The news hit Lagos like a thunderclap.
Across social media platforms, on every major news outlet, and in the whisper networks of high society, the story of Tade Adebanjo's kidnapped son spread like wildfire.
Headlines screamed of a "billionaire's secret love child," " Ikorodu crèche kidnapping," and "Tade Adebanjo's Shocking Paternity Scandal."
The carefully crafted image of Tade as a polished, respectable CEO was crumbling, replaced by a salacious narrative.
At Ade's Oil and Gas, the boardroom felt like a warzone.
The air was thick with tension.
Tade sat at the head of the table, his usual composure replaced by a grim, haggard expression.
He'd lost two major investors in as many days, and every board meeting was a passive-aggressive battle of fear and thinly veiled accusations.
The gossip was relentless, an invasive buzz that followed him everywhere. It wasn't just about him anymore; it was about his company.
In the company cafeteria, Anwana's name was on everyone's lips.
"Did you see her? The new Assistant Chef? She's the one with the boy."
Whispers followed her, stares pierced her back. She wore a simple black dress, a mournful shade that reflected her mood, but the quiet dignity with which she moved through the kitchen seemed to infuriate the gossipmongers.
She didn't rise to the bait, didn't respond to the sideways glances.
Tade insisted they come and go together, their shared rides a silent act of defiance against a world that seemed determined to tear them apart.
On the home front, the family was in a state of crisis. In Abuja, Kene, Anwana's brother, read the news and felt a surge of rage.
He'd never fully trusted Tade, and this latest development only deepened his suspicion. He booked the next available flight to Lagos.
At Ekere's house, the atmosphere was a mix of quiet grief and desperate faith.
Ekere and Grace gathered their children for a family prayer, their voices a quiet hum of devotion, petitioning for Victor's safe return. Ekere knew his sister needed him, but he also knew she needed a different kind of support, a male presence to stand between her and the storm.
Amara, Tade's cousin, was a constant source of support for Anwana. She would stop by Tade's house every evening, sitting with Anwana for hours, simply holding her hand.
"He will be fine, my dear," she would say, her voice soft and consoling.
Anwana would nod, but her eyes, red-rimmed and filled with a pain that went beyond tears, never truly believed it.
The police search was ongoing, but there was no news.
Almost a week had passed since Victor was taken. The silence from the kidnappers was the most terrifying part of all.
The hope that had bloomed in her heart for the last few weeks was wilting with each passing day.
Tade and Anwana sat together on the sofa in the living room, a silence heavy with unspoken fear hanging between them.
The commissioner had just left, promising to redouble the search efforts, but his words felt hollow.
"Tade, I'm finished, ooo," Anwana sobbed, her voice cracking. Her grief was a raw, palpable force that finally broke through her composed exterior.
"Will Victor be fine? Eh, someone should tell me he will be fine!"
She fell into his arms, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.
Tade held her, his own facade of strength cracking.
He was a billionaire, a CEO, a man who controlled empires, but he was powerless.
The tears he had been holding back for days finally came, hot and stinging, as he held the woman he loved and grieved for the son he had just found.
He buried his face in her hair, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
***
Later that night, the house was quiet. They sat on opposite ends of a long sofa, a blanket wrapped around Anwana.
The shock was starting to give way to a chilling sense of reality.
"I just... I can't believe it," Anwana whispered, her voice hoarse. "Tade... is he really your son? Victor?"
Tade reached for her hand. "Anwana, I've had a second test done. The results came in today. It's confirmed. He's my son. He's an Adebanjo."
Tears streamed down her face.
"Our son," she said, the words a mix of joy and deep sorrow.
"We have a son, Tade."
"And they took him from us," Tade said, his voice hard.
"We need to find out who did this."
He took a deep breath, his mind racing through every conflict, every enemy, every moment of his past.
"But who? Who would go to such lengths? I don't know who would hate me this much."
Anwana looked at him, her eyes wide with a new, terrifying knowledge.
She had seen firsthand how desperate and ruthless Aisha could be.
She had been the "cook" in Tade's house while Aisha was trying to charm her way into his family.
Anwana knew a deep, bitter jealousy lurked beneath Aisha's perfect exterior.
Anwana felt herself shaking, but Tade's hand, holding hers tightly, was a grounding force.
"Tade... I... I don't know if this is a good time, but..." She hesitated, unsure how to approach the subject.
"You said you were a gentleman..." Anwana began, her voice gaining a little strength, a flicker of light returning to her eyes.
"Well, I don't think I can wait for us to be married, Tade. Not after all this."
Tade looked at her, his eyes full of tenderness.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"I think I'm saying that I need to be close to you, Tade. I need you now more than ever." Her words hung in the air, a profound declaration of need and love.
He leaned in,
his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both a promise and a plea.
It was a kiss that held all the fear, all the pain, and all the love they had for each other.
It was a kiss that sealed their bond, a silent vow to face the coming storm together.
The tension in the room began to shift, the sorrow giving way to a shared intimacy, a desperate need for comfort.
Just as Tade was about to deepen the kiss, his phone rang.
The sound was a jarring, violent intrusion.
He pulled away, his face hardening as he looked at the screen.
The number was unknown. A sudden, cold dread washed over him.
He knew who it was.
The moment of peace was over.
He pressed the answer button.
"Hello, Mr. Adebanjo," a voice, a chilling, distorted whisper, said on the other end.
"I trust you received my little gift. I hope it has made you reconsider who you choose to love." The voice chuckled, a sound filled with pure, unadulterated evil.
"The game has just begun. I'll be in touch."
The line went dead.
Tade stared at his phone, his body frozen with a fear he hadn't known since he was a child.
He looked at Anwana, his eyes wide with a new, terrifying knowledge.
The fight had just escalated. And they were not safe.
Flashback:
The world around Tade was a blur of police reports and phone calls, but his mind kept returning to a single, horrifying document.
The anonymous DNA test.
He couldn't trust it, not entirely. It was a vicious piece of a larger, more sinister puzzle.
He had to be sure.
He had to know the truth for himself, without any doubt.
He excused himself from the police commissioner and went into his office, closing the door behind him.
He needed a sample—a clean, uncontaminated source of Victor's DNA.
His gaze fell on a small, worn blue t-shirt with a cartoon character on it, left behind in his car from the last time he'd dropped Victor off at school.
The boy had been complaining it was too hot, and Anwana had given him a change of clothes.
He held the small garment in his hands, a wave of emotion washing over him.
It smelled of baby powder and a familiar, comforting scent that was uniquely Victor's.
He placed the shirt in a sterile plastic bag. A few hours later, he stood in a secure, private lab he owned, a place reserved for proprietary company research.
A renowned geneticist, Dr. Adewale, stood opposite him, a look of profound respect and confusion on his face.
"Sir, you want to run a paternity test on this?" Dr. Adewale asked, holding the sealed plastic bag.
"I don't have the other person's sample."
Tade reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, sealed vial containing a strand of his own hair.
"You have mine," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. He then pointed to the clothing.
"This is his. I want a full, comprehensive report. Now."
Dr. Adewale, a man who had seen it all, understood the
urgency in Tade's eyes.
He nodded, his expression softening to one of quiet sympathy.
"I'll have the results for you by morning, sir. On my word, this will not leave this room."
Tade didn't sleep that night. He paced his apartment, the silence a heavy, suffocating blanket.
He stared at the blank screen of his phone, willing it to ring.
He was caught between two prayers: one for a miracle, the other for a definitive answer.
The next morning, the call came. Dr. Adewale's voice was somber, professional, and straight to the point.
"Mr. Adebanjo, I have the results.
The DNA profile from the hair sample you provided and the clothing are a 99.9% match.
The child is your biological son."
The words hit Tade like a physical blow.
The report was real. The kidnapping was real.
His son, a boy he had only just discov
ered, was missing.
The terror he had felt before was now a concrete, unbearable truth.
There was no more denying it.
The game was real, and he had just lost the first round.