Chap 5:The mansion
1663 Words
The mansion doors were taller than my office building.
Elias pushed them open like he owned the air. Maybe he did.
“Welcome home,” he said again. Softer this time.
I stepped inside and my heels clicked on marble. The ceiling was so high it made me dizzy. Chandeliers. Art on the walls. A staircase that split in two.
This wasn’t a house. It was a statement.
Vera was already there. She didn’t look surprised. She looked… resigned.
“Mr. Adebayor,” she said. “The board is calling every five minutes.”
“Let them,” he said. He didn’t take his eyes off me. “Get us privacy. No staff. No calls. 24 hours.”
She nodded once and left. The doors closed behind her with a sound like a verdict.
It was just us.
Elias walked to the bar. Poured two glasses of something amber. He handed me one.
“Drink,” he said. “You’re shaking.”
I took it. My hand was trembling. “Because of the file. Or because of you.”
“Both,” he said. Honest.
I didn’t drink. I stared at him. “Explain it again. Slowly. Like I’m stupid.”
He set his glass down. Came closer. Not touching.
“You were switched at birth,” he said. “In that hospital. My father was there. Your mother was there. Two babies. One room. Someone made a mistake. Or someone paid for one.”
My chest hurt. “And I ended up… with a woman who left me when I was twelve.”
“And I ended up as Elias Adebayor,” he said. “Heir to a company that would have been yours.”
The glass slipped in my hand. He caught it before it hit the floor.
“I’m not after your money,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I chose you.”
His fingers brushed mine. The contact was electric. Wrong. Right. I couldn’t tell anymore.
“Elias,” I said. “If we’re not related… does that mean—”
“Yes,” he cut in. His voice was rough. “It means I’ve wanted you since the first time you walked into my boardroom in a thrifted blazer and didn’t flinch.”
I laughed. It came out broken. “That’s insane.”
“Is it?” He stepped closer. “Look at me.”
I did.
“Your eyes,” he said. “Same as my sister’s. Same shape. Same defiance. My father noticed it too. That’s why he kept the photo.”
He pulled out his phone. Swiped. Showed me another picture.
A little girl. Maybe seven. Standing next to a man in a suit. Her eyes. My eyes.
“My sister died when she was nine,” he said quietly. “Car accident. My father never recovered.”
I covered my mouth. “Elias…”
“That’s why he gave you up,” he said. “Guilt. He thought he’d lost two children that day. He couldn’t face a third.”
The mansion went quiet. Too quiet.
“So what now?” I asked. “You bring me here. You tell me I was supposed to be an Adebayor. You expect me to just… stay?”
“I expect nothing,” he said. “I’m asking.”
“Asking what?”
“To stay,” he said. “To write. To finish your story. In a place no one can fire you from. In a place no one can take this from you.”
He gestured around. The bookshelf. The desk by the window. The view of Lagos from above.
“I had this room built for you,” he said. “Before I even met you.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“My father kept that photo on his desk for twenty-four years,” he said. “I grew up looking at your eyes. I didn’t know why it hurt. Until you walked in.”
I stepped back. “That’s not love. That’s obsession.”
“Maybe,” he said. No shame in his voice. “But it’s mine.”
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost ignored it.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
I looked at the screen.
`Unknown: We have the file too. Give us the girl. Or we burn the mansion down.`
Elias saw it. His jaw tightened.
“They found us,” he said.
He took my phone. Blocked the number. Threw it on the couch.
“From now on,” he said. “You don’t go anywhere without me.”
“Elias—”
He cupped my face. Both hands. His thumbs on my cheeks.
“I’m not letting them take you,” he said. “Not again.”
And he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate. Like a man who’d been drowning and finally found air.
I should have pushed him away.
I didn’t.
Because for the first time since I was fired on day one…
I wasn’t running scared.
I was running with him.
Behind us, the mansion doors were still open.
Behind us, the threat was still real.
But ahead of us?
Nothing.
No office. No fear. No looking back.
And this time…
We weren’t looking back.
She nodded once and left. The doors closed behind her with a sound like a verdict.
It was just us.
Elias walked to the bar. Poured two glasses of something amber. He handed me one.
“Drink,” he said. “You’re shaking.”
I took it. My hand was trembling. “Because of the file. Or because of you.”
“Both,” he said. Honest.
I didn’t drink. I stared at him. “Explain it again. Slowly. Like I’m stupid.”
He set his glass down. Came closer. Not touching.
“You were switched at birth,” he said. “In that hospital. My father was there. Your mother was there. Two babies. One room. Someone made a mistake. Or someone paid for one.”
My chest hurt. “And I ended up… with a woman who left me when I was twelve.”
“And I ended up as Elias Adebayor,” he said. “Heir to a company that would have been yours.”
The glass slipped in my hand. He caught it before it hit the floor.
“I’m not after your money,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I chose you.”
His fingers brushed mine. The contact was electric. Wrong. Right. I couldn’t tell anymore.
“Elias,” I said. “If we’re not related… does that mean—”
“Yes,” he cut in. His voice was rough. “It means I’ve wanted you since the first time you walked into my boardroom in a thrifted blazer and didn’t flinch.”
I laughed. It came out broken. “That’s insane.”
“Is it?” He stepped closer. “Look at me.”
I did.
“Your eyes,” he said. “Same as my sister’s. Same shape. Same defiance. My father noticed it too. That’s why he kept the photo.”
He pulled out his phone. Swiped. Showed me another picture.
A little girl. Maybe seven. Standing next to a man in a suit. Her eyes. My eyes.
“My sister died when she was nine,” he said quietly. “Car accident. My father never recovered.”
I covered my mouth. “Elias…”
“That’s why he gave you up,” he said. “Guilt. He thought he’d lost two children that day. He couldn’t face a third.”
The mansion went quiet. Too quiet.
“So what now?” I asked. “You bring me here.
You bring me here.
You tell me I was supposed to be an Adebayor. You expect me to just… stay?”
“I expect nothing,” he said. “I’m asking.”
“Asking what?”
“To stay,” he said. “To write. To finish your story. In a place no one can fire you from. In a place no one can take this from you.”
He gestured around. The bookshelf. The desk by the window. The view of Lagos from above.
“I had this room built for you,” he said. “Before I even met you.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“My father kept that photo on his desk for twenty-four years,” he said. “I grew up looking at your eyes. I didn’t know why it hurt. Until you walked in.”
I stepped back. “That’s not love. That’s obsession.”
“Maybe,” he said. No shame in his voice. “But it’s mine.”
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost ignored it.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
I looked at the screen.
`Unknown: We have the file too. Give us the girl. Or we burn the mansion down.`
Elias saw it. His jaw tightened.
“They found us,” he said.
He took my phone. Blocked the number. Threw it on the couch.
“From now on,” he said. “You don’t go anywhere without me.”
“Elias—”
He cupped my face. Both hands. His thumbs on my cheeks.
“I’m not letting them take you,” he said. “Not again.”
And he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate. Like a man who’d been drowning and finally found air
.
I should have pushed him away.
I didn’t.
Because for the first time since I was fired on day one…
I wasn’t running scared.
I was running with him.
Behind us, the mansion doors were still open.
Behind us, the threat was still real.
But ahead of us?
Nothing.
No office. No fear. No looking back.
And this time…
We weren’t looking back.
- Writer
