Soft sunlight slipped through the tall glass windows, dancing across the white-and-gold bedroom like it paid rent.
Everything looked calm.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Ma was the first to wake up.
She stretched lazily. “Ah, this sleep, eh—”
She froze.
Her eyes widened slowly.
She looked around.
Gold. White. Luxury. Silence.
Then her brain reset.
“Wait.”
She sat up instantly.
“Where am I?”
She looked down.
Soft, creamy sofa.
Then she turned and saw him.
Anthony, sleeping on his bed peacefully like a baby who had just drunk expensive milk.
Ma’s mouth dropped open.
“I am finished.”
She stood up quietly, hands on her head.
“God, how did I sleep in a billionaire’s bedroom? Is this how people disappear?”
She tiptoed, then stopped and turned back to look at him again.
Still sleeping.
Calm. Breathing evenly.
Ma whispered dramatically, “Sir, if this is a dream, please wake up before they sack me.”
No response.
She clutched her chest. “I cannot die like this. My village people will laugh at me.”
She carried her slippers in her hand, walking on her toes like a thief in a Nollywood movie.
Each step careful, slow, suspicious.
She reached the door, paused, turned the handle gently.
Click.
She froze, looked back.
Anthony did not move.
She exhaled slowly, opened the door, and slipped out.
Then immediately, she ran.
Ma burst into the maid’s quarters like she had just escaped prison.
One maid sat up. “Why are you running like NEPA just brought light?”
Ma placed her hand on her chest, breathing hard. “I almost died.”
Another maid frowned. “What happened?”
Ma leaned closer and whispered loudly, “I slept in his room.”
Silence.
Then—
“Eh?!”
All the maids sat up.
“What do you mean you slept in his room?”
“Are you mad?”
“Do you want to be sacked before breakfast?”
Ma covered her face. “I don’t know how it happened. I was talking, then sleep just came like a thief.”
One maid shook her head. “This girl is finished.”
Another added, “Pack your load.”
Ma gasped. “Load? What load? I just arrived!”
Meanwhile, Anthony was still asleep—peaceful, undisturbed.
For the first time in five years, morning came without fear.
No sudden waking.
No panic.
No emptiness.
Just rest.
Anthony opened his eyes slowly.
He blinked, sat up, looked around, confused.
Morning.
He checked the time, then froze.
“Wait.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“I slept.”
He stood up quickly and walked around the room.
Nothing broken. Nothing strange.
Then his eyes landed on the sofa—empty.
And it clicked.
Ma.
He sat down slowly on the bed, thinking, processing.
Last night.
Her voice. Her laughter. Her presence.
Then sleep.
Deep, peaceful sleep.
Anthony stood up again—sharp, focused.
“It’s her.”
Ma was trying to blend into the kitchen like nothing had happened, but her face—guilty. Very guilty.
Mama Grace noticed immediately.
“Ma.”
Ma jumped. “Yes, Mama?”
“Why are you looking like someone who stole a goat?”
Ma forced a smile. “I did not steal a goat. I respect goats.”
Mama Grace narrowed her eyes.
Ma leaned closer and lowered her voice.
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