Mrs. Ruth woke up to the soft hum of the morning, her mind still heavy with the events of the previous day. She decided to make peace with her daughter, Mirabel, by taking her a cup of coffee. As she approached Mirabel's room, her footsteps slowed. The white-painted room, adorned with crystals glinting in the morning light, was unusually pristine. The neatly tucked brown beddings showed no signs of anyone having slept there. Mrs. Ruth's brow furrowed as she whispered to herself, "She didn't sleep in her room. What could be wrong with this girl?"
Setting the coffee cup on a nearby table, she reached for her phone and dialed Mirabel's number. Each ring went unanswered, the silence amplifying her growing concern. Frustrated, she muttered, "This girl…" Then, a thought struck her. If Mirabel wouldn't answer, there was someone she could send. The man she had introduced to Mirabel at her cousin's wedding yesterday.
Meanwhile, at the bar where Mirabel worked, her phone buzzed incessantly on the counter. A colleague, who was adjusting chairs and cleaning the lounge, glanced at the device and called out, "Mirabel, your phone has been ringing non-stop. Who could that be? You know we aren't allowed to take calls during work."
Mirabel looked up from her task, her expression a mix of irritation and unease. "It's my mom," she admitted bluntly, then paused. Her voice took on an edge as she added, "Can you believe she tried to set me up with some random man yesterday? At my cousin's wedding, no less!" She threw her arms wide, as if pleading for understanding.
Her colleague, shocked by the revelation, froze mid-motion. "Your cousin's wedding? Yesterday?" she repeated, her brows knitting together. "But none of your family is even in town. How did you see your mom yesterday and still show up here this morning?" A suspicious silence settled between them as the colleague began piecing together what Mirabel had inadvertently revealed.
Mirabel felt the weight of her slip-up and quickly scrambled to recover. "Oh, uh, that came out wrong," she stammered, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I meant I spoke to her on the phone. And, well, the roads are so free these days, it's actually possible to travel and return on the same day." She chuckled nervously, but the excuse sounded hollow even to her ears.
Her colleague wasn't buying it. She folded her arms and walked over to Mirabel, her apron-clad hands resting on her hips. "You know that's a lie," she said flatly, her tone laced with suspicion. "Whatever you're hiding, it's becoming obvious."
Mirabel felt a knot tighten in her stomach as her colleague gave her a pointed once-over. "Just look at yourself, Mirabel," she continued, her voice tinged with anger. "You don't look poor at all. Unlike the rest of us, you get your own dressing room. Do you think we haven't noticed your expensive shoes? Or the fact that your meal and rest times are different from ours? And let's not forget, you're the only one who gets two days off in a row."
The words hit Mirabel like a slap. She stood from her stool, the wooden legs scraping against the tiled floor. Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer to her colleague. Her voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with the burden of her double life. "I was just trying to play it cool," she admitted, her shoulders slumping. "I wanted to live differently… to be seen as normal."
Her colleague leaned on the counter, her eyes narrowing. "Fine. But at least tell me the truth. Who is your family? Who is your mom?"
Mirabel hesitated, weighing her options. She could lie, but the cracks in her story were already too deep. She swallowed hard and finally said, "My mom… my mom is Celebrity Madam Ruth Adejoro. You know, the one from the news."
Her colleague's eyes widened in disbelief, and her mouth fell open as though the revelation had physically struck her. She coughed, almost choking on the shock. "Your mom… is what?" she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mirabel rushed to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, handing it to her colleague, who drank it greedily, like someone gasping for life. When she finally caught her breath, she looked at Mirabel with a mix of astonishment and indignation. "Your mom is the alpha of Abuja, the richest woman in the country. And you're here, watching me beg customers for scraps? Ah, Mirabel!" She clutched her chest, as if the betrayal had wounded her.
Mirabel's face crumpled with guilt. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to live a normal life, to be seen as equal. I didn't mean to lie. I just… I didn't know how else to escape my mother's world." She wiped a stray tear with the back of her hand, her vulnerability laid bare.
Her colleague sighed, her initial anger melting into pity. She placed a comforting hand on Mirabel's shoulder. "I might not fully understand, but hiding your identity like this will only hurt you more in the long run," she said gently.
Their moment of understanding was interrupted by the piercing ring of Mirabel's phone. She glanced at the screen, her brows furrowing at the sight of an unknown number. Taking a deep breath, she answered, "Hello?"
The voice on the other end was smooth, with a hurried undertone. "Hello, Mirabel. This is Mr. Femi. I came to town because of you."
Mirabel's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You came because of me? I don't even know you."
"I know you don't," he replied calmly. "But could we meet? It's important."
Mirabel hesitated. The air in the bar felt stifling, her colleague's watchful eyes adding to her discomfort. "Fine," she said finally. "Where are you?"
"The bar where you work," Femi interrupted. "I'm parked outside."
Mirabel glanced at the door, her heart pounding. "I'll be there in a minute," she said, hanging up. She grabbed off her apron and smoothed her hair quickly.
"Where are you going during work hours?" her colleague asked, her tone sharp with concern. "You can't just meet some random stranger."
"I have to," Mirabel replied. "Tell boss I went home feeling sick."
Without waiting for a reply, she stepped outside. The morning sun glinted off a sleek black car parked by the curb. A tall, broad-shouldered man leaned casually against it, his blue senator outfit impeccably tailored. He wore dark sunglasses that hinted at wealth and authority, his demeanor calm yet commanding.