Three Tests, One Threat.
1618 Words
I didn’t sleep.
I bought three more pregnancy tests at 11 PM from the pharmacy near school. The cashier was my classmate. Funmi from Marketing. She saw the boxes and her eyes went wide.
“Girl, you good?”
I paid cash and walked out.
Back in my hostel, I took all three. Sat on the bathroom floor and waited.
Positive.
Positive.
Positive.
I threw up at 2 AM. Threw up again at 4 AM. By 6 AM I was sitting on my bed, staring at my phone.
7:32 AM
Unknown: My office. 8 AM. Don’t make me send security. - A.C.
I had two choices. Run and lose my scholarship. Or walk into his office and lose my life.
I chose my scholarship.
Professor Cole’s office was freezing. AC on full blast. He was behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his laptop. He didn’t look up when I closed the door.
“You’re late,” he said. “It’s 8:03.”
“I had to—”
“Sit.”
I sat. My bag was on my lap. Inside: four pregnancy tests wrapped in tissue. Like that would help.
He closed his laptop. Finally looked at me. No suit today. Just a black shirt. The scar on his jaw was more obvious in the morning light.
“You were at Silk Nightclub on Friday, August 15th,” he said. No question. Just facts. “VIP section. Table 4. You were wearing a red dress. You were crying.”
I swallowed. “How do you—”
“I checked security footage. After you left my office yesterday.” His voice was flat. “I don’t remember most of that night. I remember a drink. I remember a girl crying about her boyfriend. I remember hotel lights.”
He stopped. His jaw ticked.
“I remember waking up alone. Your student ID was on the floor.”
My ID. I lost it that night. I thought I dropped it in the cab.
“I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—”
“Save it.” He opened a drawer and slid a paper across the desk. “Read this.”
It was a contract.
NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT
Between Adrian Cole and Lila Adeyemi
I didn’t read the rest. “I’m not signing anything.”
“You will.” He leaned back. “Because if you don’t, I will file a formal complaint with the board. Student attempts to blackmail professor using fabricated pregnancy claim.”
My mouth went dry. “I’m not blackmailing you. I’m pregnant.”
“Prove it.”
I stood up. Dumped my bag on his desk. The four tests rolled out. All positive.
He didn’t flinch. He picked one up, checked the brand, put it down. “These can be faked.”
“Are you serious?”
“Miss Adeyemi, you show up in my class three days after I allegedly slept with you. You’re suddenly pregnant. Your aunt’s shop lease is expiring next month. You need money.”
I froze. “How do you know about my aunt’s shop?”
He smiled. It wasn’t nice. “I own the building. Cole Properties. Your aunt is three months behind on rent.”
The room tilted.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He turned his laptop. The screen showed an eviction notice. To: Mrs. Bisi Adeyemi. From: Cole Properties Ltd. Notice to vacate by October 30th.
Today was September 9th.
“You can’t do this.”
“I can.” He closed the laptop. “Now. Here’s what happens next. You take a blood test at my private clinic. Today. If it’s positive and the paternity test at 12 weeks says it’s mine, you sign the NDA. You get your scholarship. Your aunt keeps her shop.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I fail you for academic misconduct. You lose your scholarship. Your aunt loses her shop. And I sue you for defamation until you’re bankrupt.”
I was shaking. “That’s not ethical. You teach ethics.”
“I teach law, Miss Adeyemi. And the law says I protect my assets.” He stood up. “That includes my name. And my unborn child, if it exists.”
Unborn child. Not baby. Not son or daughter. Asset.
“Do you even care that I might be carrying your baby?” My voice broke.
He looked at me for a long time. Then he said, “I don’t want children. My fiancée died five years ago. She was six months pregnant. So no. I don’t care.”
He walked to the door and opened it. “Clinic address is in your email. Be there by noon. Or I send the eviction notice today.”
I grabbed my bag and walked out. Didn’t look at him.
My phone buzzed before I reached the stairs.
Aunt Bisi: Lila, baby, some men came to the shop. Said they’re from Cole Properties. Said we have 30 days to pay N3M or leave. I’m scared. Call me.
I stopped breathing.
I called her. She picked up crying. “Lila, they said the owner wants the building. They said we can’t fight it. What do we do?”
I looked up at his office window. He was there. Watching me. Phone to his ear.
He mouthed something.
I hung up on my aunt.
Me: What did you do?
Unknown: Clinic. Noon. Or the locks change tomorrow.
I had three hours.
The clinic was in Victoria Island. Private. No names, just codes. A woman in scrubs took my blood and didn’t ask questions.
“Results in 20 minutes,” she said.
I sat in the waiting room and tried not to throw up again.
My phone buzzed.
Kunle: Heard you’re sleeping with Prof Cole for grades. Nice. Guess that scholarship wasn’t brains after all.
Kunle was my ex. The reason I was crying at Silk that night. I blocked him.
20 minutes later, the doctor came out. Not the nurse. The actual doctor.
“Miss Adeyemi?” He glanced at his tablet. “You’re pregnant. Approximately 4 weeks. Congratulations.”
Congratulations.
I walked out of the clinic and sat on the curb. Cars drove past. Lagos was loud and hot and didn’t care that my life just ended.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
“What,” I said.
“Is it positive?” Professor Cole’s voice. No hello.
“Yes.”
Silence. Then: “Come to my office. Now.”
“I’m not—”
“Now, Lila. Or I call your aunt myself.”
I hung up.
I didn’t go to his office. I went home. Packed a bag. If I was losing everything, I’d do it on my terms.
At 6 PM, someone knocked on my hostel door.
I opened it.
Professor Adrian Cole was standing there. No suit. Jeans and a t-shirt. He looked younger. More like the guy from the club. More dangerous.
“You didn’t come,” he said.
“I’m not your dog.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. My roommate was out. Just me and him and four dirty pregnancy tests on my desk.
He saw them. His face did something complicated.
“I got the clinic report,” he said. “Four weeks. That’s the night at Silk.”
“So you believe me now?”
“I believe science.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Lila, listen to me. I don’t do families. I don’t do love. My life is my company. My company is in London. I leave in December.”
“Then leave.”
“I can’t. Not if you’re carrying my child.”
Child. Not asset this time.
He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “New contract. Read it.”
I snatched it.
MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Term: Until child is 18 years
Conditions: 1. NDA. 2. No public romance. 3. You live in my penthouse. 4. You terminate your scholarship and transfer to London School of Economics. I pay.
I looked up. “You want to marry me?”
“No.” He said it fast. Like it burned. “I want to control the situation. If the press finds out a student is pregnant for me, I lose my board seat. If my father finds out, he cuts me off. Marriage fixes both. It’s business.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I take you to court for sole custody when the baby is born. I have lawyers. You have nothing.”
He was right. I had nothing. No money. No dad. Just an aunt about to lose her shop and a baby I didn’t plan.
“Why me?” I whispered. “You could pay anyone to do this.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. Then he said, “Because you cried that night. You said your boyfriend cheated and your dad was dead and you had no one. And I thought… I thought I could forget my own dead for one night.”
He stepped closer. “I didn’t. I remember your voice. I remember you said my name before I passed out.”
I stepped back. Hit the wall.
“I don’t love you,” he said. “I won’t love you. But I protect what’s mine.”
He held out a pen.
“Sign, Lila. Or tomorrow your aunt is homeless and you’re expelled.”
My phone buzzed on the bed.
Aunt Bisi: They’re back. They’re changing the locks NOW. Lila, please!
I looked at the pen. Then at him.
Then at the four tests on my desk.
Outside, I heard a lock click.
- Writer
