[A/N: Bailey O'Conelle]
Hafiz.
The fluorescent lights.
The screams and shouts.
The booming music resonated with my heartbeat.
The drunks stumbling and bumbling about like headless chickens.
Everything about the scene playing out in front of me is all shades of distasteful and tiring.
The lights gave me a headache; too flashy.
The screams and yells also gave me a headache; too damn shrill and grating.
The music? Worse. It gave me a fucking migraine.
And the drunks are even more terrible. If they weren't rubbing up against me then they were leaning in close and stinking up my airways.
Fucking annoying.
I had never seen the appeal of clubs. It was all noise and more noise. And the occasional hand-raping.
Damn irritating.
So then why I was here, spending my weekend in a place I absolutely hated?
Well socializing for one.
It was like an unspoken agreement where all the heirs of the top families in the country would meet up in Carlos every Saturday for networking and connections.
You know, because since my circle started coming here and there are a lot of people who want to bootlick and kiss our asses, it sort of became a hang-out spot for the elites of the country.
And like there was nothing wrong with knowing more people in the business world. You never knew who could help you out of a pinch. So we were cordial towards those lower than us, but they weren't worthy to be called acquaintances.
They were too down there.
And we were way up here.
So anyway, we met here, in this distasteful club, to make connections and socialise. But you know what? I call bull.
Why?
Well, obviously the beautiful willows walking around with their sceneries letting out soft and fragrant breezes.
Simply put sexy women in skimpy dresses.
There were asses and boobs everywhere you looked, women of different shapes and proportions and colours. So I say the reason they all gathered here was because of the chicks.
Or maybe the chicks gathered here because of the abundance of eligible bachelors? Hoping to pick up one to marry and enjoy the life of a rich man's wife?
Pathetic, but practical.
As far as life goals went, it could be considered one.
But in my opinion, the one thing they all had in common was gathering here to get a good fuck.
And that was the only good thing about clubs, I could sleep with as many women as I wanted with no strings attached.
And that was amazing.
Soft arms wrapped around my waist and a bouncy weight settled against my bicep. "Babe, you're zoning out on me."
I looked to my right, meeting with electric green eyes, made even greener by what chicks called a smokey eye, filled with a slutty smile.
"What?" Bailey raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Her nose was pert and lips plump, the overall set of her facial features were pretty enough. And paired with a round face, she looked both sexy and cute; a deadly combination for men.
I, for one, found her attractive.
"Hm? Nothing, what is it?" I replied.
"You were staring at that brunette just now," her finger cut a path from my arm to my chest.
I looked down at the dance floor where a brunette in red was shaking her hips wildly to the beat and I let my eyes trail her shapely legs and curves in appreciation.
"She's not bad," I looked back at Bailey, ignoring the way her eyes darkened.
I couldn't really say she was my girlfriend, the closest thing to describe her with would be my fuck buddy. But do fuck buddies cuddle and laze in bed after sleeping together or go out on dates or have sleepovers?
I wasn't sure, the lines were all blurry. But she most definitely wasn't my girlfriend. And the sooner she got that, the better it would be for both of us.
"You find her attractive?" She looked at the poor woman frostily. I smelled something sour in the air. She was so going to tear into whoever that lady was.
I smirked at the thought.
Women were so stupid and emotional. Why start a fight over something as stupid as your partner looking at another woman?
Not that I was her partner or anything. I was just saying.
"Decently so," I murmured. Snaking my hand around her nape, I pull her in for a deep kiss. "Not as attractive as you though."
The way her eyes brightened was almost comical.
"You like me the most right?" She leaned into my arms and purred.
"At the very least, I enjoy your body the most out of all the women I've been with."
And I had been with a lot.
"Is that a compliment, Hafiz?" She kissed my throat.
Yanking her closer by her wild brown locks, I bit her luscious lips. "Make of it what you please."
With a smile, she leaned into me and I got lost in her breath and scent. I was pulled out of her by a short slap on my shoulder and I looked up to meet Gabriel's amused eyes.
"Um, can I help you?" I asked in annoyance, fingers rubbing lightly against Bailey's red lips.
He laughed. "Get a room."
"Fuck off Dasilva," I waved him away before leaning back down.
"Your nanny's here."
I pulled away and stared at the direction he was pointing and sure enough, I saw Nikita standing there all suited up with a stern scowl on her face.
Her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it made my scalp tingle, her dark skin made her unusually grey eyes pop out even more. Perks of her African-American ethnicity I guess.
With an eye roll, I turned back and pulled Bailey towards me, kissing her soft lips once more. I swear they tasted like honey, very addicting.
Gabriel let out a sharp whistle evoking a wave of catcalls from the other guys sitting around the table.
The shrill racket annoyed me so I pushed Bailey away and straightened up my slightly skewed collar.
I stood up with a stretch and directed a fake smile at the group. "See you fuckers," I raised my middle finger high up.
With amused laughs, they waved back and went back to indulging themselves in their partners.
Lucky bastards.
Meeting Bailey's slightly annoyed eyes, I shrugged and made a 'call me' gesture before walking towards the reason I wasn't buried in heaven right now.
"Explain yourself, Nikita," I sneered when I stopped in front of her.
"I should be the one telling you that. Hafiz, do you even know what you're doing?" She sneered back.
My brows shot up high at the disrespect.
I took a step closer, staring her down and not liking it one bit when she didn't even flinch.
My father was towering, about 6ft2 I think. So were my uncle and cousin Unais. But thanks to that stupid woman's genes, I got a small stature for a man and had a hard time because of that.
All these white people were tall and huge. I had to gym like crazy to grow some muscle and get to a pitiful height of 5ft9.
And don't even get me started on my face. I swear if it wasn't for my father, I would have already gone under the knife.
What would a guy be doing with a face as delicate and beautiful as a woman's? That was just disgusting!
"What gave you the right to think you can speak to me like that?" Anger crept into my voice, making it sound gruff.
"I've been with you since you were in diapers Hafiz. You can't intimidate me into submission," she glowered at me. "Do you know what a disgrace you are to your parents? How do you think they'll feel seeing you like this!?"
Something snapped in me and my hand flew up before I could react. For a moment, I regretted it when I saw her head whip to the side and her eyes widen in shock. But what she said made anger rise in me once again.
"Disgrace? If anyone is a disgrace, it'll be that damn woman who manipulated my father into living such a disgusting life! Worshiping something he can't see or feel!" I stared her down. "Don't ever mention the word 'parents' in my presence again. I want no association with that ugly and disgusting woman."
"Hafiz!" Her eyes widened, she looked even more shocked than when I slapped her.
Her expression kind of tickled me.
It wasn't like my disgust towards the woman whose womb I developed it was a secret.
"Your mother—"
"What?" I raised a brow threateningly.
She looked around and her expression darkened. "Let's get out of here first."
I almost wanted to defy her for the heck of it. I was the boss and she was the servant. But one look around at the prying eyes directed at us convinced me otherwise.
The one thing an heir should avoid was a negative splash across the papers.
I was sure another title like 'Overlord Hakimi strike again! Literally!' Or something even more ridiculous like 'And the list keeps growing! Who would be the young Hakimi's next hit victim?' was bound to be Elle or HELLO!'s headlines tomorrow.
And trust me, the pun was intended. The tabloids really could be that brainless.
With a sneer, I trudged out of the club and to the parking lot, heading towards a familiar Maybach Acadia. I got into the back seat and waited until the club was out of sight before speaking.
"Well? What was so important that you had to both cockblock and irritate me?" I leaned my head against the window.
She stared at me through the mirror before sighing. "I'm sorry."
My body went rigid.
I was weak on apologies. Especially ones said softly and with emotions. No matter how angry I got, I always calmed down like a switch was flipped.
It was creepily like a fetish.
Instead of replying and letting her know she got to me, I stared back coldly at her.
She sighed once again before speaking. "Your father was looking for you."
"And?" I frowned, feeling a bit nervous. Did I love my father? Well yes, I loved him like crazy.
But was I intimidated by him?
Also yes, he intimidated me like crazy. Especially the way his eyes clouded over whenever he was pissed; it was scary as fuck.
There was just something about him that was commanding and appealing, I could totally get why Mom was obsessed with him.
"I didn't tell him where you went. I said you were out on a business dinner and I was about to go pick you up."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say. And I sort of felt a tiny bit guilty. "I'm sorry. Thank you," I whispered, rubbing my nape awkwardly.
The gaze she directed at me looked pained and for whatever reason, I got a sense of dejavu. Like someone stared at me like that a lot before.
It made me feel a bit teary-eyed.
I cleared my throat to break the awkward silence permeating the car. "Well, did he say what he wanted?"
"...no. But he's waiting for you, and it seemed important,"
I chose to ignore the hesitation clouding her entire sentence and looked out at the busy streets. The tall buildings were lit up brightly, shimmering and brightening up the streets.
I hated it.
When we arrived home, Nikita drove to the main estate where Father and I lived and I disembarked and entered the building.
The place was huge, had an open plan, and was of beige and blue theme. I walked through the foyer and to the lit-up living where Father was sitting and skimming through the documents in his hands.
He looked up when I entered and his honey eyes behind his gold-rimmed spectacles softened a little when they met mine. "You're back."
"Yes, how was work?" I sat down on the couch opposite him. Although we worked together, our offices were at different ends of the company. He was the president and I was just a department manager. We only met once in two weeks for routine meetings with other managers.
As for meeting at home, he shut himself off in the study as soon as he got back from work. At first, I always actively tried to make us cross paths. Eventually, though, I didn't bother to go through the trouble.
In a month, we would only meet four times or less.
But it was a good thing, I could only live the way I wanted because of this. I choose to ignore the sneering voice in my head muttering a small 'yeah right.'
"Alhamdullilah. How was your dinner date?" He set the papers aside and settled his gaze on me.
"It was alright," I said, feeling skirmish from his intense gaze.
"And?"
"Um, and?" I repeated, confused.
"It was alright what?" He narrowed his eyes.
I almost let out a groan of annoyance but I managed to hold it in. Who knew how disastrous it would have been otherwise?
"It was alright. Alhamdulillah," the Arabic word sounded off in my mouth.
Disgusting even.
A smile touched his lips and he nodded in appreciation. "Always remember to give thanks and praise Hafiz. You don't know where you'll see it."
I doubt it, Father. "Yes sir."
He folded his hands on his lap. "Tell me about your day."
"I'm sorry?" I said, taken aback.
He smiled. "Your day, Hafiz."
"Um, is something wrong?" I asked instead.
"Why do you think that?"
"Because you never ask about my day. Ever," I bluntly replied.
He dropped his gaze from mine for a moment before looking back at him. "You're right. I have something to tell you."
"Oh," I breathed out. Of course, he does.
He never had my time at all. It was stupid of me to feel disappointed when I should be used to it by now. I was twenty-seven for goodness sake, I shouldn't be craving my father's attention and love like a freak!
"We're going to Nigeria. Tomorrow, your mom wants to see you," he stared at me.
For a moment, I couldn't quite process what he said. And I almost told him 'mom' was right here in the US with us.
But then it clicked what he was referring to and intense rejection bubbled up from the pit of my stomach.
"No," I spat out.
"What?" He raised a brow slowly, a telltale sign he was giving me a chance to change my words. And I would adhere to it, normally. Because I didn't like it when he was angry, it was frightening.
But now, he was telling me to go to that disease-infested continent and underdeveloped and unsanitary country to see that disgusting villager who ruined my life.
I couldn't accept it.
"I'm not going, I have no interest in seeing that woman."
"That woman?" His eyes sharpened and turned threatening. "How dare you address your mother that way?"
Something told me if I dared to say anything out of line, I would have my ass handed to me. I was fit, yes, but I had nothing on my father. He was the person who trained me after all
Pulling away from gruesome thoughts about training with him, I diverted my eyes. "I don't want to go, Father."
"Why?" He sounded angry.
"I...I don't want to go..."
"Are you a kid? You've been saying the same thing over and over again! Give me a valid reason or go upstairs and pack your damn bag because we're leaving tomorrow!"
My head whipped towards him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"
"Your mother hasn't seen you for nineteen years, Hafiz. Unless you'll drop dead when you see her, you are going with me. Scratch that, even if you are going to drop dead, you have to wait for her to finish looking at you first," he sneered.
I felt anger and hate towards the reason for all this rise in me. It was all that slutty woman's fault! I couldn't remember the last time I argued with my father, and now because of her...!
"I really don't want to go."
"And I really don't give a damn. Go upstairs and pack. We're staying there for a week."
Like I was sucker punched in the guts, I let out a sharp breath in shock. "You want us to stay in that-that-that bacteria-infested country filled with lowlifes for a week!? Are you crazy!?"
"Hafiz Hakimi!" He sat up straight, a commanding air forcing its way towards me, filled with warnings. "I dare you to say that again! Whatever the hell is in that country is all part of your roots because that's where your grandfather and mother come from! If you call them lowlifes and diseased, aren't you referring to yourself as well!?" He said so forcefully the veins on his neck protruded out and pulsated.
"I am definitely not like those sorry things covered in—!"
"Covered in what!? I dare you to finish that sentence!"
Survival instincts kicked in and I clamped my mouth shut. A moment of tense silence passed before Father let out an aggravated breath.
"Look, Hafiz. We're going there and that's final. I don't know what your problem is but you aren't a kid anymore. You have duties and obligations as a Muslim towards your mother," he said in consolation.
Like that was fucking supposed to make me feel any better.
Mouth twisting in disgust at his words, I scowled at him with an unwilling expression. But I couldn't say anything. When the set of his chin turned heavy, there was no changing his mind.
Instead, I stood up and started towards the stairs.
"The flight is at 10. Be ready." The last two words were a threat. You could hear the 'otherwise' dripping off of them.
"Whatever."
When I entered my room, I plopped facedown on my bed and just stayed there for a while. I didn't know when it started or how, but there was this sense of rejection and disgust I felt towards the woman who gave birth to me.
Sometimes it got so bad that I felt disgusted with myself, I would keep taking a shower over and over again whenever I remembered I was once in her body.
I would get the urge to use something sharp to scrape off my skin in the hope that a new one would grow.
Just thinking about it made me nauseated. Everything wrong with my life started with her.
My body size.
My face.
The mockery I suffered through.
The alienation.
My father's depressive lifestyle.
His ignoring me.
My failing to fit in because of my skin colour.
And so much more that I could add to that. I put in my sweat and tears into who I was today, and now, Father wanted me to see the reason I had to suffer through all this in the first place.
It was unfair and ridiculous!
I sprang up and hit the bed heavily. "Damn it!"
My phone rang with an incoming call and I fished it out of my pocket in irritation. My furrowed brows softened a bit when a familiar picture and name met my eyes.
"Hey, mom."
"Hafiz darling. How was your night?"
"It was okay," I fell back heavily on the bed.
"What's wrong? You'll normally bombard me with details right about now. I was ready to shoutout 'TMI.'" She said, sounding a bit disappointed.
A small smile touched my lips. This was how a mother should be; confident, observant, and most importantly, comfortable with her body enough to showcase it. So she wouldn't be mocked or alienated.
Or make her child go through the same treatment until he proves himself.
"It's father," I sighed.
"Mubarak? What happened with him?" Her voice softened considerably, you could hear the love she had for him in her voice.
'How could Father leave such an amazing woman for an excuse of a female like that lowlife? It doesn't make sense at all.'
"He..." I hesitated. I knew it was a scar for her. The one thing she was scared of was father and that woman having contact with each other. And I didn't blame her.
I would be wary of a woman who stole my partner and killed my child as well.
Sometimes I wondered what was wrong with my father, for him to leave mom for that thing.
"Say it Hafiz. You can say anything to me, you know I consider you my son," she softly coaxed.
Feeling touched, I smiled and said. "We're going to that woman's house tomorrow. For a week."
It went quiet at the end of the line for a long while. The only indication the call was still ongoing was the soft breathing coming from the speaker.
"Mom?" I called quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Sorry sorry. I was just dragged into a dark place," she sounded choked.
"Are you crying?" I sat up worriedly.
"N-no. Just a bit disappointed. I'm used to it already. Tell me Hafiz, what's so bad about me that Mubarak doesn't even want to see my face? Am I uglier than her? He was mine. She stole him from me!"
Heart aching, I softened my voice and spoke lightly to her. "Shh, I know. I know Mom. That's why I'm on your side. And I promise you, I'll talk sense into father."
"Thank you, Hafiz. I'm glad you're at least on my side, I would've gone crazy if that bitch had everything she took away from me by her side." Her voice turned venomous. "Does that make me sound wicked?"
The vulnerability in her voice made my heart soft. "No. Not at all. You have every right to hate her. I promise to make the trip short, even if I have to fight with Father over it."
Or insult her to her damn face.
"Hafiz...she's your mother after all...I don't have a child so I don't know how it feels exactly but I know she would be hurt if—"
"I don't give a damn. I do it because I know it'll hurt her, that's probably the only good thing about my connection with her." I sneered, already planning how to put that lowlife in her place.
"Hafiz..."
"And Genevieve?"
"Yes?"
"You're the one who's my mom. Not her. I told you, karma probably couldn't take how she took your child away from you so it made me call you mom."
She went quiet for a moment before chuckling. "I love you, Hafiz."
"I love you too Mom," I smiled in reply. "Would you be interested in going out? Carlos should be fun right about now."
The lie came out smoothly. I could do anything to help her take her mind off our inescapable trip.
"I thought you'd never ask. Should I call up Bailey?"
"You know it. I've been holding it in for two days now, I feel like I'm about to burst."
"Well, aren't you very...energetic. Just like your father," she said bashfully.
"Ewwww, TMI mother."
We both laughed.
"I'll come pick you up in thirty. Wear something hot. You can do so much better than father."
"Oh you, that goes without saying."
I could hear the wink in her voice.
When I hung up, a smile was caressing the corners of my lips. Feeling refreshed, I got up to change, thankful that my father wasn't downstairs when I walked down.
With the drama that was sure to ensue, I needed all the laidback time I could get. Something told me I wouldn't be able to get a good fuck when we get to that stupid country.
"You're so going to pay for this, stupid woman."