Beverly
Hearing he was celebrating his second wedding anniversary on a private island in the Bahamas brewed a funny feeling in my stomach. The blogs have constantly been reporting on this trip and Nigerians or anyone who has social media has been feeding into every information like vultures on a carcass.
I can't escape seeing it everywhere. I really can't.
Everything I know about this man, his wife, and this anniversary has been against my will. From the fact that the people in attendance were flown out on private jets to the location, or that the woman's father owned the island they were currently having a blast on... or that the guests belonged to the highest echelon of society and if you didn't belong to old money like they did, it was a nightmare to even be around them.
It's one thing when the whole country is talking about these people but it's a whole different ball game when you know this could have been your life and you could have been this woman adorned in a custom-made Chanel dress living it up on a private island. But it was never me and will never be.
Sitting in my office with my phone in my hand, I make my way to Instagram: I switch from my business account to my fake account, in the search bar, I type: nabila_danjuma, and being the regular stalker that I am, her page pops up immediately.
Yes, I stalk her. So? Don't we all stalk our exes or their new babe?
I click on her story and the first video I see is a reposted one of her and Zayyad dancing in a circle formed by their guests hyping them up. Their bare feet, covered in white sand and the decorative lights beautifully illuminate their faces as they move to the rhythm of afrobeats blasting from the speakers. He's really into the moment as he takes her hand and twirls her around. She lets out a laugh and throws her arms around his neck.
My stomach is in uncountable knots but I continue to lurk. Tapping and tapping on more reposted videos or pictures from the trip. The decorations, the theme which is an all-white party, the people, the waves from the beach in the background... everything screams perfection.
I spot two people, Zahra and Nafisa, cozying up in a photo with his wife and I don't even know what to feel. They used to be 'friends' of mine but it's been two years now, they owe me no loyalty and it proves to show everything and everyone changes.
I exit the app on the verge of tears but I can not cry right now, I am at work and need to be professional. He's not mine anymore, we've cut contact for more than two years, heck, he's even moved to the UK, the memories are covered in dust and I have to not only accept that but also stop stalking their social media.
I put my phone on the table, turn my laptop back on and resume working on the orders that have been coming in since morning.
Having to run my own business is not as glamorous as it looks on the outside but my managerial skills have come into play and made this store a success since we opened six months ago. I and my partner, Shalewa, moved from having a small store in Gwarinpa to renting a much bigger space and hiring more staff here in Maitama. This fashion thing dey pay abeg.
The fashion show that was held two years ago played a huge role in fully launching my brand into the Nigerian fashion scene and ever since I have seized every opportunity, exposure, and connection I can get, now I am here, my fashion home slowly climbing up the ladder and ranking #4 in the city.
My parents have been nothing but supportive since I sat them down and told them I did not want to practice law. It was tough on my father but he did not have a choice, my mind was set. And I had my own money.
"What is wrong with this thing now?" I mumble as I watch the website crash for the third time.
It is not surprising because this usually happens when we launch a new design and everyone's trying to get a hold of it, the traffic becomes too much and the site crashes. It's 9:47 pm and I lack the mental capacity to deal with this.
Immediately, I forward a complaint email to my technical team so they can have it fixed. The moment I press send, my phone chimes and it's a text message from my assistant/manager.
Shalewa
We need you downstairs, one of these elites is here requesting the new dress.
Me
Can you please sort whatever it is out? I'm tired.
Need to go home and relax, it's been a long day.
Shalewa
I would have if she wasn't requesting a change in design. Please, it's urgent.
Oh my Heavens! I hate customers like this. Always wanting to be exclusive and having crazy stupid design ideas that give me a hard time to put together, but yeah, these are some downs that come with business: the uneasy customers that do not realize you're human, too. But this is where passion comes in, isn't it?
I sigh.
I might as well use this opportunity to pack my things in my bag and when I'm done dealing with this customer, I'll go home.
I put my laptop and its charger in my bag, lock my office door, and head downstairs.
The store is a two-storey building: Upstairs accommodates all the offices whilst downstairs is a spacious aesthetically decorated room that houses all of our designs.
There are over 60 racks of clothes and rows that help our customers find the dress for whatever occasion they might be needing it for. From birthdays to weddings to engagement parties to burials... you name it. And the catch was we were the only fashion store in the city that opened until 10 pm; that's why the ladies loved to shop here. It was a safe space and I could not count how many people had come in a few minutes before we closed to grab an emergency dress, so, this customer being downstairs by this time wasn't new.
I get downstairs and it's a small commotion.
"...That's what I'm saying madam, we're almost closed," I hear Shalewa's voice.
"It doesn't matter. I did order it with a specific request for it to be adjusted. The slit is out of this world and I just—"
"Excuse me, ma," I interrupt the lady who has her back turned to me. Shalewa is more than glad that I'm here, I see it in her body language as she looks up at the ceiling, as if saying 'thank God' with her eyes, when she sights me.
The lady turns and my heart stops. I don't know if to feel shock or fear because she is supposed to be in the Bahamas, not in my store.
I was just stalking her two seconds ago.
The beating of my heart increases and I can almost hear it.
She is way more stunning in person, her face is without makeup, her light skin is rich and it radiates under the light from the chandelier, her hair is covered in a jade-green hijab and she's putting on a long-sleeved dress that flows to her ankles. Is this a dream? Am I hallucinating?
. . .
We're gonna be taking baby steps into this book so when all the drama starts to happen, it wouldn't throw you off the cliff 😂😂 Also, in chapters that feature important characters, I will reveal face claims of them... and of course, we're starting off with our babyyyy: Beverly Eniola Alakija, 23.
More characters' face claim will be reveal as we go on!
Hope you enjoyed this chapter, love you guys and see you maybe tomorrow or the day after, signing off to go finish chapter 2 ❤️
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