Adesuwa stared at the plane ticket in her hand like it was a trap dressed in luxury.
Milan.
The city that lived in whispers and unfinished stories.
The city her mother refused to speak of.
She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes moving between the paper and her buzzing phone. Another message from Drey.
Drey: "Get here before it's too late. You have more family than you know."
More family.
She barely had any to begin with.
Her fingers hovered above the screen. She wanted to ask what he meant, to demand names, truths, connections—but her pride wouldn't let her. Drey was still a stranger. A shadow tied to a father she had never met.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
Her mother stepped in, silent and watchful, holding her old travel bag in both hands. The same bag she carried when they moved apartments years ago. When they had nothing.
"You're going somewhere?" Adesuwa asked, confused.
Her mother didn't smile. "Yes. With you."
Adesuwa straightened. "Milan? But I thought—"
"I know what you thought," her mother cut in gently but firmly. "But if your father wants to see you, he'll have to see me too. I won't let him drag you into that world blind."
Her voice was steady, but there was something underneath—something broken and old.
"That world," she repeated, lower now, almost a whisper.
The way she said it made the air feel heavier.
Adesuwa stared down at the tickets again. "You haven't even said his name."
"I won't give him that power. Not yet."
"But don't I deserve to know? I mean—he's my father."
Her mother gave a bitter smile. "And I was once his everything. Until I wasn't."
Silence stretched between them.
Adesuwa's mind swam. "You said he had a second family."
Her mother hesitated. "Second? Third? I'm not even sure anymore."
A sharp chill danced down Adesuwa's spine. "So who's Drey?"
"Your half-brother."
Adesuwa blinked. "Why did he message me now?"
Her mother sat beside her. "Because something's happened in that house. Something they can't cover with silence anymore. If they're calling you back, it's not for love. It's for control."
They both sat still.
Rain had started again, soft at first, then steadily harder. It drummed against the rusted zinc roof like a warning.
Adesuwa reached for one of the photos she had dug out the night before—her mother in front of the grand house, with her hand on her belly.
"You loved him," she said, not asking.
Her mother closed her eyes. "I loved who I thought he was."
There it was again—that ache in her voice. That sorrow that had never healed.
Adesuwa stood and opened the old wooden wardrobe. She pulled out a box she hadn't touched in years. Inside were a few neatly folded outfits—blazers and dresses she'd hoped to wear one day, maybe at a job interview or a scholarship trip abroad. Now, they would carry her to the past.
To the truth.
She packed in silence. Her mother packed beside her. No words. Just the quiet rhythm of finality.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Drey: "Clara knows. She's not happy. Be ready."
Clara.
Her father's current wife.
Adesuwa turned the phone to her mother. She froze.
"That woman," her mother muttered, voice laced with old fire. "She's the reason I lost everything."
Adesuwa said nothing. Her heart beat faster now.
That night, they didn't sleep.
They sat by the window as rain poured down like the sky wanted to wash something away.
By dawn, the streets shimmered, the past felt closer than ever, and two tickets sat on the table.
One for the daughter chasing the truth.
And one for the woman who had run from it for too long.
The airport felt like a dream she hadn't earned.
Adesuwa held her passport tightly, the edge of the boarding pass peeking out. She kept checking the time, as if reality might change its mind and snatch the chance away.
Her mother walked a few steps ahead, posture straight, eyes forward. But Adesuwa could tell—her fingers trembled slightly when she handed her ID to security.
They didn't talk much on the flight.
The hum of the engines drowned out their thoughts, but not their feelings. Every so often, Adesuwa would glance at her mother's face—stone-still, staring out into the clouds.
She wanted to ask: What happened in Milan? Why did you really leave? Why did he stop looking for us—or did he ever look at all?
But she didn't.
Instead, she reached for her journal, flipping to the back where she scribbled things she was too scared to say out loud.
"He chose someone else.
But I still want to know the kind of man he is.
The kind of man I came from."
Hours passed.
As the plane descended, Milan came into view—gray rooftops, glass buildings, misty hills in the distance. It didn't look like the fantasy she'd imagined. It looked like a place that kept secrets buried under expensive pavement.
At the arrivals gate, a sharply dressed man in all black held up a digital tablet:
*"Miss Adesuwa. Mrs. Eromosele."*
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "They still use his last name."
They climbed into the car in silence. Leather seats. Tinted windows. Soft jazz playing low on the radio. It felt like wealth. Controlled. Cold.
Then the screen lit up in front of them.
Her father's face appeared.
Older. Hardened. The kind of face that had lived a hundred lives in one. His eyes flicked over them—his daughter, now a woman, and the woman he once called his wife.
"Welcome to Milan," he said.
No emotion. Just instruction.
"There are rules here. Follow them. You'll be taken to the guest wing. Clara is aware of your arrival."
The screen went black.
Adesuwa stared at the space where his face had been.
"That's it?" she asked, voice small.
Her mother gave a bitter laugh. "That's him. Always in control. Always ten steps ahead."
Adesuwa stared at the plane ticket in her hand like it might explode.
Milan.
The word alone tasted dangerous. Like silk soaked in poison.
She'd dreamed of the city. Once. As a child. A fairytale place with lights and fashion and happy endings. But now? Now it felt like the setting for a story she hadn't agreed to enter.
The text from Drey still lingered on her phone screen.
Drey: "Get here before it's too late. You have more family than you know."
What did that even mean?
She already had a mother. A quiet, strong woman who cooked with too much pepper and trusted no one. No uncles. No siblings. No father.
Not until now.
Adesuwa's grip tightened on the ticket.
Behind her, the door creaked.
She turned slowly.
Her mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a travel bag in hand. Her face was calm—but her eyes? Her eyes were at war.
"You're leaving?" Adesuwa asked, voice tight.
Her mother stepped in and dropped the bag gently on the bed.
"No. We are."
Adesuwa blinked. "You said you'd never go back."
The car pulled through tall iron gates, past manicured gardens and fountains that looked too perfect to be real. It was a mansion—not just in size, but in presence. Cold, elegant, and far too quiet.
Inside, maids bowed slightly and took their bags. They were led up a staircase that curved like a question mark.
Their room—if it could be called that—was massive. High ceilings. Velvet curtains. A chandelier that probably cost more than their entire flat back in Nigeria.
But none of it felt warm.
Adesuwa wandered to the window, staring out at the hedge maze below.
"They want me to feel small," she whispered.
Her mother came beside her. "They want you to forget who you are."
A soft knock interrupted them.
A maid peeked in. "Mrs. Clara will see you both in the red lounge in twenty minutes. And Master Drey will join shortly."
Adesuwa's heart skipped.
Drey.
The half-brother who had sent her messages full of riddles.
And Clara.
The woman who replaced her mother in this palace.
She turned to her mother. "Are you ready for this?"
Her mother didn't blink. "I was born ready. I've just been waiting for the war to come home."
---
Her mother didn't answer right away. She moved to the window, staring into the dusty street. "I said I wouldn't go back for him. But I'll go back for you."
Adesuwa swallowed. "So, you believe Drey?"
Her mother's silence was answer enough.
"I just... I need to know," Adesuwa whispered.
Her mother turned to her. "Then you'll know. But don't be fooled—truths don't come wrapped in ribbons. Some slice deeper than lies."
Adesuwa looked down at the other item on the table: a second passport. Hers. New. Freshly stamped.
She picked it up, heart hammering.
"He sent both of us tickets," she murmured.
"Of course he did," her mother said. "He knows you won't come unless I do. That man has always played chess with people's lives."
Adesuwa felt the edges of her world shift.
"Why now?" she asked.
Her mother stared out again. "Because something's crumbling over there. And when things break, people start grabbing for anything to protect themselves. Even the children they once threw away."
Adesuwa paced.
"What if this is a setup?"
Her mother's jaw tightened. "Then we'll set it right."
They both stood still for a long time.
Then Adesuwa asked the one question she'd held in for years: "Why did you leave him?"
Her mother turned, finally, truly looking at her.
"Because love should never feel like survival."
And then, before Adesuwa could respond, the lights flickered.
Her phone buzzed again.
Another message from Drey.
Drey: "Clara knows. She's already moving pieces. Be careful."
Clara.
The woman who replaced her mother.
The woman who now ruled the house her mother once called home.
Adesuwa turned the phone toward her.
Her mother's expression didn't change—but the color drained from her face.
"I knew she'd come for you one day," she said quietly. "But she'll have to go through me first."
The room was silent.
Rain began to fall outside, soft but persistent.
Adesuwa slowly sat back on the bed, ticket in hand.
She looked at her mother.
"Let's go tear down some lies."