Manifesting To Be The Rich Man's Wife

9

Amina's POV🩶

I must be God's favourite because I reached Kaduna before my father.

"Thank you!" I said to Abbah.

He spoke softly with his tired eyes, seeking understanding. "Had it been that I don't have pending work later today, I'd have stayed and met your lecturer to sort things out. But don't worry. I will return before next week. Just don't go home yet." He told me, and I responded with a nervous smile. Then the car drove away from the school's premises.

Basma and I returned to our room, and I proceeded to take a bath and get ready. Afterwards, I took my phone and checked for my dad's missed call. However, as I was checking, I noticed a message that was sent to me two hours ago from an unknown number. Feeling a bit apprehensive, I opened the message, and my heart shattered into pieces at the awful details it contained, which were, "I'm firing your father from my company. If you want me to consider reversing his dismissal, you must come to my flat on Friday evening, ready to kneel before me, kiss my feet, and beg for my forgiveness and touch. Also, keep in mind you won't be receiving any money from me because I've already spent what you deserve on the Transcorp suite, which you rejected. I guarantee that if you don't show up this time, your father will never find employment in this country again."

Tears streamed down my face as a wave of guilt and self-blame drowned over me. I felt disgusted with myself for being the cause of my father's pain. The weight of the situation was almost too much to bear, especially when I thought about my siblings, who were still attending school. Our family relied on my father to provide for everyone, and now, because of me, everything was on the brink of collapse. I received his call, and despite his efforts to hide it, the pain in his voice was evident when he spoke. "I'm outside, dear!" he said, and more guilt and self-blame flushed me like a tidal wave.

I struggled to reply, choking back tears, but at last, I managed to choke out, "I will be there in two minutes."

After he hung up the call, the tears I had been holding in streamed down again like a river of lamentation. I couldn't hold back the disgust and self-blame I felt for bringing such sorrow into his life. He was the family's provider, and now, because of me, everything is on the brink of ruin, including my siblings' futures who are still in secondary school.

"Oh Allah," I wept, my eyes locked upwards onto the heavens above. "I know I had asked you to bring him to me, but now I can no longer bear his presence. My heart fills with rancour and contempt. Oh Allah, please, I beg you, take Ibrahim far, far away from me. Let him be gone, far from my sight, and may I never again set eyes upon his face. I hate that subject of yours. I hate him with all my heart."

I began packing my belongings, preparing to leave with my father and offer my support to my family. I'm glad he will no longer be working under such a horrible man. I still have the one million Basma gave me, so I will give them to him without revealing they're from me. I hope he will use it to start his own business rather than continue to work under people who don't value his efforts.

"For Ibrahim," I thought to myself, "he will die waiting if he thinks I will ever go to him. I will never allow myself to be in his presence again. God forbid!"

I pridefully raised my chin while Basma asked in worry, "Are you leaving? I hope everything is fine at home."

"Everything is fine. It's just time for me to go for a break." I asserted with a smile, embracing her briefly before pulling my luggage out of the hostel and towards my father's car. Angrily, I whispered, "If fate ever grants me another meeting with that man, he will regret the day he was born."

I approached my father's old Civic and opened the trunk to put my luggage. As I glanced at the food items inside, a wave of sadness drowned me again. Noodles, pasta, seasonings, yam, potatoes, milk—everything a person could need was there. My father had clearly gone out of his way to prepare these supplies for me, and that made me feel more guilty.

"What was I thinking?" I blamed my mind for giving me the advice to leave school. Even if I had failed, it wasn't the end of the world. I should have stayed. Thank God I hadn't yet deferred the semester.

I stepped into the car and smiled warmly at him, though my heart ached when I saw his tired eyes attempting to stretch out a smile across his face.

"I wasn't expecting you'd come along. I thought you're still busy with your studies."

"We started our break yesterday," I replied, sighing heavily while I leaned back in the chair.

"How about your results?" he inquired, his voice filled with concern. "Have they still not been released?"

"They should be out soon," I lied, my eyes shutting tightly as remorse filled me for continuing to deceive him.

We rode in silence until we almost reached Kano, when he spoke up.

"I was truly excited to pay you a visit, you know?"

"And I am happy to see you," I answered truthfully, while he parked just after we arrived in Kano.

He took my hands in his, looked into my teary eyes, and whispered, "No matter what you do, never play with your studies. Take them seriously, because without that professional qualification, no one will value your hard work or give you the respect and recognition you deserve."

Guilt battered my heart from my decision to leave school which was his dream to see me becoming a nurse.

I nodded silently, tears streaming down my cheeks, while I vowed to myself to never take my studies for granted again. I would work hard and make amends for my mistakes, not only to prove my worth to others but, more importantly, to prove to myself that I am capable of becoming what he wants me to be.

Suddenly, he pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly in his embrace. "Aminatu," he whispered gently. I buried my face in his chest, living in the comfort of his hug and the warmth of his love. For a brief moment, we just sat there, holding each other, and finding relief in each other.

"Father," I gently interrupted, pulling back so I could look him in the face. Through my tears, I could see that he too was crying, though he tried to hide it.

"Can you drop me off at Zoya's place?" I asked softly. "I'll come home from there. There's a few things I need to take care of....."

"There's no need to explain," he said with a reassuring touch on my shoulder. "I trust you, my Amina."

I smiled sadly after his words sank in, knowing that I had betrayed his trust. The weight of my guilt and regret grew heavier, but I reminded myself there is a chance to redeem myself by becoming a nurse.

I then nodded silently.

We arrived at Zoya's flat, one of the four flats in the house. I approached the door and knocked, and after a few seconds, it was opened by her. When our eyes met, we both beamed with happiness, embracing each other warmly.

"You're back?" she asked in disbelief.

"I came to talk," I replied, my voice turning serious. "There's a lot I need to share with you."

"Of course. Please, come in," she said, stepping aside to allow me to enter. I made my way into her room, where she left me for a moment and returned with a plate of jollof rice, fried chicken, and an exotic cold drink. The sight of the food immediately improved my mood, having gone without food all day. I, without wasting any time, dug into the meal, finishing everything within minutes, and even asked for more.

She simply watched me while I ate after she refilled my plate, and I ate comfortably despite her being there. I felt no shame or shyness because I often cooked for her in school whenever she didn't feel like cooking, so there was no need to behave like a guest. After I drank the last drops of my exotic, I let out a melancholic sigh, remembering the true reason behind my visit.

"Zoya," I began, my voice thick with emotion, and then narrated everything that had happened, starting with my visit to Abuja, my first encounter with Ibrahim at the train station, and our second meeting at the party. I described the disgusting proposal he made to sleep with me and the threats that resulted in my father losing his job, including his text message. "Not that I am going to him. If he thinks he's smart, I'm smarter, but..."

Her eyes widened in shock while I was relaying my story, her mouth hanging open in disbelief, and then she suddenly asked,

"Ibrahim Umar Bangida? Is he the one?"

"I don't know, nor do I care. I don't know his surname."
 
"Wait!" She pulled her phone from the table and tapped the screen for a moment before she showed me a picture of him, again asking, "Is he the one?"

My blood boiled with anger as I stared at his picture, his face glaring back at me. "Yes, that's him," I growled through clenched teeth. Just seeing his face made my blood run cold and sent a shiver down my spine. If only I could rip it apart and destroy it completely.

"Amina," she started, her expression serious, "do you even know who Ibrahim Umar Babangida is?"

I shook my head, confused by her question. Who possibly is he, except a goon or a maniac?"

She continued, "His father was a former governor of Sokoto State, the former governor of Zamfara State, the former governor of Katsina State, the former minister of budget and economic planning of Nigeria, and is currently holding the office of the minister of housing and urban development."

"As for Ibrahim," she continued, "he owns seven successful construction companies that generate hundreds of millions for him every day in the northern states of Nigeria."

Her words hit me like a punch in the stomach. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was shocked. He was not just some sleazy gangster but a successful businessman with powerful political connections. I felt small and insignificant compared to him, and I couldn't believe that someone as powerful and wealthy as him was wasting his time on me.

"But what am I supposed to do?" I asked, feeling hopeless about the situation because it was like fighting a losing battle. I won't surrender to him, nor does it feel like he will give up either.

Her expression turned more serious while she looked at me, her gaze becoming dark. "Don't even think about sleeping with him," she said firmly. "You should not even consider that as an option."

"I will never do that," I responded.

She continued to explain how wealthy and well-connected he was, and my mind started to wander.

What if I can change him and then marry him?

I tried to push the thought aside, reminding myself that I didn't even know him that well. But still, the idea of being married to someone so powerful and influential was so soothing, especially him.

<>

Don't forget to vote and leave a comment.