HEIRESSES IN HOT WATER

🌙✨ Moonlight, Metal & Mischief ✨🌙

Dinner at Grandma’s house was a silent war.

No air conditioning. ❌ No polite staff serving wine. 🍷 No gentle jazz in the background. 🎶

Just hot pepper soup that burned like lava 🌶️🔥 and Grandma’s sharp eyes slicing us in half.

“Eat!” she barked. 🗣️ “A strong woman must eat good food. Not this your oyibo salads and small small sandwiches.”

I poked my rice 🍚 with dread. Chloe sniffed hers like it might explode 💥. Vivian pushed stew around her plate with one manicured finger 💅. Luna sat stone-still, probably composing a tragic poem about death by goat meat 🐐💀.

Only Mimi devoured everything like she was born in this house. 🙄

When Grandma finally called devotion, I faked a cough 🤧, a headache 🤕, and slipped onto the porch like a criminal on the run.

The air outside felt ten times better. 🌬️ Fresh. Soft. Quiet.

Away from rules, sisters, and lectures about African womanhood. 🙃

I leaned against the rail, breathing deep.

The night in Lagos was never truly quiet. 🏙️ Generators hummed in the distance. A dog barked. 🐕 Crickets sang like broken bells 🔔.

And then—

Clink. Clank. 🔧 Low humming. 🎵

I peeked around the corner.

👀 Obi. Of course.

Bent over Grandma’s old Toyota 🚗, sleeves rolled up, grease smudging his arms 💪. Half in shadow, half glowing from the porch light.

Why was he always here when I needed peace? 😩

I could have turned back. Pretended I didn’t see him.

But my feet refused to move.

“Fixing cars this late, driver boy?” I folded my arms, pretending I didn’t care. 😒

Obi looked up slow—like always. The corners of his mouth curled into that stupid, smug smile 😏.

“Could say the same for you, Princess. Out here after curfew? Breaking Grandma’s rules already?”

“I needed air. Away from pepper soup and judgment.”

He chuckled softly, wiping his hands on a rag 🧻. “You rich girls. Always running from real life.”

I scowled. “And you poor boys? Always fixing things that barely work?”

His smile deepened 😈. “Careful. This car’s your only way to the airport when you give up and run back to America.”

“Please. I’d ride a goat before I beg you for a lift.” 🐐✈️

He laughed—low, rough, warm.

“Goats here bite, Princess. And chew designer shoes.” 👠

I rolled my eyes 🙄 but stepped closer. Just to prove I wasn’t afraid.

“What’s wrong with the car?” I asked. Stupid. I didn’t care.

“Old engine. Loose belt. Like you girls. All pretty and polished... but shaky inside.”

I gasped. “Excuse me?!” 😳

“Tell me I’m wrong.” He leaned against the car, arms crossed. Muscles shifting under his thin white T-shirt 😍.

I stared—briefly. Too long.

“I’m not shaky,” I snapped. “I just don’t belong here.”

“Lagos doesn’t care if you belong. It swallows everyone.” 🌆

“Not me. I’ll escape.”

His gaze pinned me. “Where? Back to fake friends and plastic smiles? New York clubs with bottled laughs?”

I flinched.

He hit close. Too close.

“At least my friends know how to shower daily,” I muttered.

He grinned. “You’re funny, Princess. Angry, spoiled... but funny.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? It suits you. Look at you—standing in your designer slippers 👡 pretending this dust isn’t choking you.”

I kicked a pebble. “Maybe I just like moonlight.” 🌙

“Liar.”

My chest tightened.

“Vivian says you stare at me,” I blurted.

He raised an eyebrow. “I do.”

“Why?!”

“Because you glow like a stuck chandelier. Bright. Lost. Swinging between two worlds.” ✨

I blinked.

“Don’t flirt, Obi. It won’t work.”

“Who’s flirting?” He stepped closer. I smelled engine oil, sweat, something dangerously good.

“You’re not my type,” I said quickly.

“Oh? What is your type, Princess? Skinny white bankers with soft hands? Men who’ve never changed a tire in their life?”

“At least they don’t smell like motor oil.”

“Maybe that’s what you need. Someone real. Someone who doesn’t care about your father’s money or your fancy clothes.”

I swallowed. Heat rising up my neck 🥵.

“Stop.”

“Scared?”

“Of you?” I laughed sharply. “Please. I’ve dated billionaires. Models. Tech geniuses.”

“And yet... here you are. Talking to the house driver under moonlight.” 🌙❤️

I stepped back.

“Go fix your stupid car, Obi.”

His smile faded a little. His eyes softened.

“You could like this place, Scarlett. If you tried.”

I scoffed. “I’d rather die.”

“Pity. Lagos might teach you who you really are.”

I opened my mouth.

No words came.

Silence stretched. Crickets gossiped like old women 🦗.

He wiped his hands again, watching me.

“You know,” he said quietly, “you’re the only one who complains this much. The others—they groan, they sigh. But you... you fight. Like you want to matter here.”

I froze.

“No one ever told you that in America, did they? That you could matter without your father’s money?”

I stared, breathing shallow.

His voice dropped. “But you do. Even here. Even now.”

I couldn’t speak.

He stepped back, giving me space. “Go inside, Princess. Before I make you like this place more than you should.”

My heart skipped.

I turned, forcing my feet to move.

But his voice caught me softly.

“Goodnight, Scarlett.”

I paused.

“…Goodnight, Obi.”

I hated him.

I hated that I didn’t hate him.

I hated this city.

I hated that it was creeping into my bones.

I slipped back inside, mind spinning.

Vivian was sprawled on her bed, phone in hand, smirking 😈.

“Out late... with Obi?”

“Shut up,” I snapped, grabbing my pillow.

“You like him.”

“I do not!”

She laughed. “Too bad. I think I might.”

I froze.

“What?”

“Oh, come on. He’s cute. Good arms. Smells like danger. Maybe I’ll try him first.”

I scowled. “He’s not a toy, Vivian.”

“Oh? So you do care?”

“I care that you don’t embarrass yourself chasing a driver.”

She grinned. “Then why are you blushing?”

I threw the pillow at her 😤.

She ducked, giggling.

Luna sighed from her bed. “Will you two shut up? Some of us are writing poetry about despair.” ✍️

Mimi peeked over her blanket. “Obi’s nice. He gave me plantain chips once.” 🍌

“Traitor,” I muttered.

But I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips 😊.

I couldn’t stop the memory of his voice.

Or the feeling that this vacation wasn’t just about punishment.

It was about change.

Terrifying, impossible, beautiful change.

And him.

Stupid, beautiful, annoying him. ❤️