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Sporax Media, the anonymous gossip site that broke the news, had also continued shooting from all cylinders, increasing his horror.

“ ...Sources claim they got married in the States right after his graduation from Baze University…

…For those asking for proof, let Timi Lawson deny it first. Then, we will show him nothing is hidden under the sun…

…We have no problem with him, we just want him to stop using innocent girls as his beards… ”

Unbothered_chic: I’ve always known there’s something so strange about his looks. How can a man look like a man and a woman? Choose a side.

TundeGraphics: @unbothered_chic. He has and his ass is already suffering from it.

Unbothered_chic: But this his fake father's looks is giving bottom energy.

TundeGraphics: lwkm.

TheGhost: #Smh . @tundegraphics. Shey you know not every gay guy likes it in the ass, and some straight guys love their girlfriends pegging their ass.

TundeGraphics: GAY ALERT! Their people don show o. Oga get off my page, I fit kill you o.

TheGhost: Smh. Ignorant monkey. I dey my house. Idiot.

Godwin46: See as the sugar daddy be. Sperm don dry am finish. Ugly mofo.

ChikaIgwe: so Timi Lawson is truly gay. kai! My chest.

Azeez: Maybe that's why he became a doctor. If his yansh tear, e go sew am. @PoliceNG market don land o. Free dem boys and do your job.

Singlessexcorner69: All Timi Lawson's movies cancelled. Molester father cancelled. Gays cancelled. I sell affordable sex toys. DM for price.

Demidun: Eyan gays. Keep gaying o. Until God strike you dead like the faggot doctor. The Timi guy hans sha. No homo. Any sex tape? Just asking.

NaijaDuke: Dr Lawson? More like Dr Lawlessson. People be covering evil with philanthropy .

This time around, he only got as far as the visitor's toilet in his home before expunging his empty guts into the toilet bowl. From the semi-ajar door, he heard Nejeere's screams.

“WHO GAVE HIM A PHONE? DIDN'T I WARN YOU TO KEEP HIM OFF IT?”

He slumped against the white tiles, a burning weight clamping on his chest, unrelenting nausea churning his belly, tongue desperately seeking the taste of his Belvedere Vodka, and body in need of the softness of the silver plush carpet in his bedroom.

After returning from the airport, he'd spent the night on it, drinking and staring at the storm-cloud ceiling, before sinking into thick darkness.

Even now, he could still see that thin thread of light guiding him towards Uncle Jude's smiling face and soft voice.

You couldn't have known. It's not your fault.

Fresh citrus hit his nostrils, then hands were on him, dragging him up.

He thought of resisting, but the smell of his alcohol-heavy sick had begun choking him, and he didn't trust his legs.

The solidity of the arms around him lulled him, and he leaned into the body all the way back to his library where Ebun waited with his kits, and his eccentric bowler hat and upside-down falcon tattoo on his arm.

Few minutes later, soft bristles of brushes resumed crawling over his face.

Led lights surrounded him, his pores bared and defenceless against Ebun's concealers.

Voices and people swam around him, urgent and decisive, spurred by Nejeere who spun in and out of his periphery like a confused mesocyclone.

At intervals, her voice reverberated around the walls .

“I TOLD YOU IT’S A LIE, BOLU. ALL LIES. DO YOUR JOB FOR ONCE IN YOUR... HELLO? HELLO?”

Someone handed him his favourite breath mints, and he glanced up to find a familiar face frowning at him.

Charles. His friend…kind of—if hazy moments of twin drinking, partying and conversations about money counted as friendship.

He'd been on a week-long official trip, and coming to visit right after, all dolled up in a three-piece grey suit, wasn't his style.

His career as a financial analyst meant more to him than his life and pursuing an exclusive contract with Buck Group meant relinquishing control over his time.

Though, somehow, he always created time for favourite activities.

Drinking, ogling Nejeere, and guiding Timi to financial freedom.

When Timi decided to sell the shares he'd persuaded him to invest in Buck, he stared at him, then muttered, “There's unbelievably stupid. Then, there's you.” Before flipping a chair over.

“Wow, thanks. 'Preciate,” Timi had replied.

“You've been on a rampage. Selling off shares and what not. Is it your aim to become tragically poor?” He gasped out the last word like poverty was the same as being decapitated with a blunt axe.

To Charles, who had grown up in Magodo slum, it probably was.

In fact, it had been the foundation of their connection.

A mutual adulation for the good life. He couldn't understand how Timi had lost it.

“You'd understand soon enough,” Timi muttered. He'd later thrown a party to calm agitated spirits.

Timi didn't think he would see him again. He was sure he would never see any of this again.

“You're back,” he said.

“Fuck, man,” Charles exhaled. “Couldn't they have at least paired me with you? I've been told I have a perky ass.”

Yeah. Charles was also as idiotic as they came, but Timi felt a calm descending.

He cracked on a mint. “Did you leave your precious Buck to come advertise your ass? ”

Charles snorted. “You know the only reason I'm here. Gotta watch her go at it. How can one's beauty be tied to another's misfortune?”

At his wistful tone, Timi followed his gaze to a ranting Nejeere on the phone.

Charles stared at her like he did his tableaus and performance reports.

As if somewhere between her prominent forehead and small nose was a curve that would land him his greatest profit.

And seeing something so normal and familiar in this dark world he'd been thrust into, gave him a rope to cling to.

Nejeere materialised beside Ebun. “His eyes,” she said, “is there anything like an eye drop or concealer to hide the bloodshot?”

Ebun tapped his lips with a brush. “I mean, I could give him the grey contacts I have here. But it'll make him look like a hungover Monalisa Chinda with an Adam's apple. Maybe glasses?”

“Shit,” she swore, a sign she was nearing punching someone in the face.

“Relax, Nej,” Charles said.

Nejeere rounded on the tall, full-bearded man. “One more of that, and I'll show you relaxed.”

Charles caught Timi's eyes and winked. “See, sexy,” he mouthed.

Nejeere peered at Timi over her glasses. “Why do you have to look like what a whale vomited, ehn? Today that we need you clean and sharp.”

“Do better, Nej,” Charles said. “A whale's throat is too small to swallow a human.”

“Shut up, Jonah,” Nejeere snapped. “If you're not going to be of any help, can you just scram?”

Nausea churned within Timi. What could he say to make a difference?

Okay, fine. He knew the step to take, and it was the knowledge that had his insides all mangled.

What he needed to do was look into the camera, hold up some documents and say, “Thirteen years ago, in a small town, a sick boy met a man. His name was Dr Jude Lawson. He gave the sick, empty shell of a boy his name in the last bid to restore his humanity. That boy was Timi Lawson.”

But could he guarantee what direction the worms crawling out of the rusty can would take? If Nejeere knew the full story, would she still think the plan was the best ?

“Done,” Ebun said from above him. He patted Timi's shoulder. “Good luck, man. Your father doesn't deserve this. I'd have called out those motherfuckers if it wouldn't make matters worse.”

Timi nodded. “Thanks for coming.”

From across the pocket doors ahead of him, the sound and light guys from Timson set up their equipment. While Ify, with her heavy folder of questions, rehearsed lines. Everyone, waiting for him to reassure them he hadn't had to grope Uncle Jude's privates to benefit from his greatness.

“I'll be heading out too,” Charles said as Nejeere guided Timi to his feet.

“How were you able to leave work?” Timi asked.

“I just upped and left. Been preparing for some major projects, they need me.”

“Thanks, man.”

Charles stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head.

“Are they so fucking blind? Joy is still after my ass to arrange some boot—” His mouth snapped shut, eyes resting on Nejeere, who had one hand gripping Timi's upper arm and the other scrolling through her phone.

“Look, man. I can't say I know how you feel, since this has to do with Uncle and all, but I trust you.

You gat this. And you've got my girl here.”

“Who's your girl?” Nejeere snipped, tucking her phone into her trouser pocket and propelling Timi forward.

Charles began heading for the pocket doors ahead. “Bye, guys. It will all be over soon.”

His library—a large area of tall picture windows, little pots of Asparagus fern and weeping figs, and polished mahogany shelves containing books, half of which were still unread—was choked up with too many people.

In one day, the privacy he'd guarded jealously for years, had become space for muddied feet.

Two polyester cushioned chairs faced each other in the centre of the room.

Ify smiled at him from one as he plonked into the other.

She looked prim as always. Her braids packed in a high bun and a hibiscus brooch attached to her cream silk blouse.

He sniffed himself. Despite sinking earlier into a scalding bath of Pink Himalayan salt, Lavender essential oil, body milk, other weird products his aesthetician recommended, and imagining it as a symbolic flaying of his reality, he was still inebriated and smelled of spirits.

Barely a day after his return, and it was as though he never left.