The Sugar Daddy's Secret Babysitter

The lights in the VI club were gold, the men were rich, and Amara's uniform was too short. "Table 9, Oga wants more whiskey," her manager hissed. "And smile. These are not your UNILAG boys." She balanced the tray and walked to Table 9. Three men in suits that cost more than her four years school fees. The one in the middle didn't look up from his phone at first. When he did, Amara forgot how to breathe. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes. A watch that glittered. He looked like a sin in a suit. "Your whiskey, sir." He took it, but his fingers brushed hers. "How much do you make a night here?" "Excuse me?" "50k? 100k? You're too beautiful to be serving drinks." Amara stepped back. "I just serve drinks, sir. I don't serve... other things." He smiled. Slow. Dangerous. "What if I offered you 10 million naira? For one month. No club. Just me. You come when I call. You leave when I say." The other men at the table laughed. Amara's hand moved before her brain could stop it. She poured the entire whiskey over his 3-million-naira suit. "I'm a student, not a prostitute, sir." The club went silent. He didn't get angry. He wiped his face, looked at her name tag, and said, "Amara. We will meet again." She was fired that night. Three days later, she stood in front of a mansion in Ikoyi, in her only good gown, for a babysitting interview. Her rent was due tomorrow. Her sister was calling. She needed this job at 300k per month. The gate opened. A small girl with curly hair ran out crying. And behind her... No. No, no, no. The man from the club. Whiskey man. In a white t-shirt, no suit, holding the crying child. "You," he said, and his cold eyes widened. Then narrowed. "You're the waitress." Amara wanted the ground to open. "I... I came for the nanny job." He looked her up and down. From her cheap gown to her desperate eyes. "This is my daughter, Sofia. She is four. She doesn't sleep. She doesn't eat. If you can make her stop crying before 6pm, you have the job." "And if I can't?" "Then you finally get your 10 million? No. Then you leave my house and never come back." He walked away, leaving her with the screaming child. Amara knelt down. "Hey, princess. You like music?" She started singing the lullaby her mother used to sing in Yoruba. Soft. Off-key. Sofia stopped crying. And stared. For the first time in months, the billionaire's daughter smiled. And her cold billionaire father, watching from the stairs, felt something in his chest crack for the first time in 10 years.