Kaduna State, Nigeria. 

Siyama grumbled as she walked toward the Wambai mansion because, well, her break was over. It felt as though she should quit because this waking up early when there's no school doesn't suit her at all. But she is no quitter. 

Besides, the Wambai family can be generous after a break. She hopes this is the kind of break where they give them milk, groundnut oil, rice, and whatnot. They wouldn't mind having additional groceries in their house for free. 

Doesn't matter that they have one point five million naira as cash in their home.

She entered the mansion with a sigh, then opened her phone to check for any messages from Mahmud. There was none probably maybe because he thought she was still sleeping and she'd forgotten to tell him she was going back to her job today. 

She dropped him a simple good morning message, then went about her day by safely tucking the phone inside her bag to hide it. No one would believe she was poor if they saw the kind of phone she was using. She also didn't want to risk it falling or stolen.

Everything was normal in the mansion, like they never went on break, only that some of the workers from the village looked darker than when they were working. Siyama was sure they wouldn't have agreed to take that break if it was negotiable. 

It was supposed to be a rest but they probably didn't have any.

She greeted the few elderly ones that bothered talking to her and left the half-casts that felt like the world was beneath them simply because Nigerians tend to worship light-skinned people. She rolled her eyes at them as they talked in a foreign language. 

They were all maids at the end of the day! 

She went back to cleaning the fridge, hearing them gossip about how the sons of the Wambai family looked way hotter now and whatever. They kept switching from Hausa to their language, which was how she knew what they were talking about. 

Speaking of the Wambai brothers, she was reminded of the one that wanted to make her life hell. She never expected him to back off or was it because of the break? He sounded earnest about her writing that apology letter to him. 

She swallowed, thinking about him going through with his threat and getting her fired. But would that really change much for her now that she could work and help her sister? Maybe she was also looking for an excuse to quit before time. 

After she finished cleaning the fridge and returned everything to where it was, they were served food. Siyama now remembered why she missed working here... because of the food. They didn't hold back with the protein either. 

She snapped a picture of the food and sent it to Mahmud through Snapchat because he had taught her how to send streaks. She only did that with him and tried with Yasmin, but the girl broke it twice already in three days. 

Rising, she washed her plate and returned it to where it was. She started looking for something to do in the house, but it seemed like everybody was ready to work after the break, and there wasn't much to do. Good, because she was lazy. 

"Everyone to the parlor," the elderly maid that act as the head of the maids announced and left them to follow behind her. 

Siyama happily skipped to the parlor, knowing they were about to be given some groceries at the end of their first day back. As soon as they got there, she was sent to get the foodstuff along with other maids upstairs. 

She carried the ones she could, like milk, a carton of Indomie, cornflakes, and other light stuff. While she was taking the last carton of spaghetti, she passed by another wing of the mansion just so she wouldn't bump into the half-casts. 

They had been getting beneath her skin more than they used to today. One of them had seen her phone, and they had been hinting that she was doing 'runs' during her break. For goodness' sake! She had chuckled cause it was so absurd.

No wonder the women in this society don't thrive the way they should with so much talents. If having a phone makes people think you're doing something bad behind the scenes, how can someone build themselves? 

But luckily for her, she didn't care what people thought about her. As long as her parents knew what was going on, she didn't mind. The real shock would come when she and her sister became more successful. She couldn't wait for that moment. 

To think these girls were known for their bad ways because they were white-skinned! She wasn't going to judge them, but Siyama had seen them with more men than she'd ever cared to admit. She never thought they were doing anything bad. 

But it is well. 

While passing a door, Siyama found herself stopping to inspect the beautiful living room with linen royal chairs filling every corner. She had never liked royal stuff, but this? It took her breath away, and it looked new too. 

Her eyes widened when she saw the two people inside. It was Alhaji Mukhtar Wambai and his wife, Hajiya Lubabatu! Siyama knew she should continue walking like she didn't see anything, but she got glued watching them. 

She'd never seen Mukhtar Wambai before, but the man looked so familiar that she thought maybe she'd seen him while passing sometime without noticing. He was wearing a casual fit that no one would think a billionaire like him would wear. 

Hajiya Lubabatu was dressed to the nines in expensive HKJ lace of canary and teal, probably because she was coming down to address them and give them their groceries. She was sometimes nice and sometimes too cold for Siyama's liking. 

Also, the gift came with firing. It wouldn't stop her from giving you what she decided she would, but you'd end up fired. She was going to get new maids and fire some. Siyama was sure she wouldn't be part of the fired ones, though. 

Her attention swept back to the patriarch of the house, the man whose name carried weight all over the country. He was a private man when it came to himself —not the type all over social media, except for his two sons. 

And that was because they were football players. Even Janan, who was a spoiled brat, wasn't much of a social media person from what Siyama had gathered. She didn't even have many friends like usual rich kids. Most of her bridesmaids were her cousins. 

Alhaji Mukhtar Wambai wasn't as old as she'd expected him to look. He was sixty-two years old but looked as healthy as ever with his glasses perched on his familiar strong nose, rocking a polo shirt and jeans while lounging in his home. 

Lubabatu stared at him with a small smile, one that shocked Siyama. The way love softened people never failed to amaze her, and she bit back a smile herself. She knows just how it feels and loves it.

"...boy took everything from you. It's so annoying that he thinks getting two wives is funny," Lubabatu was saying, rolling her eyes at her husband.

"I'm reserving my comment on that," Mukhtar replied, his tone tinged with tenderness as he smiled at her. "But he knows what he's doing. He's coming back in six months after he leaves next week."

"I heard he's retiring too," Lubabatu remarked, her voice carrying a hint of relief. "I'm glad. He looks completely drained, and it's clear that his work no longer gives him the joy it used to." 

Mukhtar chuckled softly, the sound low and indulgent. "That's why they call it retiring," he replied, his tone teasing but affectionate. 

So rich people also do love? Siyama wondered because she was told that they have no peace of mind nor time for their family. That comment probably came from a poor minded person.

Lubabatu gave him a side glance before continuing, her expression thoughtful. "And then he can finally get married, leaving us with Ahmad. I have a feeling that one will break the news about wanting to marry soon too." 

Mukhtar leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I hope they both get married at the same time. Wouldn't that be something? Gaining two daughters in one go." 

"No," Lubabatu interjected firmly, shaking her head with conviction. "One of them should stay single for a moment. They're all growing up far too fast." 

"Uh-huh," Mukhtar murmured with a knowing smirk. "Moh should have been married by now. Honestly, I don't even know why I was so lenient on him. Maybe because he promised to take over the company."

Then he added. "Maryam has been hinting that her daughter is ready, you know." 

Lubabatu's brows furrowed slightly, her lips thinning into a line of disapproval. "You mean they're still pushing for this arrangement?" 

"Yes," Mukhtar admitted, his tone neutral. "The girl is so eager that she's willing to follow him abroad if the marriage could happen within a week. That's how prepared they are." 

Lubabatu let out a soft, incredulous huff, her gaze sharpening. "Prepared, huh? It's not about readiness," she muttered under her breath, the edges of her words laced with something heavier.

"It's about him having another girl in his life. Didn't he tell you?"

Hajiya Lubabatu didn't really care who the other girl was. What she cared about was ensuring that Zainab —Maryam's daughter, who also happened to be her sister-in-law— did not become her daughter-in-law. Zainab is Mahmud's cousin.

She still remembered how Maryam had wanted her husband to take another wife years ago and he did and now she wanted her daughter to marry her son? This is such an audacious move. And it is too risky for Lubabatu.

She doesn't trust her sister-in-law at all.

Zainab already acted entitled to Mahmud, especially during Janan's wedding. She had a disrespectful streak and only stopped when she realized she had a chance with her son. That girl was trouble that wasn't worth it.

"He said it wasn't serious." Mukhtar shrugged, flipping through channels. "If it were serious, he would have told me about her and her background. But he brushed it off."

"What?" Lubabatu's brow furrowed in confusion.

The same girl he had stolen her designer bag for? The one who had been making him smile so much lately? Not serious? Mahmud wasn't a player, but this made him sound like one. Was he wasting both his own time and the girl's? For what?

"I don't believe this."

"Then listen to this." Mukhtar pulled out his phone and played a voice note. "He sent me this when I asked him."

Lubabatu listened intently, her brows knitting tighter with each word her son uttered. It was undeniably Mahmud, but his tone was frustratingly nonchalant.

"I told you it's not that serious right now. And before the arrangement, I want Zainab to know I'm going for two wives. If she's ready for that, then fine, we can go ahead with the marriage."

"And that was last week," Mukhtar added.

"But..." Lubabatu trailed off, sighing deeply. He had managed to fool both her and Ahmad this time.

Siyama knew it was time for her to leave even though she knew the conversation wasn't over. She continued descending the stairs with a carton of spaghetti then froze as she remembered the name uttered. Moh? 

But it could be any Moh right? Muhammads use Moh as their nicknames more than Mahmuds. She's never heard a Mahmud with Moh until her own. So it could be anyone truly.

She was sure she'd heard them say Moh in there. Her thoughts raced, and in her distracted state, the carton slipped from her hands, landing with a loud thud. It was too much to be coincidence.

"Careful!" A voice scolded softly from the edge of the stairs. It was Aunty Shukurah, the elderly maid who had always been kind to her. Seeing who it was, her tone softened. "Hurry up if you don't want to end up on the bad list today."

Siyama picked up the carton mechanically, her mind still reeling. She moved on autopilot, her thoughts a tangled mess. By the time Hajiya Lubabatu reached the general parlor to issue orders, Siyama's head was spinning.

When they handed her a carton of Indomie and a small gallon of groundnut oil, she murmured her thanks, bowing her head, though she could hardly feel grateful. Her mind was elsewhere, trying to piece together the fragments of conversation.

"As you all know, I'll be firing some of you today," Lubabatu announced sharply. "Thank you for your service, but you won't be required from today henceforth."

The tension in the room was palpable as she listed the names. "Simra, Yara, Munira, Sama, and Fadila, you're fired. If you're live-in maids, start packing up. Goodbye."

The dismissed girls exchanged uneasy glances. Some were half-casts and lived on the premises. Siyama felt a pang of satisfaction cause these were the same ones who had mocked her earlier about doing runs.

Just as the girls began to leave, a voice called from the doorway, halting everyone in their tracks. It was sharp and commanding, sending a shiver down Siyama's spine. A voice that always made her skin tingle but not now.

"Hajiya Lubabs, let me make sure the one I asked to write an apology letter but didn't is also fired." The voice had said.

Siyama stopped in her tracks, halfway through the door. She didn't dare turn back. That voice. Her doubts vanished. She knew exactly who it was. She didn't have to browse anything.

One thing is for sure, she wasn't ready for the rest of the day.

I promised to update earlier but so much has been going on. Sorryyyy guysssss. Anyways I don't mind that each paragraph comments🌚 you see I haven't even replied to comments? Sai a hankali but I know yall have been waiting for the timeeee! Here it isssss.

Mahmud dai ya kwapsa and the fact that I don't even know his game myself💀 we shall seeeee. The drama is beginning buckle uppp.

QOTD: Would you rather live in a world without music or a world without books? Without music!!!!  I mean, it's haram anyway🤣