Nailah Zayed.

Maroudi, Nigeria.

How do you take a turn from being one person to another overnight?

Stick around, and you'll find out.

Some might find it fascinating how I morph from one situation to another. To others, it may seem weird, and tough. Trust me though, I've been through harder situations.

At this point, it is the new normal for me. However you choose to classify the word, 'normal' is up to you though. My definition might not fit into your category, but who cares? Definitely not me.

"Where is your husband?"

I blinked, flicking my eyes up from the document in front of me so it'll fall on the man who's the root cause of who and where I am right now. Actually, I would be the seed and he would be the gardener—who planted, and groomed me into who I am.

My expression remained carefully guarded as always, and almost seamlessly, I blew out a small, barely noticeable breath before giving him my answer. "He'll be here in a few." I knew he would. "He just had a few things he needed to take care of first." What are those things? I don't know.

It could be work, or whatever. I don't bother to dig into it. Never had, never will.

And besides, the most rational excuse they want to hear from me now is why he's late, considering we are supposed to come together as we are 'married'. That means, we live under the same roof and considering this meet-up has been announced days prior, we are supposed to be here together.

But here I am, all alone with no sight of my husband whom I've sent out last night. I can't possibly tell them that though—because that isn't who we are in the eyes of the others.

My only, and best excuse is that he had work to handle, hence why I arrived before him.

Of course, that won't be easy to believe—especially not to the man who stared at me for a couple of seconds longer having heard my answer. My father, Ahmed Zayed stared at me with calculating eyes—one that I knew what they meant from a simple glance.

He was slowly unraveling, piece by piece to see what it is I'm hiding. Why though? I want to question too because I'm certain he knows the answer. He knows everything. He always does.

So, why does he need to question me?

Only a few seconds longer than I would like, he pressed his lips together, and spared me one last glance that screamed we would have a private talk later before he shifted his gaze back to the Newspaper in his hand wordlessly.

He wouldn't prod further. At least, not in the presence of our current guests.

The sound of someone clearing their throat had me shifting my gaze from my father to the woman seated opposite me—the cause of numerous problems in my life, and the one who never hid her distaste towards me.

Her crimson painted acrylic fingers extended to pick up her tea cup, before gracefully bringing it to her nude colored lips. The way she pulled up the entire action, and from her posture, everything screams perfection. If there's one person who holds up the 'perfect' life more than me, then it's my beloved mother-in-law, Inaya Hadi. Or, Ma, as I call her.

If not that we appear in the eyes of the public a lot, I'm certain she would never allow me to call her that. I would've probably stuck to 'Mrs. Hadi' all the time. Calling her Ma feels like an insult. Her words, not mine.

And don't ask her reason for hating me. Frankly speaking, I don't know and I never bothered to find out.

"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Hadi?" I voiced out, the minute I saw her place back the tea cup where it belongs. Did I mention that I don't call her 'Ma' in private either? I could, if I was looking for favors but I'm not.

I don't place myself where I'm not needed. And under no circumstance will I grovel at this woman's. For what reason? As far as I'm aware, there's none.

Her eyes flickered up, narrowing at me for a brief second for so many reasons I'm certain. One thing that annoys her more than being called 'Ma' by me, is to actually address her formally in the presence of our family members.

I bet she feels I'm disrespecting her in public. Too bad. That wasn't my intention. All I wanted to do was stay in my lane respectfully. It's not my fault she felt offended that I'm not groveling around her for favors.

Withal, she was quick to mask her expression and put on the unbothered one. Leaning back on her chair, she blinked and blew out a small breath. "I couldn't help but be worried about my son. I see him less these days and like most mothers, I can't help but be worried." Her tone came out somber, as she casted the empty seat beside me, where he is supposed to occupy a glance, before shifting it to the empty seat beside my father.

And I could swear the corner of her lips tilted upwards slightly. That's a low blow from her though.

At least, Imran's seat is not always empty. However, the one beside my father always is. Her words, and look are simply taunts disguised under the impression of a 'caring mother' directed towards me.

Her husband, my father-in-law who is seated beside her simply ignored her—pretending as if he didn't hear a word she said. Honestly, it's times like this that I see his resemblance to my father quite a lot.

The only difference being, at least father speaks about whatever it is later. He tucks it away in the back of his mind, and then voices it out when the time comes. My father-in-law though ignores everything. His undivided attention remains solely on his business, nothing else.

That's why, even as he quietly sipped his tea, I have no doubts whatever is running through his head has to be business related.

In simple words, no one seated on this table will step in for me. And that's okay, I've learned, and always fought my own battles. Besides, this isn't the first time something like this is happening.

So, my lips stretched into a small smile, eyes fixed on the woman hell-bent on making my life worse than it already is for no apparent reason. "Well, you don't have to worry." I blew out a small breath, leaning back slightly on my chair. "He has a lot of people to care for him." I'm certain she knows what I'm talking about.

And the smile she instantly sported confirmed my thoughts. "As due." She nodded, almost as if she sees nothing wrong with it. "When others fail to do their jobs right, it's only right they are replaced."

Almost instinctively, I found myself quirking a slight brow at her words. Before I could reply though, the sound of footsteps approached the table the four of us are seated for 'breakfast' as they like to call it.

I call it an excuse to talk about business, like all the other times. Since when did we ever have just breakfast? There's no reason for that. It can't be us. Can never be.

The man of the topic decided to grace us with his presence then. He went on to exchange pleasantries with the elders, leaning down to peck his mother's temple as per the good son he is before making his way to sit beside me. No words, or look was exchanged between us though I felt his gaze on me.

I ignored it.

I have no business with him now.

"Now that he's here. Can we talk about the real reason for this?" I voiced out after a few seconds of silence, unable to hold myself back. I just can't. You'd think I'm used to this by now. I'm not. And I never will be.

A slight glare was sent my way by the person who adores me the most—you know who. I ignored her too, because at least, I'm used to that.

Thankfully, the ones the question is directed to were quick to step in, because I'm certain they are tired of being there too. We all have things to do, and this breakfast thing is only getting in the way of it.

My father and father-in-law exchanged a look, before the former folded the Newspaper he was reading and discarding it. Why he bothers to read one when he can read it all online is beyond me—I never question it though.

Interrupting my train of thoughts, he moved his gaze from me, to Imran, and back to me again. He then blinked, and went on to speak. "The Maroudi Summit is taking place in BlackAce Resort." He stated simply.

My brows instantly drew in, trying to comprehend how that is actually possible. I mean, in a way I understand but in another, I just don't get it. "How did you get the owner to agree?" I know Zainab Shamaki, the owner and wife of Sultan of Maroudi just not on a person level.

On a business level, she and I have met more times than I would like to admit. For one, she is also the owner of Maroudi Today, the number one publishing house in the state. And considering I've had one too many interactions with the press, it's only natural I come to know her.

BlackAce is her family's legacy, left to her by her deceased parents. It is definitely one of the most elite resorts in the state, if not, the most elite. And as such, entry to it is limited. Only a selected few are allowed in.

Hosting an event like the Maroudi Summit is an honor, but she'd turned it down way too many times for reasons only known to her. I never understood why, I mean, it's a way of expanding her business and gain more connection in the business world. It would leave a positive impact for her.

So, why has she been declining it?

As such, you can understand my surprise to her sudden acceptance of it.

"We offered the highest bid." This time around, it was my father-in-law that spoke, finally looking up from his tablet and giving us his undivided attention. Pushing the device further on the table, he went on to add. "With the best conditions."

I didn't question further. I knew what he meant.

The Zayed family and Hadi family are one of the most influential families in Maroudi—and that's something because Maroudi is only for the best of the best. The merger between the two families only added our affluence even more. If I dare say, it made us at the very top.

So, if he says they offered the highest bid, then they certainly did.

Not to mention, we are hosting this year's summit.

The Maroudi Summit is basically a large business dinner of some sort. Being fortunate to attend is like a definite pass to success in the business world. You will make long lasting connections, as long as you know how to play your cards well.

"You two will attend together as always." Of course. We will go and play the perfect couple as always.

Yay. Note my extreme happiness.

Picking up an envelope I had no idea was beside my father, he extended his hand out to me. I collected it from him, and following the quick nudge of his head in the direction of it, I slipped my hand inside and brought out the papers there. There were a lot there, however, they all contained information on the same person.

I placed it between me and Imran, so we could both see it.

"--He is your target for the night." My father voiced out, referring to the new person in the picture. I carefully observed the words written, along with the picture attached.

I've heard of his name before, and I've heard stories about him too but never see his picture. So, this is him?

"Ayaan Fadel." I voiced out the name I've been testing in my head since I brought the papers out. I then flicked my eyes up to meet my father's. "The plan?"

"Get him to be in cohort with us." It wasn't my father that answered, instead, it was my father-in-law. I found myself shifting my gaze to him, because something about his tone made this much more serious than I thought it wasn't. "A lot of people will be after him, but we need him to work with us, no one else."

"That's what you two need to do." My father added for clarification. "There's a lot on the line because of this. There's no room for messing up."

Of course, I understand why they put us in charge of this. Our marriage might've simply been a marriage deal that makes us more of business partners than actual married couples, but that's alright. We're good at what we do. We never fail. Not once.

When we get involved, it's a done deal.

For the first time since the man appeared, I rose my head up to meet Imran's gaze. We shared a look, before nodding as a silent agreement with each other. Quietly, I moved my gaze back to the papers scattered in front of us. I found myself clicking my tongue as I eyed the papers warily.

Why do I feel like this time would be different though?

Something about this doesn't feel right.

"No matter what, this needs to go through." Mr. Hadi, my father-in-law added, his voice stern. When I looked up, his gaze was fixed on me, almost as if he has the most expectation from me.

And he does.

Imran is his son after all. Even if he messes up, he would call it a mistake that happens every once in a while.

If I do, he will give my family and I hell. We might be partners, but everyone knows in actuality we are leeching off them.

So, I need to bust my ass to work and meet their expectations for my sake and for my family. This marriage truly is a messed up thing, and so is my life.

"—I don't care what you have to do, make sure we get him on our side. I'm willing to give you anything you need for that to happen."

I gave him a firm nod, knowing the situation I'm in. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side no matter what the case is. It won't do me any good.

I guess he still wasn't convinced. So, he added; "If you mess this up, or get on his bad side—it will affect not just you but us as well. I won't forgive you for that, Nailah. You know that, don't you?"

Let me put his threat in simple words.

If I mess this up or if it falls through, I'm fucked up. Pardon my choice of words. And not just fucked up in a simple way...in a way that will make me regret ever being Nailah Zayed.

I swallowed thickly, feeling as though someone dumped an ice bucket on me.

"Don't worry, Abi. Trust us, we'll do a good job." Before I could reply, Imran beat me to it. Of course he would be quick to jump in and look good.

Why am I not surprised?

Still, I found myself agreeing with him. "He's right. You don't have to worry. You have my word."

Imran's father stared at me with hawk eyes for a little while longer than necessary, before he clicked his tongue slightly. He then looked away, signifying the end of the conversation.

So, my life now depends on this Ayaan guy? Just great.

Note the bloody sarcasm.