Upon hearing what Oliver just said, Cora's father burst into laughter at Oliver's playful confidence. He patted Oliver on the back and said, "Now, that's the spirit I like. That's the kind of man who deserves to stand beside my daughter." With a wide smile still on his face, he added, "Co, walk with . There's sothing I've been aning to discuss with you. Sothing important."
Without waiting another mont, Cora's father and Oliver started walking away side by side, deep in conversation. Cora, still smiling proudly, trailed behind them, her heart full. She felt like everything was finally falling into place.
But not everyone was smiling.
Back at his spot, Uncle Festus remained frozen. His face slowly twisted with barely-contained rage. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. His hands curled into fists by his sides, and the veins on the back of his hands bulged out like thick ropes, pulsing with frustration.
Clinton, standing just beside him, kept glancing nervously, clearly aware of the storm brewing beside him. But Uncle Festus said nothing to him. Instead, with his voice low and sharp like a blade, he muttered under his breath, "So this bastard actually stole the spotlight."
Upon hearing what his father just said, Clinton slowly nodded his head with a quiet sigh. His expression twisted with a mix of disbelief and frustration.
"Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "That's exactly what it looks like. This bastard really did steal the spotlight... every single bit of it."
His voice was bitter, but controlled — the kind of restraint that ca from years of understanding how to pretend. He then bent down and picked up his leather bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a resigned huff. The way his hand gripped the strap tightly betrayed his emotions it was more than frustration. It was humiliation.
Clinton then turned to his father and whispered, "Let's get going. We don't want to stay here sulking like we just lost a battle. Let's walk out like we're in control. At least make it look like we aren't pissed."
However Uncle Festus didn't respond at first. He remained still, as if the weight of what had just happened was too heavy to carry. Then, slowly, he inhaled deeply chest rising, shoulders stiff and exhaled like he was forcing all the rage out through his nose. His jaw remained clenched, but he nodded. Wordlessly, he turned and began to walk out of the compound with his son by his side.
The two n exited with fake composure, the back of their necks burning from the laughter and whispers they imagined behind them. But deep inside, they were boiling.
**
They arrived ho to their quiet residence, the air tense. The housekeeper greeted them, but both n ignored her, walking straight into the living room like n who had just returned from a lost war.
Uncle Festus tossed his jacket angrily on the couch, and Clinton slumped into one of the armchairs, running his hand over his face.
After a short pause, Uncle Festus cleared his throat, his tone low and loaded with a venomous calm. "So... where exactly is Oliver staying now? He must be living sowhere, right?"
Clinton caught on quickly and leaned forward, voice dripping with artificial politeness.
"Exactly, Dad. It's only fair that now that the celebration is done, and the family needs so quiet ti together, he should go back to wherever he ca from. We haven't had ti to catch up as a family. It's been long overdue, right?"
They shared a knowing glance, trying to mask their irritation as casual concern.
But just as Clinton was about to say sothing else, Cora, who had just walked into the living room with a glass of water in hand, paused mid-step. Her face lit up with a teasing smile. "Oh! Before I forget—Oliver actually lives here. With ."
At that mont, upon hearing what Cora just said that Oliver lives with her there was a thick silence that briefly settled over the room like a veil.
Uncle Festus turned around sharply, almost as if he had misheard her. His brows furrowed with disbelief, and his voice, laced with underlying irritation, broke the silence.
"Cora… You don't actually an that," he said, trying to sound calm but failing to hide the tightening in his throat. "I hope you still rember the rules in this family. Or are we now picking which ones to obey and which ones to throw away?"
He then turned fully to face his brother—Cora's father—his tone more accusatory now. "Did you hear what she just said? She's letting a stranger live under this roof—our family mansion. You know we have one rule that has never been broken since the foundation of this house was laid: no stranger is allowed to live here. Visitors? Yes. Guests? Of course. But staying? Absolutely not."
His voice grew firr as he added, "This mansion is sacred. It's for family. What ssage are we sending if we allow just anyone no matter how close to occupy the sa space? And now you're telling he's been here all along?"
The disappointnt in his voice was loud. The room felt tense, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for soone to cut the rising tension. Clinton stood at the corner, silent, watching his father throw in every word like it was law, secretly wondering how this situation had spiraled out of their control so quickly.
But before Uncle Festus could add another word, Cora's father raised his hand and calmly, but firmly, spoke. "I thought you were at the airport when I made my announcent, but clearly, you heard nothing. So let repeat myself clearly so there's no confusion. Oliver is not just Cora's fiancé anymore. As of today, I have publicly recognized him as my son."
He paused briefly, allowing those words to sink in.
"That changes everything," he continued. "He's not an outsider. He's not a stranger. He's a part of this family now. And as my son, he has every right to stay here. Not as a guest. Not as a visitor. But as family. And I hope you don't have any issue with that, Festus."
The finality in his voice made it clear that this conversation was not up for debate.
User Comments
0 comments from readers