The soft tapping of keys filled the villa, blending with the distant hum of the ocean beyond the glass doors. Oba T sat at the desk, sleeves rolled up, a half-empty glass of whiskey forgotten by his side. His laptop glowed in the dim room, spreadsheets and deals flickering across the screen. The work of an empire never slept — and neither did he.
He exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His mind was sharp but restless, the price of being a man people came to for answers, decisions, and millions in movement. Oba T — born Babatunde Harrison Fashola— was the kind of man whose silence unnerved boardrooms and whose words made headlines. Calm, unreadable, every gesture deliberate, even his demons bowed when he walked.
He rose from the chair, his tall frame unfolding with slow grace. Towering, with rich ebony skin that glistened under the dim pendant lights, he walked to the balcony where the sea breeze greeted him like an old friend. His linen shirt flared slightly as he leaned over the railing.
And then he saw them.
Two figures, walking along the moonlit beach. One with dark braids falling down her back. The other…
That red hair.
It wasn't just hair — it was a statement, a rebellion, a burning flag against the night. Fire and defiance in every strand.
Adeola.
His throat tightened. It had been years, and yet, there she was. Not the little girl with wary eyes, but a woman — regal, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
So Karayah — Ms. Ice Queen CEO — was her beach buddy now? Life was funny, the last time he'd seen them together they were about to claw each others eyes out.
[FLASHBACK]
He was thirteen.
Restless, chafing under an oversized agbada he swore was stitched by his ancestors as punishment, dragged to an elite political function by his uncle, King Bayo. Another tedious night of meaningless bows and overcompensated laughter, of powerful men shaking hands while calculating backstabs.
He had stationed himself near a palm tree indoors (because rich people did things like bring the tropics inside) when he saw her.
A little girl — couldn't have been more than seven — standing near a gold-leaf chair like it was a prison.
Her skin, warm and golden, shimmered under the chandelier lights. But it was her hair that had everyone staring.
Bright. Red. And not the dyed, Instagram kind — this was natural, untamed fire growing out of a child's head.
She looked out of place and yet completely unbothered by it.
He had nudged his cousin. "Who's that?"
"No idea," came the shrug. "Some princess apparently."
But he had known. Even then. She wasn't some princess. She was going to be the princess.
And now here she was. Grown. Glorious. Complicated.
Back in the present, Oba T leaned harder into the railing.
He'd been at the resort for a short break — his first in months. His friend Olayinka, now engaged to Tinuke, had dragged him out of Lagos to "remember what peace felt like."
What peace? There was no such thing when you ran three companies, advised monarchs, and had the media speculating about every woman you sat next to.
But the universe clearly had jokes.
Just two nights ago, at a club in Victoria Island, he'd overheard Akin — the loud, self-entitled heir to a dying dynasty — bragging about marrying Adeola.
"She has no choice," Akin had said, swirling his cognac. "It's either me or disgrace. Her family wants royalty, and I am royalty."
Babatunde had nearly choked on his drink. He hadn't planned to interfere.
Until he heard that.
That pompous little bastard was planning to corner Adeola, and not for love. For legacy. For power. For spite.
Not on his watch.
He wasn't even sure what he was going to do yet. But he knew one thing for certain: Akin wasn't going to touch her.
He watched her laugh, Karayah tossing her head back at something she'd said. The two of them looked good together. Strong. Unapologetic.
He smiled faintly.
Maybe Aunty Bose had a plan.
But so did he.
He turned from the balcony, his shadow stretching long across the room.
He had business to attend to. And it began with Adeola.
Let the games begin.