18 years prior
The house was silent. Far too silent for a home with a child.
A cool harmattan breeze danced through the open cracks in the curtain, whispering against the night like secrets.
Seven-year-old Adeola stood barefoot on the cold marble floor. A single bead of blood trickled down her forehead, mixing with the sweat on her brow. The cordless phone trembled in her small hands, pressed tightly to her ear. Her voice, though she tried to keep it steady, came out in a whisper wrapped in panic.
"He's not moving. There's blood everywhere. I think… I think I...."
Silence.
Then a frantic voice on the other end.
"Adeola? Adeola, what are you talking about? What happened? Who's hurt? Where are you?"
But she wasn't listening anymore.
Her wide, unblinking gaze was fixed on the dark red pooling across the marble floor. The air was heavy now—thick with fear and the coppery scent of blood.
"Hello? Are you still there?" the voice repeated, panicked.
A creak.
Adeola froze.
The phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a clatter.
Her aunt.
Aunt Bose's heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway like a sentence being passed. She entered the room, her face twisted in fury—raw and merciless.
"What have you done, you cursed child? What did you do?!"
Her voice cracked through the room like a whip.
Adeola instinctively backed away, lips trembling.
"Answer me!" Bose screamed.
"You insolent child!"
Her aunt's eyes burned with hate.
"You're just like your mother," she hissed, her accent curling around every syllable like venom. "That pale-faced harlot. I told my brother not to marry that white witch. Look at what she left behind—look at you. Red hair. This cursed red hair! Just like that woman!"
She stepped closer.
"Why did my brother bring shame to our bloodline? Why didn't he listen to me?"
Adeola moved back again.
"I asked you a question! Are you deaf?!"
Bose lunged.
Adeola stumbled.
Her heel caught on the edge of the rug. The open window behind her billowed with wind she hadn't noticed before. The curtains flapped like wings.
She turned to sidestep—too late.
Her foot slipped.
A scream tore through the air.
Then—
Silence.
Aunt Bose walked to the window, peering out, her face unreadable.
Then, she scoffed.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish."
She turned.
"I'll deal with this in the morning. Nothing ruins my beauty sleep. Not even the death of that small rat."
A few weeks before the fall
The occasion was loud. Lagos never did anything quietly—not even exclusive, invite-only parties filled with the country's elite.
The scent of fresh puff-puff mingled with expensive perfume and the sharp click of designer heels on polished tile.
Adeola sat alone, eyes scanning the glittering crowd. She hated gatherings like this. The stares. The whispers. Her red hair always drew attention.
"Move."
A voice cut into her thoughts.
"You're in my seat."
Adeola looked up. A beautiful girl stood before her—straight black hair, polished shoes, and entitlement thick in her tone.
"No, I'm not," Adeola replied calmly.
The girl folded her arms. "That's my seat."
Adeola didn't move.
"Are you deaf or just stupid?" the girl snapped, stepping closer.
Before the argument could go any further, a voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Karayah Adesewa Adebanjo Williams!"
Heads turned. The girl stiffened.
A tall woman in royal purple lace entered like royalty. Her gele was sculpted like a crown, her presence commanding instant reverence.
She walked forward, looking from the girl to Adeola. Then she paused.
She blinked. Took a step closer.
"My God…"
Adeola shifted uncomfortably.
The woman's eyes widened.
"Adeola…?"
She stepped forward quickly, voice softening.
"Oh my goodness, you've grown so big. I was just asking Bose the other day when I could come see you. How are you, dear?"
She smiled, approaching.
"You remember me, don't you?"
Adeola nodded slowly. She knew her. From photos. From the phone calls. Her uncle's wife—popularly called Queen B. She'd been based abroad, and it had been a year since they last spoke. Seeing her in person was surreal.
From across the room, a tall man in a sleek black agbada turned. His eyes widened as he strode over.
"Adeola?"
His voice cracked with emotion.
She smiled faintly—unsure, overwhelmed.
"I held you when you were just a day old," he said softly. "Your mother couldn't hold you. So your aunt and I took care of you until we left for the U.S."
He pulled her gently into an embrace. And for the first time in years, Adeola felt something real. Something warm.
That night changed everything.
Her uncle and his wife pulled her aside. They spoke gently. Held her like something precious.
For weeks afterward, Queen B visited every weekend.
"These are your cousins," she'd say, showing pictures of her ten children—seven girls, two boys, and an adopted daughter. She told stories about them, their personalities, what made them special.
And she always said,
"You'll meet them soon."
The fall hadn't killed her.
But it shattered something.
She lay on the wet grass beneath the massive palace wall, pain burning through her arm. The night air was cold. But she didn't feel it.
She rose—dazed, bloodied.
And ran.
Through the palace grounds. Past shocked guards. Past trimmed hedges and marble statues.
Out through the towering gates.
Headlights split the dark.
A car screeched to a halt.
"Adeola?!"
Queen B leapt from the backseat and ran to her.
Adeola collapsed into her arms, sobbing.
Queen B held her tight. Warm. Steady.
"You're safe now," she whispered, brushing bloody curls from her goddaughter's forehead. "You're coming with me."
The Next Morning
Sunlight spilled through gauzy white curtains. The air was scented with mango shea butter.
Adeola stirred slowly, the sensation of fingers brushing through her hair pulling her back to the world. She didn't open her eyes right away. Years of caution told her to wait. Observe.
"Mummy!" a voice shrieked from nearby. "There's a doll in my bed! A real doll! Her hair is red and she's so pretty!"
Laughter followed.
Queen B's voice echoed down the hallway, warm and teasing.
"Doll bawo? That's not a doll, jare. That's your cousin Adeola—the one I've been telling you about. Anyway, I'm off to work. You girls show her around. don't stress her too much."
Adeola slowly opened her eyes.
A girl with a huge, bouncy black ponytail grinned at her.
"Hi! You're so pretty. Like a doll. I'm Yayomi Tiaraoluwa. My hair is just like yours—well, almost. Yours is red, mine is black."
She bounced toward the door.
"Come on, let's go down for breakfast. You can meet everyone!"
Adeola climbed out of bed, her limbs aching faintly.
As she stepped out of the room, her breath caught.
She'd grown up around wealth, but this… this was different. Breathtaking.
The hallway was long and wide, filled with framed portraits and soft light. Each bedroom door had a name plaque, photos, and unique colors. It was a home that had love built into the walls.
She shut the door noticing yayomi's picture and name on her room door,
Next to it was a door that made her pause. The rude girl from the party. Karayah. Her name etched in gold. Her stomach twisted.
Yayomi noticed and paused
"Don't worry," she said gently, "Karayah can be a bit… much at first. She doesn't mean anything by it. She's just the boss of everything in her mind."
She bumped Adeola playfully.
"She'll like you. You're strong. She respects that.
Adeola raised an eyebrow.
"She didn't seem very respectful when she tried to throw me out of my seat."
Yayomi laughed out loud.
"Exactly! That's how she says hi."
Adeola gave a hesitant smile.
Their parents' door stood between both rooms.
She walked slowly. One step. Then another. They passed a door that read "Oreofe" beneath a photo of a girl with snow-white curls and round glasses. Another, "Mayeli", featured a girl with glossy black waves and a smirk that looked far too smart for her age.
They all looked different. Unique.
They moved on. One room had the name "Lewa", with curly white hair another "Tinuke" with a giant afro captured in mid-laugh.
She walked on. Ziora with straight white hair. Briana with waves like clouds.
Each one was so different. So full of life.
The white hair had come from their paternal grandmother—her maternal grandmother . But her red hair… that was from her maternal grandfather.
Then the boys—Demola, black hair. Damola, strikingly white.
And then—
Her door.
Her name. Her photo.
A soft gasp escaped her.
Queen B had asked once, "What would your dream room look like?"
And now, standing at the door, she knew.
Because when she opened it—
It was exactly what she'd always dreamed of.
Adeola stopped walking
"What if they don't like me?" she asked quietly.
Yayomi turned, her tone shifting to something softer.
" they will like you. You're family "
She took Adeola's hand and started walking again,
"Mummy homeschools us herself when she's not too busy. She gives us assignments and we self-study a lot. We'll all start regular school from senior secondary when we're about thirteen. For now, we learn at home, together. It's fun… most times."
Adeola nodded slowly. Her aunt had barely let her near books, and only shouted when she tried to ask questions. This sounded like a dream.
They passed a long hallway adorned with rich art—Yoruba royalty painted in golds, reds, and deep blues. The scent of fried plantains and scrambled eggs wafted from downstairs.
Voices floated up—girls laughing, someone singing off-key, the clinking of plates and cutlery.
Yayomi bounced ahead.
"Come onnnn, the table gets full really fast. And once Karayah starts talking, nobody else gets a word in."
Adeola followed, the weight in her chest slowly loosening.
Each step felt like entering a world she hadn't known existed. This house wasn't just beautiful—it was alive. The walls didn't just echo—they listened. The floor didn't just carry you—it welcomed you.
As they reached the staircase, Yayomi turned around and gestured dramatically.
"Welcome… to the Jungle."
The grand spiral staircase opened up into a massive living room. High ceilings. Crystal chandelier. A massive family portrait hung proudly above the central fireplace—twelve people smiling with abandon.
Adeola's eyes lingered on the photo.
Her uncle.
His wife.
The children, all unique and dazzling in their own way.
And now… somehow… she was part of this.
Downstairs, voices grew louder.
The girls—Mayeli and Oreofe—raced to the table.
One of the boys, demola, was arm-wrestling another brother, damola, who was clearly losing.
All heads turned.
Silence.
Then—
"Her hair is so cool."
"She looks like a Disney character."
"Can she braid it like that again?"
"Wait, is she the one Karayah fought at the party?"
Adeola froze, unsure how to react.
Then a voice came from the far end of the table.
"She didn't win, if that's what you're asking."
Karayah.
Now dressed in a sleek cotton set, her hair braided tightly back, gold hoops glinting in her ears. She didn't even look up from her toast as she spoke.
Yayomi raised an eyebrow and looked at Adeola.
"Like I said… she respects strong girls."
Karayah finally looked up, locking eyes with Adeola.
There was no venom in her gaze. No friendliness either.
But something simmered—acknowledgment.
Yayomi clapped once.
"Alright people. Adeola's part of this family now. Let her eat before you all interrogate her like journalists."
She pulled out a chair.
"Sit next to me"
Adeola slid into the seat. Warmth spread through her chest.
It wasn't over.
There would still be fights. Awkward moments. Adjustments.
But for the first time since her parents died, she wasn't alone.
She was home.