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Stay with me CEO

Stay with me CEO

BrunaJhon

5.0
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picture it now, a house not so different from this one, its various rooms designed to house a large family: husband, wife and many children. I was supposed to have left the day after my hair dryers were dismantled. The plan was to spend a week setting up my new salon and furnishing the house. I wanted my new life to be in order before I saw him again. Not that I have grown fond of this place. I will not miss the few friends I have made, the people who do not know the woman I was before I came here, the men who over the years have thought they were in love with me. After I leave, I probably will not even remember the man who proposed to me. No one here knows that I am still married to you. I will only tell you a fragment of the story: I was barren and my husband took another wife. No one asked any more, so I have never told you about my children. I have wanted to leave ever since the three young men from the National Youth Service were killed. I decided to close my salon and jewelry store before I knew what I was going to do next, before the invitation to your father's funeral arrived like a map showing me the way. I memorized the names of the three young people and what each of them was studying at university. My Olamide would have been about their age; she would also be finishing university by now. When I read about them, I think of her. Akin, I often wonder if you think of her too. Even though sleep won't come, every night I close my eyes and fragments of the life I left behind come flooding back. I see the batik pillowcases in our bedroom, our neighbors and your family, which for an unwise time I thought was mine too. I see you. Tonight, I see the lamp you gave me a few weeks after we got married. I couldn't sleep in the dark, and you had nightmares if we left the fluorescent lights on. That lamp was your concession. You bought it without telling me you had found a solution, without asking me if I wanted a lamp. And as I stroked the bronze base and admired the glass panels that formed the dome, he asked me what I would take with me if our house were on fire. I didn't think twice before saying our baby, even though we didn't have children yet. You said what, not who. But you seemed a little hurt that, thinking it was a person, I hadn't considered saving him. I force myself out of bed and pull off my nightgown. I'm not wasting another minute. The questions I need answered, the ones I've stifled for over a decade, quicken my steps as I grab my bag and head into the living room. There are seventeen suitcases, ready to be loaded into the car. I look at them, remembering the contents of each one. If this house were on fire, what would I take? I have to think about that, because the first thing that comes to mind is nothing. I select the small suitcase I'd planned to take with me to the funeral and a leather bag filled with gold jewelry. Musa can carry the rest of the luggage for me another time. So that's it: fifteen years here, and although my house isn't on fire, all I'll take with me is a bag of gold and a change of clothes. The things that matter are inside me, locked in my chest like a tomb, where they will remain forever, my trunk of buried treasures. I leave the house. The air is chilly, and on the horizon the dark sky is turning a violet hue with the rising sun. Musa is leaning against the car, cleaning his teeth with a toothpick. He spits into a mug as I approach and puts the toothpick in his jacket pocket. He opens the car door, we shake hands, and I climb into the backseat. Musa turns on the radio and searches for a station. He chooses one where the day's broadcast is beginning with the national anthem. The doorman waves as we pull out of the condominium. The road stretches out before us, shrouded in a blanket of darkness that fades into the dawn as it leads me back to you.

Chapter 1 I leave the house

lanned to take with me to the funeral and a leather bag filled with gold jewelry. Musa can carry the rest of the luggage for me another time. So that's it: fifteen years here, and although my house isn't on fire, all I'll take with me is a bag of gold and a change of clothes. The things that matter are inside me, locked in my chest like a tomb, where they will remain forever, my trunk of buried treasures. I leave the house. The air is chilly, and on the horizon the dark sky is turning a violet hue with the rising sun. Musa is leaning against the car, cleaning his teeth with a toothpick.

He spits into a mug as I approach and puts the toothpick in his jacket pocket. He opens the car door, we shake hands, and I climb into the backseat. Musa turns on the radio and searches for a station. He chooses one where the day's broadcast is beginning with the national anthem. The doorman waves as we pull out of the condominium. The road stretches out before us, shrouded in a blanket of darkness that fades into the dawn as it leads me back to you. 2 ILESA, 1985 ONWARDS I soon realized that they had come prepared for war. I could see them through the glass panels of the door. I could hear them chattering. For almost a full minute they didn't seem to notice that I was standing on the other side. I wanted to leave them outside and go back upstairs to sleep. Maybe if they stayed out in the sun long enough they would melt into puddles of black mud. Iya Martha's buttocks were so big that if they melted they would completely cover the cement steps leading up to our door. Iya Martha was one of my four mothers; she was my father's eldest wife. The man with her was Baba Lola, Akin's uncle. Both of them had their backs bent against the sun and their faces set in a grimace of determination. But as soon as I opened the door, they stopped chattering and smiled. I could guess the first words that would come out of the woman's mouth. I knew it would be an exaggerated display of a bond that had never existed between us. "Yejide, my precious daughter!" Iya Martha said with a big smile, covering my cheeks with her damp, fat hands. I smiled back, kneeling down to greet them. "Welcome, welcome. God must have woken up thinking of me today. That's why you're here," I said, bowing again after they'd entered and settled into the living room. They laughed. "Where's your husband? Did we find him at home?" Baba Lola asked, looking around as if I might have hidden Akin under a chair. "Yes, sir, he's upstairs. I'll call him, but first I'll get you something to drink. What should I prepare for you to eat? Mashed yam?" The man glanced at my stepmother as if, while rehearsing the drama that was about to be performed, he hadn't read that part of the script. Iya Martha shook her head emphatically. "We can't eat. Go get your husband. We have important things to discuss with you both." I smiled, left the living room, and headed toward the stairs. I wondered what "important things" they had come to discuss. Several of my husband's relatives had already come to our house to discuss the same issue. The discussion consisted of them talking while I listened on my knees. On these occasions, Akin would pretend to listen and take notes while in reality he was writing down a list of things to do the next day. No one in that series of delegations could read or write, and everyone felt intimidated by those who could. They were impressed that Akin wrote down his words. And sometimes, when he stopped writing, the person who was speaking at the time would complain about his lack of respect for not taking notes. Many times during these visits, my husband would plan the entire week's schedule while I felt terrible cramps in my legs. The visits irritated Akin, who wanted to tell his relatives to mind their own business. But I wouldn't let them. The long discussions did give me leg cramps, but at least they made me feel like part of his family. Until that afternoon, no one in my family had paid me such a visit since I got married. As I walked upstairs, I thought Iya Martha's presence meant a new argument was about to be made. I didn't need her advice. My house was fine without the important things they had to say. I didn't want to hear Baba Lola's hoarse voice straining between coughing fits, or see another flash of Iya Martha's teeth. I thought I had heard all there was to hear, and I was sure my husband felt the same. I was surprised to find Akin awake. He worked six days a week and spent most of his Sundays sleeping. But when I walked into our bedroom, he was pacing back and forth. "Did you know they were coming today?" I looked at his face for the familiar mix of horror and irritation that he showed whenever a special delegation came to visit. "Are they here?" He stopped and clasped his hands behind his neck. No horror, no irritation. The room was beginning to feel stuffy. "You knew they were coming? And you didn't tell me?" "Let's go downstairs." He left the room. "Akin, what's wrong? What's going on?" I asked as he left. I sat down on the bed, put my head in my hands, and tried to breathe. I stayed that way until I heard Akin's voice calling me. I went down to join him in the living room and smiled, but not so wide that I showed my teeth, just a slight lift at the corners of my mouth. The kind that said: Even if you old folks don't know anything about my marriage, I'm happy, no, ecstatic, to hear all the important things you have to say about it. After all, I'm a good wife. I didn't notice her at first, even though she was perched on the edge of Iya Martha's chair. She was pale, a pale yellow like the inside of an unripe mango. Her thin lips were smeared with blood-red lipstick. I leaned toward my husband. His body was rigid, and he didn't put his arms around me to pull me closer. I tried to figure out where the yellow woman had come from, and for a crazy minute I wondered if Iya Martha had kept her hidden under her clothes when she came in. "Dear wife, our people say that when a man has one thing and that thing becomes two, he doesn't get upset, does he?" Baba Lola said. I nodded, smiling. "Well, dear wife, this is the new wife. It takes a child to call another child into this world. Who knows, maybe the king in heaven will answer your prayers because of this wife? When she gets pregnant and has a son, we're sure you'll have one too," Baba Lola continued. Iya Martha nodded in agreement. - Yejide, my daughter, we have thought about this matter and postponed this decision many times, your husband's family and I. And your other mothers. I closed my eyes. I was about to wake up from my trance. When I opened them, the yellow-mango woman was still there, a little blurry, but still there. I was stunned. I expected them to talk about the fact that I still had no children. I was armed with a million smiles. Apologetic smiles, compassionate smiles, God's-will-be-done smiles-think of all the fake smiles it takes to survive an afternoon with a group of people who claim to want your best while poking their finger into your open wound:

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Billionaires

5.0

A Love story turned battle of Men for one Lady. Isabella finds herself caught in a dangerous game of manipulation and ambition when she is tricked into a compromising situation by Mr. White, a powerful figure in society. Isabella manages to outsmart Mr. White and escapes his clutches, only to be left in a vulnerable state due to a spiked drink. She seeks refuge in a stranger's room, leading her to encounter Vincent, a handsome and enigmatic man who becomes entangled in her troubles. Vincent discovers Isabella's predicament and reluctantly helps her, leading to unexpected intimacy between them. Isabella's world is turned upside down as she grapples with the aftermath of her harrowing experience. Isabella faces backlash from her family and the public as scandalous rumors spread about her involvement with Mr. White. Despite the turmoil, Isabella receives a promising opportunity in the form of a new role that could potentially elevate her career but this opportunity came from the ones who are after Vincent's downfall. Isabella Signs a contract and is deceived to get her husband's signature which leads to his sudden downfall and he ended his feelings for Isabella to revenge his loss. Vincent entangled between his wealth and his feelings begins to change drastically. Isabella is been protected but she doesn't know who keeps saving her from harm while she builds a bond with Timothy again which led to great chaos amongst the rich. Vincent's psychopath Ex made a return. Feigned friendship and destroys the relationship between Vincent and Isabella. Even after they both lose their pregnancy for Vincent. Melissa, Vincent's ex remained obsessive and harmed those around Vincent. Isabella confronts her family's betrayal and manipulative tactics, especially from her mother and sister, who have their own ulterior motives. Timothy's presence adds another layer of complexity to her struggles as she navigates the treacherous waters of high society and the entertainment industry. After Isabella is rescued from Melissa's grip. She made a move that changed her fate.

Chapters
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1

Chapter 1 I leave the house

27/10/2024

2

Chapter 2 Did you know

27/10/2024

3

Chapter 3 Because I don't understand

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4

Chapter 4 What about you

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5

Chapter 5 So I sat in the car

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Chapter 6 dear sister

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Chapter 7 I don't work

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8

Chapter 8 I'm an idiot

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9

Chapter 9 I don't know

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10

Chapter 10 I didn't say that

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11

Chapter 11 I left the bathroom

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12

Chapter 12 That girl

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Chapter 13 Get some sleep

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Chapter 14 Are you dreaming

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Chapter 15 for her to continue

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Chapter 16 I can make it

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Chapter 17 The police

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Chapter 18 She frowned

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Chapter 19 She really did care

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Chapter 20 the police officers

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Chapter 21 testing, one

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Chapter 22 the said

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Chapter 23 I don't drink much

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Chapter 24 create my own version

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Chapter 25 Get up

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Chapter 26 roll on the floor

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Chapter 27 I cried

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Chapter 28 I'm done for

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Chapter 29 Can't you see

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Chapter 30 I'm sorry

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Chapter 31 public library

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Chapter 32 my relationship

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Chapter 33 loved him

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Chapter 34 I can't do this

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Chapter 35 I couldn't

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Chapter 36 I couldn't believe

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Chapter 37 with a sheet

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Chapter 38 I had started

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Chapter 39 because I was there

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Chapter 40 silent space between us

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