My Step Guardian

Deja vu

The night before, Miguel had called me.

“Ben, listen,” she’d said softly, like she was afraid I might hang up.

“When you see him tomorrow… just be cool. Don’t go there ready to fight. Hear him out first, okay?”

I had promised her I would.

But sitting in the back of my father’s car the next evening, I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise.

The drive to Lekki was too quiet.

Just me and him.

He kept both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, as if looking at me might break something fragile. I stared out the window, arms folded, Miguel’s words looping in my head.

When we finally pulled up to the gate, the house looked almost unreal — too perfect, too polished, the kind of place where dust probably wasn’t even allowed.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of furniture polish and something floral, like someone had been here moments before.

“This way,” my father said, his voice calm but too measured.

He led me upstairs. “This will be your room,” he said. Everything looked untouched, almost staged.

“I’ll let you settle in,” he added before leaving, the door clicking shut with quiet finality.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my shoulders tight.

Miguel’s voice echoed in my head again.

Be cool. Just be cool.

Then — a sound.

A faint laugh, not my father’s.

I stood and followed it into the hall until I reached the staircase landing.

Someone was coming up.

And then I saw her.

Vivian Temphardy.

the one who had me thinking since that. day, who had looked at me like nothing I said could shake her.

She stopped halfway up the stairs, one hand resting on the railing, her expression unreadable.

For a long second, neither of us moved.

The silence felt sharp, like it could cut.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

Her lips curved slightly — not quite a smile, more like an acknowledgment.

“Small world.”

My pulse jumped.

I hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected her to be here, to be part of this house, this life my father wanted me to step into.

“Vivy?” my father’s voice called from downstairs, casual, like this was nothing new.

“Yeah,” she called back without looking away from me.

Then she brushed past me, her perfume trailing in the air — that same sharp-sweet scent I’d caught at the party.

I stayed frozen on the landing, every nerve awake, realizing this wasn’t just a visit.

This was her home.

And if Miguel wanted me to stay calm, she had no idea how impossible that was about to get.

Dinner was quiet — painfully quiet.

I barely touched my food.

Vivian sat across from me, scrolling on her phone like I wasn’t even there. Every so often, she’d glance up, her expression still that same unreadable mask, like she was collecting information only she understood.

When I finally pushed my plate back, my father cleared his throat.

“Ben,” he said gently, “come with me.”

I followed him into a small study. The room smelled faintly of old books and something woody — his cologne, maybe.

He sat and gestured for me to sit too.

“I know this is a lot,” he said after a pause.

“You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t ask for me to leave, or to come back. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight.”

I didn’t reply.

He sighed, leaning forward with his hands clasped.

“But I do want to try. I want you to have a chance to see that I’m not just the man who left. I’m still your father.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

“You’ll be starting at Forest High tomorrow morning,” he went on.

“It’s a good school, Ben. I’ve made arrangements so you won’t fall behind with your finals. You’ll have everything you need — books, uniform, transport.”

My jaw tightened.

“You already planned all this, with the affirmation that'll comply” I said finally.

“ so, what can I say.”

“I know,” he admitted quietly.

“Because if I had asked, you would have said no.”

That stung. Mostly because he was right.

He leaned back, his voice softer now.

“You don’t have to like me right away. But at least… give this a chance. Give yourself a chance.”

I didn’t answer. Just nodded once.

When I left the study, the house felt heavier somehow, like the walls had heard every word.

On my way to my room, I passed a half-closed door. Behind it, a soft laugh — Vivian’s laugh — floated out into the hallway.

I stopped for a moment, listening, before turning away.

In my room, I shut the door, dropped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

Not because of the new house. Not even because of my father’s words.

But because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vivian’s face — calm, unreadable — like she already knew how tomorrow was going to go.