Nailah Zayed.
Maroudi, Nigeria.
Everyone lies.
It could be a casual; every day lie, like declining an invitation. Or, a lie as big as to cover up a heinous crime. It doesn't matter of what gravity it is. All is I know; a lie is a lie on whatever basis it's set up.
I am of no difference of course.
Even as the flashes from countless cameras came, threatening to blind me despite being used to the attention for God knows how long, I didn't waver. The sound of my name being called reached my ears, sounding so foreign and at the same time, screams normality.
"Nailah! Over here!"
"Mrs. Nailah, can you turn to the side slightly?"
"How do you feel being here, Mrs. Nailah?"
"How does it feel like to move past your feud and start a business together?"
"Are you investing in this business because you're trying to amend your relationship?"
"What made you finally decide to collaborate with Basma Wambai?"
"Is this the start of a long lasting relationship between you and Basma?"
That last question had my smile faltering for a nanosecond. I'm certain, considering the persistent flashes, someone must've caught it but I will deal with that later. Instead, I forced myself to allow my lips to stretch into yet another smile. At this point, I've mastered the art of feigning my smile to the point that it's become a part of me.
Faking a smile doesn't feel like a stressful action again. It no longer feels like stepping into a role I have zero interest in. Instead, I welcome it, and owned it.
So what if my smile is fake? No one can tell.
That's how good I am.
Deciding I've been subjected to enough potential blindness, I dropped my hand to the side before turning around to my source of hardship today. At the very same time, she turned around too, so our eyes clashed and yet again, our expression mirrored each other's.
I'm certain this moment felt real and 'beautiful' to the press. After all, it's not the first time they grovel seeing a partnership between two influential people. However, this is different.
This isn't me just collaborating with someone trying to make it in the business world. No, this is someone who has been testing the waters, and finally, got to make it.
Basma Wambai.
Should I lie again?
No. I don't have the energy for that.
It's simple, in case you didn't get it. I hate her with every ounce of strength in me. But, in spite of the hatred I feel towards her, I still am standing right in front of her—with one of the brightest smiles out there in front of countless press to celebrate our new partnership.
The partnership betweeen Zayed Co. and her new boutique. Technically, this partnership is with her father's business but as per her being his beloved daughter, it all went down to yet another investment she's making.
Don't get me wrong, I've been in this business long enough to know how this will end. Want me to predict it?
It will flop.
It wouldn't take long for this so called business of hers to flop. And no, that isn't my hatred for her speaking. Rather, it's the business side of mine speaking earnestly. I've been in this for years, I know what I'm talking about.
If it was up to me, I wouldn't bother to invest because it would be a waste. But, I was asked to and I couldn't say no to the person. Hence, why I'm here.
A hand placed on the small of my back snapped me out of our staring contest, thankfully saving me from her choking perfume. God, that's such a strong scent. I would've been suffocated had I been subjected to it for a couple of minutes more.
Nonetheless, I pushed those thoughts away as I looked up, my gaze instantly clashing with my husband's. Imran's hand on my back rubbed soothing circles there, as his lips stretched into a smile. I'm certain the posture and look between us is making the press crazy.
And I was right. Because I could swear the flashes doubled that of earlier. Of course, they love seeing our relationship more than anything. It's perfect. How could they not be interested?
That of course doesn't change the feel of someone glaring at me. I could feel it, and I know where it's coming from. Do I care though? Not in the slightest.
Basma's eyes could fall off for all I care.
No words were exchanged between us, as the three of us, along with the other business partners that joined for the final pictures to be taken, turned around. This action went on for about two more minutes, before we all decided to step into the building, signifying the official opening, and the beginning of a new story.
Oh, and I can already tell what the headlines tomorrow will be.
~*~
I was right. I almost always am.
It didn't even reach the next day though. Because only a couple of hours after all that, and just as I was about to retire for the night—a beep sound came from my phone. Straightening my spine, I pushed the duvet off the lower half of my body and moved my legs off the bed.
The screen had already come to life, and from a simple glance at it, I already had an inkling what the message could be about. Nonetheless, I extended my hand to pick up the device, and then went on to unlock it to view the message.
A link. Nothing more.
It was pretty self-explanatory though—because its heading already gave away whatever is enclosed in it. Still, I went on to tap the link which instantly logged me out of the messaging app, and onto the web.
It only took a few seconds, before the web-page came to life.
'Nailah Zayed, heir to Zayed Corporation, and husband, Imran Hadi, President of Hadi Groups attends the opening of Basma Wambai's new store to symbolize their new partnership.'
Store? I couldn't help but wonder. I believe the word is too little to explain whatever it is she set up. The building alone could easily pass for an apartment, or a mall of some sort. So, calling it a 'store' is an understatement.
Besides, knowing her, I'm certain she wanted them to give it a big term. She wouldn't want to be associated with something small anyway. My best guess is; they would change the heading in only a matter of hours. She won't stand that, trust me.
Underneath the writing, a picture of she and I was attached, and I could tell from the first glance that her smile was as fake as mine. If anything, mine at least looked a bit real, hers wasn't.
And following that was a picture of I and Imran. Like I speculated earlier, they used the pictures they took from when I looked up to meet his gaze. I'd give it to them, the picture looks great. But truth be told, our pictures together almost always are. This is no different.
From this point, I knew whatever I'd read and see would be opposite of what it actually is. Still, I found myself scrolling to read whatever ridiculous story they cooked up to make the truth way more appealing than it actually is.
'The gesture, and partnership between Nailah Zayed and Basma Wambai could be said to signify the end of their lifelong feud' I doubt it. Why do they even bother to make up speculations over things they have no idea? 'The people are excited to see what sort of achievements the two would make—considering it's a merger between two of the most influential women of Maroudi. Not to mention, with the support of Hadi Groups—this is bound to be a success! It can easily be said that Basma is on her way to immense fame and success. Perhaps, even more than Nailah Zayed?'
I didn't want to. But, you know those moments when you're told to not do something, and you sudden have this intense urge to do exactly that? Yeah, that's my current predicament.
Against my rational sense of judgment, I found myself scrolling downwards to read the comments despite the voice in my head screaming at me not to. I couldn't help it.
I started to regret it though the minute my eyes fell on the first comment.
'The word 'perhaps' would be an understatement. Basma is better than that Nailah who basically lives off her parents and in-laws fame.'
One would think I'd grow a thick skin having been going through this for years...I haven't.
It doesn't get any easy. Just as my want to read it isn't getting any less. By some sort of ill miracle, my eyes only fall on the negative ones as always.
'Oh please! That Nailah isn't great at all. Without her husband, she's nothing.'
'Basma is better than Nailah, why don't people see that?'
'Isn't Nailah's family leeching off the Hadi's? She's basically a gold digger, lols!'
'Lmao I can't believe you people actually love that Nailah woman? She's outright rude, and manner-less. Anyone can testify to that. Don't let that devilish smile of hers deceive you.'
'The correct sentence should be—partnership between Hadi Groups and Basma Wambai. We all know Nailah is nothing without her family's influence. She's basically a slave to the Hadis. When they ask her to jump, she says how high? Unfortunate bitch finally got what she deserved. Serves her right.'
'I almost believed that lovey look between Imran and Nailah for a moment. Who doesn't know how their marriage is in ruins...smh. That's what you get for marrying someone for money.'
'Wait, don't y'all know Imran cheats on Nailah all the time? Loving couple my ass. Who are they trying to deceive? Just dey play."
'At least Basma started up her own business, that Nailah will forever live in her parents and in-laws shadow. Sha, she should continue acting all high. We enjoy seeing her making a fool of herself in public.'
I won't lie, my heart clenched after reading all that. I know what I come across in the comment section, and yet I always find myself back here. And the worst part is, I can't even deny it. I can't deny any of their claims against me because it's mostly true.
People think my life is perfect, and that I'm the luckiest person one earth. I wonder how they'll react to seeing this side of my life that has to constantly deal with people's criticism.
Letting out a small, shaky breath—I hesitantly tore my eyes off the screen and opted to simply shake my head slightly. Dwelling on that won't do me any good aside from hurt my feelings even more and make me feel worthless.
The Internet truly is a cruel place. It would surprise you how many jobless people drag me there. I try to grow a thick skin, but somethings simply can't be blocked off no matter how many times you try. That's the sad truth.
Turning the phone off completely, I placed it back on the bedside cabinet and got out of bed, no longer willing to turn in for the night again.
Pulling the first drawer of the cabinet out, my gaze fell on the numerous items neatly organized there. I spotted what I was looking for instantly. So, I extended my hand out to pick out the bottle of sleeping pills. I would definitely need it after what I just read.
Popping the cap open, I tilted it to the side so a few came pouring out. I reduced it to two before closing the bottle and placing it back where it belongs. A glass filled with water rests on the cabinet beside my phone—exactly where I placed it before getting into bed earlier.
I swallowed the pills, accompanied by the water. I then picked up the silk robe I had discarded earlier, and wore it to cover the nightwear I have on before stepping out of the room after slipping into the first flip flop in sight.
The house was eerily silent, as always.
During the day, the maids come around to clean it up and do the necessary. But by night time, they all disappear like they're supposed to. Truth be told, I prefer the silence that comes along with solitude.
The lights weren't completely turned off—and, it wasn't bright per se. It was dimmed, leaving just enough on to allow one to move around freely. I hate the dark, so I don't sleep with the lights completely turned off.
I made my way towards the living room with the sound of my flops covered feet tapping the floor softly, before settling on the lavish couches. This is probably my favorite place in this house, because to me, it feels like the center of some sort though it really isn't.
I can't explain it, but it's just feeling I have.
It allows me to clear my mind, and sometimes allow it to run wild. Today though, I'm hoping to rid all the words engraved in my mind unwillingly.
How much time passed? I have no idea.
But, at one point, I did hear the sound of the front door opening and it didn't take a genius to know who decided to grace the house with his presence. I didn't move an inch from where I sat, nor did my gaze move from the TV I'm staring blankly at. It wasn't even on, and though my gaze was on it, my attention wasn't there in the slightest bit.
The sound of his footsteps reached my ears, before it came to a halt—probably now noticing my presence in the living room. I could feel his gaze on me for a few seconds, before he continued his strides in the opposite direction.
I fully intended to ignore his presence, but something caught my attention, and the word 'ignorance' got thrown out of the window.
"Where do you think you're going?" I voiced out softly, though loud enough for him to hear.
He halted, and I knew it was taking everything in him to not stroll past me and pretend as if I do not exist. However, by some sort of miracle, he responded. "To my room, where else?"
For the first time since he returned, I found myself turning my head around to look at him. The distance between us wasn't much, considering he was about to walk right behind me and head to his destination.
My gaze lingered on him for a brief second, before I shifted my gaze to the suit jacket slung over his arm. From a first glance, I could tell it wasn't the one he wore to the event earlier. That wasn't what caught my attention though. Truth be told, I couldn't care less about how he presents himself to others.
What I do care about, is how he comes back into this house casually, as if nothing happened.
I shifted my gaze from the jacket, and lazily met his eyes. "You should go back to wherever you came from. I can't stand that stench." My nose scrunched up, having been subjected to the chocking scent for God knows how long. I sucked it up earlier, knowing I only had to put up with it for a couple of hours.
I can't do that now. Not when my house is about to start reeking of it. No, thank you.
His eyes instantly narrowed, though I could swear I saw the brief look of shock that covered his expression. He probably thought I wouldn't notice it, and even if I did, he thought I would zip my lips shut.
Since when have I been the one to do so though?
"Excuse me?" He wanted to feign ignorance, or at least, try to get the upper hand.
My gaze didn't waver, and neither did my voice. "You heard me." He should know better than anyone that there's absolutely nothing that would make me falter. "I can't stand my house reeking of something that cheap. So, you should go back to where you came from."
I wasn't willing to back down from this. Whatever the case is, this isn't something I'm willing to turn a blind eye to. I'm already fed up as it is. I don't need a constant reminder of that woman in my house.
"Nailah..."
I turned around, no longer willing to keep staring at him or keep the conversation going.
I could feel his gaze on the back of my head, almost penetrating. It lasted for a couple of seconds, before the sound of his retreating his footsteps reached my ears accompanied by the front door being banged close.
It's times like this that I'm glad he listens to whatever I say, with little questions asked. How that is possible is beyond me, but that's just how he is.
I didn't flinch, not even in the slightest bit due to the action. However, I did find myself releasing a sigh, as my shoulders slumped. Yet again, I'm all alone in this big place. Subconsciously, I found myself bringing my knees up to my chest, and then wrapping my arms around it while my head rested on my knees.
Others would've been scared of being all alone in this big house, I know. But, I'm not.
Reason being, I've always been alone.
Anything you see from hereon is nothing new.
This is my life, behind the million prying eyes following my every move. And I guess, you can say this is the unscripted, uncensored, and unapologetic part of my story.
Welcome to my dark side.