Chapter 1: Contract Without Love

I dey inside marriage wey just dey for paper—na contract we sign, but nothing real dey—me and this succubus CEO, three years now.

Sometimes, as I dey sit for parlour dey watch football with no sound, breeze from the ceiling fan dey blow divorce papers wey dey corner, I go ask myself, "Shey na so life suppose be?" Even the TV remote no dey answer me again—na only silence and fan dey my side. Na just three years wey I dey count like prisoner for Kirikiri. My people for village don dey ask when dem go see grandpikin, but me and Ifeoma dey move like say we be two strangers wey jam for fuel queue.

The day wey I talk say I wan divorce, she just agree like say e no concern am at all. But na that time, comments just begin flash for her head like subtitle:

[Omo, this babe na real wahala o! All those chains for basement, na who she wan use am on?]

[Guy, once you finish to sign, na for the woman wey you hate pass you go wake up.]

[Ah, captivity arc don land! This level of hate dey sweet me. Succubus get big appetite, abeg, make the guy knack die for all the wahala wey e cause...]

[Sigh, you no sabi anything, my guy. If to say you show that other babe small love, this one for dey worship you like mumu dog. But as you no gree, na so e turn wahala...]

E be like say even when person think say e dey control e own destiny, na outside people dey write script for am. Na the kind wahala wey you no go see for NTA soap opera.

My hand dey shake as I dey sign, dey look the woman wey no show any emotion for face.

Even as my heart dey pound like generator wey no get fuel, I try compose myself. My palm dey sweaty, pen dey slip for hand. Ifeoma just dey look me like say I be small boy wey chop forbidden meat.

"Erm, make we no divorce again, abeg."

As the words waka comot my mouth, my chest just dey heavy. Na so person dey talk something wey fit change e own life. I dey expect thunder, but na just silence.