His Old Money World

The Ikoyi mansion did not look like a house. It looked like old money that had learned how to breathe. Amara stood at the gate with her thrifted bag clutched tight, her dress ironed twice but still thrifted. The guard looked at her from head to toe and said, "You sure say you come for job?" "I have an interview," she said, her voice small. "For the live-in maid position." Inside, the air was cold. Everything smelled like money and wood polish. The kind of clean that only rich people can afford. Then he came down the stairs. Adrian Adeyemi. He didn't look at her like a person. He looked at her like a problem he didn't want to solve. Tall, dark, white shirt tucked perfect, eyes cold. "You're the girl from the agency?" His voice was low, bored. "Yes sir." "You are nineteen," he said, reading from a file. "No experience. Mainland." Amara swallowed. "I learn fast." He stepped closer. He smelled like expensive cologne, the kind she had only seen in i********: videos. "My mother hired you. I would not have. In this house, you are invisible. You don't speak unless spoken to. You don't enter my wing. You don't look at my guests. Understood?" "Yes sir." "Good." He turned to leave, then stopped. "And don't wear that orange hair in my kitchen. It distracts." Her cheeks burned. She wanted to cry and slap him at the same time. That night, she was given a small room at the back. Smaller than her room at home, but with AC that worked. She sat on the bed and whispered to herself, "You will survive this, Amara. You will take their money and build your own old money life." She didn't know that at 2am, Adrian would be standing outside her door, watching the light under it, wondering why he couldn't stop thinking about the girl with the thrifted dress and the defiant eyes. Later, Madam Adeyemi, Adrian's mother, called her to the main parlor. The woman was dripping in gold jewelry, her wrapper was old money silk. She looked at Amara's orange hair and smiled, not kindly. "So you are the new girl. You will serve tea when my son's fiancee comes tomorrow. Do not embarrass me. And do not think because you are fine small girl, my son will look at you. Girls like you come and go." Amara nodded, her fists tight. "And one more thing," Madam said. "My son likes his coffee black, no sugar, 6am sharp. If you fail, you are gone." The next morning, Amara woke at 5am. She made the coffee exactly black, no sugar. At 6am sharp, she knocked on his wing door. Adrian opened it, shirtless, hair messy from sleep. Amara's eyes went wide and she looked down fast, coffee shaking in her hands. He took it, his fingers brushing hers. He didn't let go. "You actually listened," he said. "I told you I learn fast," she whispered, still not looking up. For the first time, he smiled. A small, dangerous smile. "We will see, mainland girl. We will see."