Maybe his mother was right.
Maybe he needed to return to Lagos, feel the sun, hear the noise, meet someone real.
He picked up his phone and called his assistant.
“Prepare my jet. We’re going to Nigeria.”
“Sir, for how long?”
He smiled. “Until I find a wife.”
Meanwhile, in Lagos, Linda was glowing as if she had won the lottery. She adjusted her designer wig in the mirror.
“Kelvin is coming,” she told herself dramatically.
She had been working overtime—not in the office, but in Kelvin’s mother’s house. She carried fruits, organized the house staff, paid bonuses, smiled sweetly.
“Auntie,” she would say gently to Kelvin’s mother, “don’t worry. When Kelvin marries me, I will take care of you like my own mother.”
His mother would nod approvingly.
Inside, Linda was calculating like a human calculator: Range Rover, Banana Island house, unlimited card access, soft life activated.
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