Thomas Cole, 28, a British-Nigerian brand strategist who moved back to Benin to prove he can make it outside London, panics during a video call with his strict London mother and tells her he is engaged.The name he blurts out? Becky Osas — the 25-year-old jewelry shop owner in Ekosodin whose shop he has been visiting just to use her AC and gist.His mother, Mrs. Margaret Cole, hasn't been to Nigeria in 10 years. She is so excited she books a flight immediately. She is landing in 48 hours with an aso-ebi and a Zara bag for her new daughter-in-law.Becky needs ₦1.2M in 10 days to pay for her first table at the Lagos Jewelry Fair — the break that could take her business from 12k subs to real money. Thomas offers her exactly ₦1.2M to be his fake fiancée for 4 days: Friday to Monday.Rules: No kissing. No waist touching. No cooking.Problem: Mrs. Cole is a sharp, British-Nigerian mother who can smell a lie from Heathrow. She is bringing Thomas's real ex-girlfriend from London, and she has already told the whole extended family in Benin that her son is finally getting married.What starts as a business deal turns to chaos — airport pickup in the wrong gown, family introduction where Becky has to lie about how they met, a fake engagement party that Thomas's cousin plans without permission, and a YouTube video where Becky's subscribers start asking if she is really getting married.If they can survive 4 days without getting caught, Becky gets her fair money and Thomas gets his mother off his back.If they fail — Becky loses her shop's reputation and Thomas has to go back to London for good.Four days. One lie. Two people who argue about everything.*Core Cast:*- Becky Osas - 25, jewelry seller, loud, broke but proud- Thomas Cole - 28, London-returnee, proper but clueless about Benin market life- Mrs. Margaret Cole - 55, Thomas's mum, London sharp- Linda - Becky's best friend and bad advisor- Auntie Faith - Becky's supplier who thinks Becky has finally found a husband

---*SHOP WITH PRECIOUS* _Chapter 1: The Rain, The Ring, and The Man_The rain came down on Ekosodin like it had a personal grudge. It hit the zinc roof of my shop in thick, angry sheets, drowning out the sound of okadas and market women shouting "plastics! plastics!" down the street. Inside "Shop with Precious," the air smelled like perfume oil, new jewelry boxes, and damp concrete. The power was out again. My only light was the warm glow of my phone torch and the small LED strip I’d taped above the glass counter. Business was slow. July was always slow. People weren’t buying ₦85k bridal sets when they were busy buying garri and worrying about fuel price. I was 24. I’d quit my job at the bank 8 months ago to do this full-time. My mum called it "playing." My ex called it "a waste of data." My YouTube analytics called it "200, 308, 542 views... then 47." I sighed and wiped down a tray of gold-plated hoops. The sign above my door said _Shop with Precious - Jewelry That Speaks For You_. I’d painted it myself at 2am after watching a "branding for beginners" video.The door bell jingled. I looked up, expecting Mama Nkechi from the provisions store come to borrow my POS again. Instead, rainwater pooled at the feet of a man I’d never seen before.He was tall. Like, had-to-tilt-my-head tall. Black polo, black jeans, black umbrella that he shook off before closing the door behind him. His shirt was wet at the shoulders. But his eyes were dry. Sharp. The kind of eyes that scan a room and price everything in it in 3 seconds."Good afternoon," I said, smoothing my Ankara top. "Welcome to Shop with Precious."He didn’t answer immediately. He walked straight to the glass counter where I kept the bridal collection. The expensive one. The one I only posted on YouTube when I needed the algorithm to remember I existed.He picked up the "Royal Adesuwa Set." 3-layer necklace, earrings, bracelet. ₦85,000. "How much?" His voice was low. Calm. Lagos-businessman calm, not Benin-market calm."₦85,000 sir," I said. "It comes with free delivery anywhere in Benin City. And packaging."He turned the set over in his hands. The gold caught the LED light and threw it back at him. "You’re Precious?" I blinked. "Yes... how did you know?"He finally looked at me. And smiled. Just a little. Enough to make the corner of his eyes crinkle. "Your Shorts. The one where the girl cried when her fiancé proposed with your set. You said 'jewelry should hold memories, not just shine.'" My face went hot. That video got 542 views. My biggest one. "Oh. That one." I tried to sound professional. "Yes. That’s me."He set the jewelry down carefully. "I’m Tunde Adebayo. I run Adebayo & Co. We do brand campaigns for lifestyle businesses."Adebayo & Co. I knew that name. They did the billboards for that skincare brand all over Sapele Road. "Okay," I said slowly. "And you’re here because...?""Because I need 3 of these." He tapped the glass. "By Friday. And because I think your shop should be in our next campaign."The rain hit the roof harder. My brain did the math. 3 x ₦85,000 = ₦255,000. That was rent + restocking + my sister’s school fees. But my gut did different math. Men who wore black polos and talked about "campaigns" had a way of walking out with your peace."Can I ask you something?" I said. "Go ahead." "Why me? There are like 10 jewelry vendors in Ekosodin alone. Bigger shops."He leaned on the counter. Water was still dripping from his hair onto my floor. "Because in your video, you didn’t just sell jewelry. You sold the story. You told that girl, 'this will be in your wedding pictures forever.' That’s what people buy, Precious. Not gold. Moments."Nobody had ever said my name like that. Like it meant something. "Friday is tight," I said, because saying yes too fast felt dangerous. "I’ll need 50% deposit to start production.""Fair." He pulled out his phone. "Send me your account details. And your YouTube channel. I want to see what else you’ve got."I wrote my account number on the back of a receipt and slid it to him. Our fingers brushed. His were cold from the rain.He paid the ₦127,500 deposit right there. Alert came in 10 seconds. My heart did something stupid.As he was leaving, umbrella back up, he paused at the door. "One more thing," he said over his shoulder. "Don’t pause posting because views are low. The algorithm punishes silence. Post anyway."Then he was gone. Into the rain.I stood there for a long time, staring at the alert and the empty space where the 3 Royal Adesuwa sets used to be. Tunde Adebayo. Campaign. 542-view video. It felt like the start of something. Or the start of getting hurt I didn't know which yet.Outside the rain kept falling... TBC

She disappeared after secondary school in Benin. Everyone thought she drowned in Ikpoba River. 7 years later she walks back into her compound with no memory of where she was, but pregnant.