The room was sleek, dimly lit with warm amber lights and trimmed in gold accents. A quiet hum of soft jazz floated from hidden speakers, the scent of fine cologne and aged whisky thick in the air. Babatunde sat at the head of the glass table, fingers steeped, eyes focused but unreadable. His sharp jawline was in full contrast against the velvet shadows as the night's conversations echoed around him.
"Okay but wait… Yinka, you said she went dancing?" Andrew leaned forward with the eagerness of a child about to hear scandal. "You mean your Tinuke? As in, our Lady CEO of Oil & Gas who once rolled her eyes when a beat dropped?"
Olayinka, unbothered in his ivory linen shirt and prayer beads around his wrist, smiled serenely. "Yes, Andrew. Even Moses danced when the spirit moved. Let her dance."
"Brooo! Not the Tinuke I know!" Andrew laughed, slapping the glass table. "I bet she dances like she's negotiating crude prices."
Jacob chuckled quietly, nursing a glass of red wine, eyes drifting toward his phone like he hoped a certain some one would suddenly text him. "You haven't seen these girls together when they let loose. They're different people entirely ."
"I've seen Yayomi let loose, we often meet at the club"
While the guys laughed, Isaiah sat at the far end of the room, arms folded, eyes brooding. His muscles flexed subtly through his fitted black tee, and though he said nothing, his gaze flicked subtly when Mayeli's name was dropped.
"Alright, alright, let watch the match, it's starting shortly ,'" Andrew said, picking up the wrong remote control.
He pressed a button.
A soft mechanical whirr filled the room, and a hidden curtain lifted, revealing a one-way glass window. The view below burst to life like a secret stage.
They all leaned forward.
At the center of the space below, lit in soft rose gold light, stood Yayomi.
Clad in a silk wrap dress with bold prints and waist-length curls that bounced as she moved, she was in full motion—waist snatched, hips circling like a goddess summoning thunder.
"AYEEEE!" Andrew screamed.
"Oh wow," Jacob whispered, the calm finally cracking into awe.
Then came Adeola.
Barefoot, curls wild, wearing a silver satin slip dress that glowed under the lights, she stepped into rhythm beside Yayomi. Her red hair shimmered like fire and freedom, and Babatunde's body tensed slightly, heat crawling up his neck.
He didn't blink. Not once.
Below, Ziora stood commanding her culinary station like a general with spice, while Tinuke gracefully handed her utensils. Karayah, long-legged and regal in a velvet jumpsuit, leaned back on a plush couch beside Lewa, who tapped absently on her tablet.
Then—total darkness.
A voice pierced the shadows.
"You all know I can't come in without an entrance."
The spotlight flicked on dramatically. Mayeli, in leather pants and heels that should've been illegal, slid into view with a split so clean it earned a standing ovation from gravity. She popped up, twerking like a seasoned performer as the girls screamed with laughter.
Andrew clutched his heart. " kill me woman, I'm your slave to do as you please."
"Now this is a girl gang," Jacob said under his breath.
Briana and Oreofe ran in, joining the stage like backup dancers in a Beyoncé tour. Tinuke abandoned the food station and joined them, her hands already itching for the drums as the beat slowed down.
They formed a semi-circle. The room held its breath.
Tinuke took the drum.
Adeola walked toward the mic.
The room froze as her voice rose, smooth and smoky with power tucked inside every note.
It wasn't just talent. It was a confession. Every lyric, every breath she gave sounded like truth from a throat that had swallowed storms.
Babatunde leaned forward slowly, lips parting in disbelief.
Below, Olayinka stared at Tinuke in reverence. "She wasn't lying," he whispered. "She really does drum."
Karayah, poised behind a grand piano, played backup like royalty who'd graced Carnegie Hall in another life, As the other ladies danced around each other.
By the time the performance ended, the men were stunned into holy silence.
"I don't know if I want to marry her or pray," Andrew said.
Jacob grinned. "in your dreams."
Later, while the others continued to banter and rewind the performance from memory, Babatunde slipped away to the balcony.
The ocean breeze welcomed him. Soft waves licked the shore like lullabies.
Then he saw them.
On the beach, near the palm trees, stood Adeola.
But she wasn't alone.
In the arms of a tall, dark-haired man, she wept. Her face buried in his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
Demola.
Her brother.
The moment froze in time.
Babatunde's jaw tightened. Not at Demola—he knew the brother. But at the fact that she was crying at all.
And he didn't know why.
With clenched fists, he turned away and sat in the shadows of the balcony.
That fire in her hair. That crack in her voice. That pain in her eyes.
He would find out.
One way or another.
The king doesn't sleep when his queen weeps.