LUSTING TO HAVE HER WAY

A SECRET BURIED FOR 35 YEARS

CHAPTER 17

James was with his father in his Ikoyi residence. He had come to tell him about his new fiancée, Joyce, and to ask him to accompany him to Azuohia to meet her family.

James was with his father at his residence in Ikoyi. He had come to tell him about his new fiancée, Joyce, and to ask him to accompany him to Azuohia to meet her family.

As he was about to speak to his father, his thoughts returned to Joyce.

He could still picture the graceful shape of her body beneath the modest clothes she wore. There was something about her femininity that had begun to affect him more deeply than he cared to admit. Yet what kept drawing him back to her was not merely what he saw.

It was who she was.

Her kindness. Her humility. Her loyalty. The quiet way she carried herself. The way she could be near him without demanding his attention and somehow still command it.

James had known beautiful women before. He had met women whose appearance could turn heads the moment they entered a room. But Joyce had done something different to him.

She had first reached his heart.

Now her beauty was beginning to reach his senses.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to have her as his wife—not simply beside him at social functions, but alone with him, away from the eyes of family, friends and strangers.

The thought stirred something warm inside him.

He wanted her.

But more importantly, he wanted to deserve her.

That distinction mattered to him.

"Dad," he began, "I also wanted to tell you about Donald."

He explained how Donald had been arrested for defrauding a woman he met online, how he had bailed him out and sent him straight to the village from the cell, and how he now planned to send him to the United Kingdom so that he would stop scamming people and tarnishing the family's name.

Dr. Odogwu thanked him for carrying the burden for so long.

Then he dropped a bombshell.

"James... what I'm about to tell you is something I've carried for thirty-five years. I've prayed that I would never have to say these words to you, but you deserve to know the truth."

He paused.

"Donald is not my son."

James sprang to his feet, staring at his father, convinced he had misheard him.

"About thirty-five years ago, my friend and colleague, Thomas from Port Harcourt, slept with your mother without my knowledge. She became pregnant. That was how Donald was born. I quietly divorced your mother, took you to the UK, and left her son with her."

James' throat tightened.

For several long moments, he could not speak.

"Dad..." he finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "What... what did you just say?"

Dr. Odogwu repeated himself quietly.

James took a step backwards and sank into a chair, his mind racing.

Memories of a lifetime with Donald flashed through his head—childhood fights, birthdays, school holidays, family photographs, everything he had always believed about his family.

In a matter of seconds, over thirty years of certainty collapsed beneath him.

"No..." he muttered, shaking his head. "This can't be true."

James pressed his fingers against his forehead as though he could force the words out of his mind.

"All these years..." he murmured. "You knew?"

Dr. Odogwu looked down.

"I knew the truth about Donald. I did not know how to tell you."

"You watched me grow up believing he was my brother."

"I did."

James stared at him.

"And you never thought I deserved to know?"

"I thought I was protecting you."

James gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Protecting me from what? The truth?"

Dr. Odogwu did not answer immediately.

There was no easy answer to give him.

He suddenly looked up.

"Dad... did you say Thomas... from Port Harcourt?"

Dr. Odogwu nodded.

"Yes."

"Did he also travel to the UK?"

"I think so. He disappeared after everything was discovered. I haven't seen him since."

James swallowed hard.

"Dad, I think I know who you're talking about."

"No, my son. You were only a child then. No one knew about it."

James proceeded to describe Mr Thomas and mentioned where he was from in Port Harcourt.

Dr. Odogwu's eyes widened.

"That's the man," he said slowly. "But... how do you know him?"

James took a deep breath.

"He's Angela's father."

Dr. Odogwu stared at him in surprise.

For a few moments, he remained silent.

Having lived in the United Kingdom for many years, he had learnt not to quickly buy into what many would casually dismiss as African coincidences.

"You know," James continued, "you and I would have travelled to Port Harcourt together the first time I went to see Angela's family, but the trip clashed with your last journey abroad."

Dr. Odogwu slowly shook his head.

"I find it difficult to believe such a coincidence. However, I also know that, as a British citizen, you are not saying this merely out of some deeply entrenched traditional African sentiment."

He sighed.

"But for the sake of possibility—and for the sake of this conversation—let us assume it is true."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Wonders, they say, shall never end."

"Dad, it is possible."

"Yes... and if this Thomas turns out to be the same Thomas I told you about, then the ball is now in your court."

James nodded slowly.

"Thank you for telling me."

He paused.

"I'll bring Donald back from the village. We'll go to Port Harcourt together. I'll explain everything to Mr Thomas and leave Donald with him."

"Perfect," his father replied.

"Ask Thomas to return the bride price while you're there."

James said nothing.

He quietly walked towards the bar, poured himself a drink, and stood staring through the window.

His mind was troubled.

He wondered how many more secrets the past was yet to uncover.

The glass remained in his hand, untouched after the first sip.

For a man who had spent years believing that money, position and careful decisions could keep his life under control, James suddenly felt powerless.

His father's confession had not only changed what he knew about Donald. It had forced him to question memories he had never thought to question.

Was Donald really the same person in his life?

Of course he was.

He remembered the arguments. The laughter. The family gatherings. The moments when Donald had needed him and the times when James had been angry with him.

None of those memories had changed.

Only the explanation behind them had.

James closed his eyes briefly.

He did not know whether that distinction would make the truth easier or harder to accept.

The revelation had come so suddenly that James needed a moment to separate what he knew from what he merely suspected. He had spent most of his life accepting the family he was born into without questioning its foundation.

Now, one conversation had forced him to reconsider the past.

But there was still one important fact he did not have.

Confirmation.

Until he stood before Thomas and heard the truth directly from him, James knew he could not treat his father's revelation as the final answer.

For several minutes, neither man spoke.

The only sound in the room was the faint clinking of ice against the glass in James' hand.

He stared through the window, but he wasn't really looking at the view.

He was thinking about Donald.

His brother.

Or perhaps, he should now say, the man he had always believed was his brother.

The distinction suddenly felt painful.

Thirty-five years was too long to erase with a single revelation.

He remembered the countless times Donald had annoyed him, disappointed him, made him laugh, and stood beside him during difficult moments.

Blood had never been something James had questioned.

Now, for the first time, he wondered whether blood was the only thing that defined family.

He looked at the glass again.

Whatever the truth about his family, Donald had not chosen the secret that had surrounded his birth.

But knowing that did not make the revelation easier.

His father's words about Thomas continued to echo in his mind.

Thomas.

Angela's father.

The same man who had unknowingly become connected to his family through a secret that had remained buried for decades.

James slowly lowered his glass.

There was something almost unsettling about the timing.

Just when his relationship with Angela had become impossible, the past had suddenly reached across three decades and placed her family directly in the middle of his own.

He shook his head.

There had to be more to understand before he made any decision.

His father watched him carefully.

"James."

James turned.

"Yes, Dad?"

"Whatever you discover in Port Harcourt, don't make any decision in anger."

James gave a faint smile.

"I won't."

"Good."

Dr. Odogwu leaned forward.

"You've carried enough responsibility already. If Donald is truly Thomas' son, then the truth may change many things. But don't allow it to destroy you."

James nodded.

"I understand."

He looked down at his glass again.

"I just wish you'd told me sooner."

Dr. Odogwu's expression softened.

"I wish I had never needed to tell you at all."

James said nothing.

For the first time, James understood why his father had carried the secret for so many years. Whatever his reasons had been, the consequences had eventually reached the next generation.

James had questions—many of them.

But he knew this was not the moment to demand every answer.

There was someone else he needed to meet first.

Thomas.

He looked towards the door, his decision beginning to take shape.

He would go to Port Harcourt.

He would find Thomas.

And he would hear the truth from the man himself.

Until then, everything remained a possibility.

A few moments later, James placed the glass on the table.

"I'll leave tomorrow."

His father raised an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow?"

"I don't want this hanging over me any longer than necessary."

Dr. Odogwu nodded slowly.

"Then go with a clear mind."

James headed toward the door.

Just before stepping out, he stopped.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

James turned around.

"Whatever happens when I meet Thomas, Donald is still Donald."

His father studied him for a moment before nodding.

"That's the right way to think about it."

James walked out.

As he stepped outside, the evening air felt strangely different.

He paused beside his car and looked back at the house.

Nothing about the building had changed.

Yet everything he had just learned had changed the way he saw his own past.

He entered the car and sat silently for a moment before starting the engine.

For a moment, his hand rested on the steering wheel without moving.

He thought about Donald in the village, unaware that the truth about his birth had just been uncovered.

He thought about Thomas in Port Harcourt.

Then, inevitably, his thoughts returned to Angela.

He pushed the thought aside.

Whatever connection existed between their families, he needed facts before he allowed himself to draw conclusions.

James started the engine.

He knew the journey to Port Harcourt would not simply be a trip to meet a man from his father's past.

It could uncover a truth that would affect more than Donald.

As the car moved onto the road, the silence around him gave his mind room to wander.

For several minutes, he thought only about Donald and the revelation he had just heard.

Then his thoughts gradually shifted.

Not to the past.

To the future.

To Joyce.

He remembered the ring on Joyce's finger.

He remembered the tears in her eyes.

And then he remembered the woman beneath the modest exterior—the woman whose beauty had begun to stir a desire in him that he had initially tried to ignore.