The Bride He Never Wanted

CHAPTER SIX — The Deal

Kano, Nigeria

Flashback continues —

The air in Ameerah’s stepfather’s sitting room was heavy with the stale scent of tobacco and ambition. The small fan overhead did little to cut through the heat, and the faint light from a cracked window cast long, impatient shadows on the walls. He sat hunched over in his chair, elbows on his knees, jaw tight, hands tapping idly against the worn leather.

A friend of Rayhan’s father, Mallam Bashir, had come early, the kind of visitor who carried news like a blade—smooth, deliberate, and designed to cut. He had been invited for tea, but the real purpose of his visit was never casual.

“You know,” Mallam Bashir began, his tone casual but sharp, “the bride… she ran away. On her wedding day. The family is desperate to avoid shame. They need a replacement immediately.”

Ameerah’s stepfather, Mallam Usman, straightened instantly, eyes narrowing. His mind began turning, gears spinning fast. Desperation. Wealth. Status. Reputation on the line. The thought of stepping in, offering a solution—and gaining everything in return—made his pulse quicken.

“How desperate?” he asked carefully, pretending disinterest.

“Very,” Bashir said, leaning in, voice dropping. “They cannot afford scandal. They need someone now, anyone who can take the place of the bride. Fast. Before gossip buries them in humiliation.”

Mallam Usman’s fingers itched against his knees. He already knew what the “replacement” would require—not education, not personality, not kindness. Money, connections, status… and a girl who could be controlled. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I see,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “And you’re saying…?”

Bashir’s eyes glimmered with knowing mischief. “I’m saying your stepdaughter—she’s eligible. Young, pliable, available. She fits the role perfectly.”

The words struck Usman like a spark to dry tinder. He leaned back, exhaling slowly, letting the idea sink. His heart thumped with a dangerous, thrilling rhythm. Money. Status. Influence. And all he needed to do was… volunteer a girl who had no choice.

Ameerah’s name floated in the room like a guilty secret. The sound was innocuous, almost polite—but to him, it became currency, leverage, a tool that could transform his misfortune into wealth and authority.

“Are you suggesting…?” he said slowly, letting the question hang.

“Precisely,” Bashir said, leaning back in his chair, almost relaxed. “You offer her. They accept. Everyone benefits. You clear your debts. Your family gains recognition. And the girl… well, she gets married into prestige. A step up, if you will.”

Usman’s chest tightened with anticipation, a thrill masked by a veneer of calm. He imagined the conversations he would have, the approval of men like Bashir, the pride swelling in his chest as he became the orchestrator of fortune. And Ameerah… she was a piece on the chessboard, entirely expendable.

“Of course,” he said finally, voice calm, deliberate, the kind of calm that chilled the air around him. “I will… handle it.”

Bashir’s lips curved into a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. “Good. Make the offer quietly. Ensure her mother doesn’t protest too loudly. The family is urgent—they cannot wait. They expect results immediately. Timing is everything.”

When Bashir left, the house seemed quieter, the shadows longer, heavier. Usman sat back, breathing slowly, imagining the conversations, the arrangements, the eventual transfer of wealth. He could almost see it—the look of respect, the handshakes, the smiles that concealed envy and approval. He could almost taste it.

And then he thought of the obstacle: Hajiya Mariya, Ameerah’s mother. She had no idea yet—but she could still object.

He waited only a moment before calling her forward.

When she appeared, the weight of her concern was visible in every line of her face, every slight tremble of her hands. She had been busy tending to household tasks, oblivious to the dark plot forming just steps away. But when she saw the expression on his face, a chill settled over her.

“Hajiya,” he began smoothly, voice measured, almost polite. “Sit.”

She obeyed immediately, heart already tightening. Every instinct screamed caution, yet she could not refuse. He had a presence that demanded compliance, a power that had been exercised on her daughter more than once.

“There is… a matter of urgency,” he continued, leaning forward, the heat of his gaze pressing against her like physical weight. “The bride has vanished. On her wedding day. The family is desperate to avoid shame. The wedding cannot proceed without a bride. They need someone—immediately.”

Hajiya’s chest tightened. Her stomach churned. She had heard rumors, whispers, even felt the tension in Nassarawa GRA, but this—this direct knowledge—was suffocating. Her hands clenched in her lap. “I… I understand,” she whispered.

“Your daughter,” Usman said carefully, letting the words linger, heavy and deliberate. “She is young, presentable. Perfectly suitable. If she were to step in… to take the place of the runaway bride… everything would be resolved. The family’s honor restored. And you… your household would gain recognition, respect, and security.”

Hajiya’s heart lurched violently. Her first thought was of Ameerah—the girl she loved fiercely, her child, her soul. The thought of her walking into a fate not of her choosing, expected to step into the void left by a runaway bride, made her tremble with anger and fear.

“And you expect me to—?” she began, voice tight with incredulity.

“I expect… your cooperation,” Usman said smoothly, leaning closer, letting the threat behind his calm hang in the air like a blade. “This is an opportunity. For you, for your daughter, for the household. The family is desperate. They will accept her. If you refuse… complications arise. Financial, social… consequences.”

Hajiya’s mind reeled. Her heart ached for her daughter, yet the thought of being trapped by obligation and Mallam Usman’s control made her furious. She straightened, voice shaking but firm. “I will not allow it,” she said. “Ameerah will not marry a man she has never met. She is not a replacement for anyone.”

For a moment, the room seemed to still, as if the walls themselves recoiled from her defiance. Then Usman’s hand shot up with sudden violence, a sharp slap that echoed through the room. Hajiya’s head snapped sideways, the sting spreading across her cheek, a burning reminder of his control.

“You dare—” he hissed, eyes dark, dangerous, coiling with fury. “You dare refuse me? Do you think your words matter? Do you think your loyalty or love for her will protect her from what must be done?”

Tears pricked Hajiya’s eyes, anger and fear colliding in a storm she had no way to contain. Her lips trembled, voice caught in her throat. “You… you cannot force this. She is my child—my blood!”

Usman leaned closer, voice low and venomous. “I can, and I will. Your feelings do not matter. Her future is not hers to decide. The family is desperate, the shame is immediate, and I… I see opportunity. You will prepare her. You will ensure she is ready. There is no alternative.”

Hajiya sank into the chair, shaking, her body rigid with rage and despair. Her hands twisted in her lap, nails digging into her palms, as the reality crashed over her. She could not protect Ameerah from him—not here, not now. The power imbalance was suffocating, the threat unmistakable.

Her eyes lifted, meeting his. Hatred, fear, and grief collided in one burning glance. “You will regret this,” she whispered, voice barely audible but sharp, trembling with promise. “This is your doing, not mine. And if anything happens to her—”

Usman’s lips curled into a cold, thin smile. “Do not lecture me on consequences, Hajiya. Timing is everything. You will act. That is all.”

The sun cut through the cracked window, falling across the floor in harsh lines. Outside, Kano carried on, oblivious to the cruelty being plotted behind these walls. Inside, Hajiya sat, trembling, realizing that her child’s fate was no longer in her hands. Mallam Usman’s shadow loomed over her, cold, precise, and merciless, as the first threads of the storm began to coil around her family.

The chapter closed with the room silent except for the whir of the fan and the burning sting of injustice across Hajiya’s cheek—a sharp reminder that this was only the beginning.