𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚂𝚘𝚗.

Chapter 13

Silence filled the entire room; so thick that it needed a sword to cut through it. Sharpened breathing came from both Chelsea and Damola, whilst Mr. Uche seemed to remain calm, acting as though nothing serious was about to happen.

They were at the hotel's cafe. A cup of steaming beverage had been placed before them all, but only Mr. Uche seemed to be enjoying his creamy frappe. Minutes had passed, and yet he still hadn't addressed them. Instead, he was busy enjoying his beverage; as though he had all the time the world could ever offer. Meanwhile, Damola was barely able to handle his irritation, and the sudden anger that boiled within him. He felt the anger bite into his veins and he tightened his fists. This entire thing was suffocating, and he was sure he couldn't take a second of it any longer. But, just as he was about blowing over the top, Chelsea slipped her hand into his; with pleading eyes. Eyes that pleaded with him to keep his anger bottled up inside of him. He swore under his breath, but managed to keep his cool for just a second longer.

And finally, Mr. Uche felt it was time to cut through the overwhelming silence. "I hear you were to represent your father at an important party," he began. "And with a plus one. So, who did you take with you?" Now, Mr. Uche's eyes squared directly at him, and Damola gritted his teeth. He felt he didn't owe the man an explanation. After all, it was his life and he could decide to choose whomever he wanted to go with him.

"Someone." Damola managed to choke out of him, as his anger steamed inside him.

"Who?"

Damola tried his best to be polite. If he wanted to drag attention, yelling would definitely be an easy feat, as of now. But, he didn't want any nosy, idiotic, busybody sticking their nose in their direction. "A friend." He spat, trying to mask the rage that quickened with every second that went by.

"And who's that friend?" Mr. Uche cocked his head to the side, throwing glances at both Damola's and Chelsea's way.

Damola found it hard to respond to his question. And he did fear that if he did reply, he would certainly be dishing a very angry piece of his mind. So, he chose to shut up instead.

"I'm waiting for a reply, Damola." Mr. Uche's eyes were stern, and so were his hostile voice.

Chelsea tried speaking up, but her father sent her a glare so stern, that it extinguished all words she had managed to gather up in her throat. "Answer me, Damola." Mr. Uche demanded, and Damola let out a sigh of frustration.

"I don't think I owe you, or anyone for that matter, any explanation. So what if I took a friend to the party? How is that your headache? Please allow me to take the pills for my own headache. Ah-ah! What's with the interrogation?" Damola asked, and his nose flared with a thick sense of annoyance.

Mr. Uche smirked at him. "Why couldn't you take Chelsea?" At this point, Damola felt he was done being polite.

"I have nothing to explain to you, sir. Your daughter isn't even complaining. So why are you getting worked up about such a small thing? Or it you that im getting married to? Fimisile oh jare!" Damola flared, and Chelsea tried pleading with him to calm down, bit he wouldn't listen.

"Don't yell at me." Mr. Uche warned, as his eyes dug pits into Damola's head. His gaze burnt, and bruised that part of Damola which seemed overly confident. Like water on fire, Damola seemed to calm down a bit.

"That wasn't even my concern. I wanted you and I, Damola, to go out today. We have important business to handle." He said and Damola let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm busy." He gave a curt reply.

"With what?" Mr. Uche quirked an inquisitive brow at him.

Damola, in return, groaned. "My life doesn't revolved only on you and your daughter. I have things to do. I have my work to face, as well—"