THE LEKKI WIFE

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The ₦150M Lie

I said yes to David Ayo-Dele for 3 reasons:

His last name could wipe my father’s shame off Google.

His Ikoyi house had 6 toilets. Six.

I was 2 months late on rent and Kemi said “If you no marry this one, I go sell you to Alhaji.”

I didn’t say yes because of love. Love no dey pay NEPA bill.

The proposal was at Eko Hotel. He rented the whole rooftop. Violinist. Rose petals. Ring that blinded me. i********: caught it all. #ZeeAndDavidForever.

What i********: didn’t catch: The ring was borrowed. The violinist was his cousin. The “Eko Hotel manager” was his friend wearing a stolen uniform.

I knew. Because I’m a fraud too.

My “Chevron” job? I sell perfume on w******p.

My “London accent”? I learned it from Zeeworld.

My “father’s estate in Ibadan”? One room in Mushin with “Balogun & Sons” painted outside.

We deserved each other.

Our wedding day:

Lekki Phase 1. Our penthouse. ₦150 million. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Ocean view.

Except the ocean view was fake. The “sea” was a billboard outside our window. And the penthouse? We had 24 hours before the real owner came back from Dubai.

“Smile,” David said, holding my waist for the photographer. His hand was ice. “EFCC dey check i********:. We must look rich.”

“I am rich,” I whispered back, smiling. “Rich in lies.”

The photographer left. The rented furniture people came to pack up. The “caterer” — Kemi — started dishing Indomie into silver warmers.

David locked the door. Faced me.

He dropped a paper on the glass table. POST-NUPTIAL AGREEMENT.

“Sign,” he said.

I read line 1: 1. This marriage is for business purposes only. No emotional attachment.

I laughed. “You think I want attachment? I want surname.”

I signed. Zainab Balogun. My real name. First time I’d written it in 2 years.

He signed. David Ayo-Dele. His handwriting was shaky. Like mine.

“Rules,” he said. “Separate rooms. No s*x. Divorce in 6 months after I ruin your father publicly. Then you get ₦5M and disappear.”

“₦5M?” I scoffed. “Ugomma from Vanco tore that in gutter. I want ₦50M.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know Ugomma?”

“Everybody know Ugomma. She’s the girl who said no. I’m the girl who said yes. We’re not the same.”

He stepped closer. He smelled like fake Tom Ford and fear. “No, we’re not. Because I’ll make sure when I’m done, your father’s name will be the one in the gutter.”

I should have been scared. Instead, I noticed his shoe. Fake Louboutin. Sole was peeling. Like mine.

“David,” I said. “If we’re both lying, who go pay for NEPA?”

The lights went out.

In the dark, ₦150M Lekki penthouse, with Indomie getting cold and EFCC probably watching, we started to laugh.

Broke. Married. Trapped.

And for the first time, it felt honest.