and for a moment he looked perfectly at ease—as if he'd been part of this family his whole life.

***

After dinner, as staff cleared the table, her father stood.

"Tyrel, walk with me. I want to show you the garden. We'll discuss the bride price."

Tyrel glanced at Dami—a silent question. She nodded. Go ahead.

The two men disappeared through the French doors onto the veranda, and Dami was left with her mother and the lingering aunties who were debating the merits of various Lagos caterers.

Her mother stood, smoothing her wrapper. "Ladies, excuse us. I need a moment with my daughter."

The aunties dispersed with knowing smiles, and suddenly it was just Dami and her mother in the grand dining hall.

Asake Agbaje studied her daughter, her expression unreadable. "He's handsome. Polite. Well-mannered." A pause. "But there's something about him."

Dami's heart kicked. "What do you mean?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it. He's... controlled. Every word, every gesture, perfectly measured." Her mother set down her glass. "It reminds me of men your father does business with. The ones who smile while negotiating deals that will ruin their competitors."

"Maybe that's what makes him successful."

"Maybe." Her mother's eyes were sharp. "Or maybe he's hiding something."

"Everyone has secrets, mama."

"True." She reached across the table, her hand covering Dami's. The touch was foreign, unexpected. "I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy."

For a moment, Dami saw something in her mother's face—genuine concern, maybe even love, buried under years of distance.

"I am happy," Dami lied.

Her mother studied her for a long moment, then pulled her hand back. "Good. Because there's no backing out now. Fifteen hundred people are coming. Your father's spent a fortune. The caterers, the venue, the decorations, the island..." She stood. "This wedding is happening, Damilola. For better or worse."

She swept out of the room, leaving Dami alone at the table with the remnants of dinner and the weight of her mother's words.

For better or worse.

***

Later, in the quiet of her childhood bedroom, Dami sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts buzzing.

A knock sounded at her door.

She opened it to find Tyrel, leaning casually against the frame.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said quietly. "The guest house is—"

"I know where it is. I wanted to check on you." He stepped inside when she moved back, hands in his pockets. "Your father moves like a man who's used to getting everything he wants. No wonder you don't want to ask him for money."

The words stung more than she expected. For once, her sharp retort didn't come. Instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders heavy.

"Because if I tell him," she admitted, "he'll see me as a failure. I don't want him to know."

Tyrel studied her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he said simply, "Well. Let's hope your plan works."

Dami lifted her chin, forcing confidence. "It will. What's the worst that could happen?"

Tyrel smiled faintly, that same unsettling curve of his lips she'd come to dread. "You'd be surprised."

He moved toward the door, then paused. "Fifteen hundred guests. An island. Strangers as bridesmaids. Your mother's really committed to the spectacle."

"That's who she is."

"And the bride price discussion with your father—he asked for the full list. I'll have it ready tomorrow." He glanced back at her. "This is getting expensive. For both of us."

"I know."

"Do you?" His eyes held hers. "Because right now, your debt to me is growing. And when this is over, one way or another, you'll owe me."

The reminder hung in the air like a threat.

"I know," she repeated quietly.

He nodded once and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Dami sat in the silence of her childhood room, surrounded by remnants of who she used to be, and wondered who she'd become by the time this was over.

Four days until everything either worked perfectly—or fell apart completely.