CHAPTER 3: WHISPERS IN LOW PLACES
1046 Words
CHAPTER 3: WHISPERS IN LOW PLACES
Sharon did not return home the next morning
Instead, she extended her stay at the Savannah Hotel.
She told herself it was for convenience. The hotel was closer to her headquarters. Closer to meetings. Closer to business partners. Closer to control.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
The penthouse at home felt too quiet.
At 6:00 a.m., she was already seated at the small glass dining table in her suite, reviewing acquisition drafts for the vessel deal for the Limbe port. Numbers steadied her pulse. Contracts calmed her mind.
Outside, Balii was stretching awake again.
Inside, something restless paced within her.
Her phone buzzed.
It was Ella.
“Beer parlour tonight?” Ella asked without greeting. “The old spot.”
Sharon frowned slightly. “I don’t do beer parlours.”
“You used to,” Ella replied. “Before you became Madam Precision.”
Sharon almost declined.
But something about the previous night’s comment, 'money can’t buy beauty' lingered like a bruise.
“I’ll come,” she said finally.
That evening, the beer parlour in downtown Balii was loud, humid, and unapologetically alive.
Average chairs. Wooden tables. Neon lights. Laughter that did not care about elegance and class were reflecting the skies through the window in peasant snacks.
It was the kind of place Sharon had once frequented in her early hustling days, when ambition burned hotter than pride.
Now, as she stepped out of her latest Range Rover sport, heads turned.
Some are in admiration. Some in curiosity. Some in silent mockery.
She walked in anyway.
Ella waved her over,her seat was already reserved. Kelly and Marina were already halfway through their drinks.
“Well, look who remembers her roots,” Kelly grinned.
Sharon sat gracefully, adjusting her fitted blazer.
I never forget where I came from, "she replied coolly.
A bottle was placed before her.
She hesitated for half a second.... then poured.
The music was loud. A mix of slows and street pop. The crowd swayed freely.
Across the room, a group of young men laughed loudly. One of them tall, dark, effortlessly handsome leaned back in his chair, listening more than speaking.
Marina followed Sharon’s gaze.
“See something interesting?” she teased.
Sharon looked away immediately. “I see noise.”
Kelly laughed. “That ‘noise’ is the head chef at that new restaurant near the express road.”
“What restaurant?” Sharon asked, trying to sound uninterested.
“Harvest Flame,” Ella said. “It’s trending. The chef is young. Very talented crowned with an athletic body. People say he trained in New town.”
Sharon took a slow sip of her drink.
“I don’t eat trends,” she said.
But she looked again.
This time, the handsome young man stood to greet someone. His smile was easy. Unforced. Genuine.
And for a brief second, their eyes met.
He didn’t look away immediately.
But he didn’t approach either.
Kelly leaned in closer.
“You know what I find funny?” she said, voice slightly slurred. “You can buy half this city, Sharon. But no man here has ever tried to buy you a drink.”
Ella burst out laughing.
Marina tried to silence them. “Oh please, don’t start.”
But Kelly was already leaning back dramatically, unapologetic.
“I’m serious. Look at you. Wealthy. Influential. Powerful. And yet....”
“And yet what?” Sharon’s tone sharpened. It was clear she got upset.
“And yet no one is fighting for your attention.”
The table fell quiet.
Sharon’s pride flared instantly.
“You think men intimidate me?” she asked calmly.
“No,” Kelly replied bluntly. “We think you intimidate them.”
Ella raised her bottle. “Prove us wrong.”
The air shifted.
“Prove what wrong?” Sharon asked.
“That you can secure a man who actually looks good,” Kelly continued boldly. “Not someone you groom. Not someone you build. Someone already confident.”
Sharon let out a controlled laugh, but she knew they were trying to tear her off the kind of Mr Jojo's shambles.
“Is this what we’re doing now? Measuring beauty with male validation?”
Marina tried again. “Let’s change the topic.”
But Kelly was relentless tonight.
“I’m saying if you think you’re all that, walk over there and make that chef yours.”
Ella’s eyes sparkled mischievously.
“Yes,” she added. “Within one year. Secure him properly. Engagement, relationship, everything, let's give you a year, December.”
Sharon stared at them.
“You’re drunk.”
“So are you,” Kelly shot back. “Ten million dollars says you can’t.”
The words dropped like a stone into still water.
Ten million dollars.
Marina gasped. “Are you people mad?”
But the idea had already ignited something dangerous inside Sharon. She loved to prove a point when money was the topic.
Ten million was nothing to her financially.
But reputation? Dignity?
That was priceless.
“You think I can’t?” she asked quietly.
Ella shrugged. “We think money can’t buy everything.”
There it was again.
Money can’t buy everything.
Money can’t buy beauty.
The room suddenly felt warmer.
Sharon rose slowly from her chair.
“You want a bet?” she asked.
Kelly stood, too. “Official. One year. If you secure him genuinely, not by force, you win.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You lose the ten million.”
Sharon looked toward the handsome chef again.
He was laughing with his friends, unaware that his life had just become a subject of negotiation.
“One year,” Sharon said calmly. “And I don’t lose.”
Ella extended her hand.
Kelly followed.
Marina shook her head. “This is insane.”
Sharon clasped their hands firmly.
“One year,” she repeated.
Around them, the beer parlour roared with life, unaware that a silent war had just begun.
Across the room, the young chef glanced at her once more.
This time, Sharon held his gaze.
And instead of looking away. She smiled.
Not warmly.
Not shyly.
But strategically.
The game had begun.
And Sharon had never lost a game in her life.
- Writer
