BRIDE FOR HIRE

BRIDE FOR HIRE – CHAPTER 1: ₦500,000 FOR A WEEKEND 8:00 AM. Saturday. Lekki, Lagos. The w******p message came with a voice note. And ₦50,000 alert. *Unknown Number:* _“Good morning. My name is Mrs. Bolanle. I need a bride for my son’s wedding. Just for the weekend. ₦500,000. You will wear white, smile, take pictures. No touching. No kissing. Are you interested?”_ I stared at the message. Then at my ₦1,200 account balance. Then at the eviction notice on my door. *Me:* “What kind of yahoo is this?” *Mrs. Bolanle:* _“Not yahoo. My son is in Canada. His visa will be denied if immigration finds out he’s single. We need a fake wife for immigration interview and wedding photos. One weekend. ₦500,000 cash. You sign NDA. You leave after.”_ I typed “No.” Deleted it. Typed “Yes.” Because ₦500,000 could pay 6 months rent, clear my auntie’s hospital bill, and buy me a new laptop for writing. *Me:* “Where and when?” *Mrs. Bolanle:* _“Today. 2 PM. Eko Hotel. Come alone. Dress simple. White if you have.”_ --- *1:45 PM. Eko Hotel – Lobby.* I was in my only white dress. Thrifted ₦3,000. Heels were borrowed. Hair was a wig I got from my neighbor. Mrs. Bolanle was tall, gold chain heavy, face tight like she hadn’t smiled since 1999. Beside her stood a man in a suit. Too handsome. Too angry. *Mrs. Bolanle:* “This is my son, Tobi. Tobi, this is… what’s your name again?” *Me:* “Chinaza. Chinaza Okafor.” *Tobi:* “I don’t want to do this.” His voice was low, Canadian accent thick. “Mum, this is stupid.” *Mrs. Bolanle:* “And deportation is not stupid? Stand there and smile. 48 hours. After interview, you’re free.” Tobi looked at me. Really looked. “Do you even know what you’re getting into?” I looked at my phone. ₦50,000 already hit. “I know I need ₦500,000,” I said. He sighed. “Fine. But if you embarrass me, I’ll sue you.” *Me:* “If you touch me, I’ll scream.” Mrs. Bolanle clapped. “Perfect chemistry. Photographer is waiting.” --- *4:00 PM. Eko Hotel – Photo Shoot.* “Stand closer.” “Smile.” “Kiss on the cheek. For the gram.” I froze. Tobi saw it. He stepped back. “Just pretend I’m your brother,” he muttered. “Brother doesn’t wear ₦2M watch,” I whispered back. He almost smiled. Almost. The photographer didn’t notice. He was too busy shouting, “Yes! That’s it! Power couple!” I hated that word. I hated lying. But I loved the ₦450,000 balance in my account. --- *7:00 PM. Mrs. Bolanle’s Mansion – Ikoyi.* The house was big enough to get lost in. My room was bigger than my entire apartment in PH. Tobi dropped my bag. “You sleep in the guest wing. I sleep here. Don’t come to my side.” *Me:* “Relax. I’m not here for husband. I’m here for rent.” He stopped. Turned. “Why do you need the money so bad?” I almost told him. About Auntie’s cancer. About the eviction. About how writing on Dreame paid ₦184k last month but it wasn’t enough. Instead I said, “None of your business.” He nodded. “Fair.” --- *10:00 PM. My Room.* Phone buzzed. Dreame notification. *“Your story ‘Bride for Hire’ has 1,200 reads in 2 hours.”* *Top Comment:* “AUNTIE WILL LOVE THIS!!! Post chapter 2 now!!!” I smiled for the first time all day. Even fake brides go viral. Then my door opened. Tobi stood there. Suit off. T-shirt on. “We need to talk about tomorrow’s interview.” *Me:* “Talk from there.” He walked in anyway. “Immigration will ask: how did we meet? Where did we go on first date? What’s my favorite food?” *Me:* “And I’m supposed to know?” He sat on the edge of my bed. Too close. “Make something up. But make it believable. Or we’re both in trouble.” I looked at him. Really looked. He wasn’t just angry. He was scared. “Okay,” I said. “We met at Uniport. 2019. You studied engineering. I studied literature. First date was at Kilimanjaro. You ordered jollof. I ordered chicken.” He blinked. “I hate jollof.” “Perfect. That’s believable.” He almost laughed. Then his phone rang. “Canada Immigration.” He answered. And for the first time, he held my hand. “Hello. Yes. This is Tobi Bolanle. And this is my wife, Chinaza.” ---