The Wedded Whore (Completed)

Chapter Twelve

It was an inflammatory allegation, an insulting label that somebody was flinging at her, bringing her past life to the fore now that all she wanted was to forget that there was ever such a chapter in her life and focus on the flourishing career she'd carved out for herself in the music industry. Why? Why would somebody choose to conjure up that past life she wanted to desperately forget and pretend as if it had never existed? And who could be responsible for sending such a hateful message to her?

Willing her trembling fingers to comply, she managed to scroll down the offending page, and then, her eyes caught sight of the attachments which had accompanied the message. They were photos, and she had to see them and know what they contained, so she clicked on them in the silence of the room, and as she beheld them, she felt a chill descend into her body, so that even her fingertips seemed to have been invaded a coldness that any surpassed any she'd ever felt before.

Tears spilled down her eyes as she at these photographs which told her life story, depicting her as the stripper and perfect whore she'd been during her youth. It was a perfect reminder of who she'd been, and it all lay right there on the screen before her, taunting her with the message it came with, plunging her into an arctic wilderness of emotional turmoil.

She glanced at the pictures again even as cold fury welled up within her, and she knew that whoever has sent her these pictures had wanted her to react in this way, and she was obliging the unspoken request of her messenger.

But who could have been so malicious to send this message? Who could have gone to such lengths to dredge up her past and then mail her what he'd been able to find?

Even before her mind had been able to formulate the question, she knew the answer. It was Obi who could be callous enough to go to such great lengths in order to get her to give him the attention he wanted. He was the only person who knew that such a message would draw such a violent reaction from her and laugh at her outbursts.

She shook off her mental depression and fear, and she set up the program that would print the obscene contents on the screen. As the printer whirred to life, beginning to work on her command, she leaned back in her chair thoughtfully. She knew that confrontation with the man she'd not seen for some months because she wanted to keep him out of her affairs was inevitable. When the printer was done printing the ten pictures that had come with the message, she shut the monitor down and picked up the pictures on the tray.

Her anger growing with each passing moment, she turned and walked swiftly but silently out of the house, heading towards where she'd parked her two cars. She could see her kids playing a game of cards with Amanda and her friend looked up, questions in her eyes, but Adamma did not halt or even slow down in her strides. As she slid in behind the wheel of her white Mercedes, she signaled for one of the guards to open the gate, and she started the engine and zoomed off, tears of rage spilling down her cheeks.

She rushed off a quick message to her best friend that she was returning soon; not to worry_ there was nothing to worry about.

The road passed in a blur of movement as she raced towards Obi's hotel complex where she knew he would invariably be, her mind a chaotic river of thoughts and emotions. The traffic was dense at that time of the day, as per usual here in Lagos, so she had some time to think and gather her thoughts.

She would kill that arrogant bastard who had been trying to contact her for a long time but had failed. Now, he'd gotten her undivided attention, all right, and she was now ready for him just as she knew that he was ready for her. They had a battle to fight against each other, and they had their separate weapons in their arsenals with which to fight that war against each other.

The car surged forward as she pressed her foot down on the gas to hasten her drive to the place of confrontation where she knew that this man she loved, but who didn't care a hoot about her, waited for her. She was driving now like the mad drivers of Lagos that she often castigated, and there were angry honks of the horn and those that yelled out obscenities at her in the native Yoruba.