Chapter 7 The noise

By the third day in Chief Fredrick Mba's house, Cynthia-Rose understood something clearly-comfort did not mean privacy.

Everywhere she turned, someone was there. A maid dusting. drivers waiting, security men pretending not to listen. Even silence felt monitored.

The house was large, but it did not feel free.

She stood on the balcony outside her room that morning, staring at the Ikoyi skyline. Lagos looked beautiful from up there. Calm, rich, untouchable. Nothing like the noisy streets she grew up in.

Her phone buzzed again.

Blogs, gossip pages, old classmates. Even distant relatives who had never called before. Everyone suddenly cared.

She sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling.

Another blog had posted her picture.

"Young Beauty Snags Billionaire."

She hissed under her breath. "Snags ke?"

Another headline read:

"Love or Survival?"

"Inside Cynthia-Rose's Sudden Engagement."

"Age Is Just a Number. Or Is It?"

She dropped the phone on the bed and covered her face with both hands. "God" she whispered, "is this how it will be every day?"

A soft knock came at the door.

"Madam, breakfast is ready," the maid said politely.

Madam.

The word still felt like borrowed clothes, expensive, but not hers.

She dressed simply and went downstairs. Chief Fredrick Mba was already seated at the dining table, calm as always, reading a newspaper as if the world was not dissecting his personal life online.

He looked up when she entered. "Good morning."

"Is it?" she replied quietly.

He folded the newspaper neatly. "You've seen it."

"Yes."

He gestured for her to sit. "Eat first. Then panic later."

She almost laughed. "I'm not panicking."

"You're holding your breath," he corrected.

She sat down slowly. "They're calling me names."

"They'll get tired." He assured her.

"They're saying I trapped you." "Is that even possible?" She said.

He raised an eyebrow slightly. "That would be impressive."

She stared at him. "You're not angry?"

"At what?" he asked calmly. "The noise?"

She shook her head. "You don't understand."

He leaned back. "Then explain it to me."

She pushed her plate away. "When people talk about you, it's different, because you're used to it and powerful. But, when they talk about me, it sticks, it follows, it becomes my identity."

His expression shifted slightly, not dramatic, but thoughtful.

"That will only happen if you let it" he said.

"That's easy for you to say" she replied. "Your name is already established."

"And now so is yours," he said quietly.

She held his gaze. "At what cost?"

Silence sat between them.

Before he could respond, one of the house staff hurried into the room, looking unsettled.

"Sir, there are journalists outside the gate."

Cynthia-Rose froze.

"How many?" Fredrick asked calmly.

"About five cars."

She felt her stomach drop. "Five?"

Fredrick stood slowly. "It begins."

Her voice tightened. "What do you mean, begins?"

He adjusted his wristwatch. "Lagos is bored. We've given them entertainment."

"That's not funny" she said sharply.

He looked at her. "I'm not joking."

Her phone buzzed again. A live video notification.

She clicked it.

There she was, their gate, zoomed in. Reporters talking about "controversial union" and "power dynamics."

Her chest tightened.

"I didn't sign up for this" she whispered.

He stepped closer. "You signed up for me."

She looked up at him, eyes flashing. "And this is part of you?"

"Yes."

The honesty hit hard.

"I won't hide you" he continued. "And I won't hide from them."

"So what do we do?" she asked.

He extended his hand toward her. "We step outside."

Her eyes widened. "You want me to face them?"

"I want you beside me" he corrected.

Her heart was racing now. "What if they ask insulting questions?"

"They will."

"And you're calm about that?"

"No" he said quietly. "I'm prepared."

That difference unsettled her.

Outside, the noise was louder than she expected. Microphones raised, cameras flashing, voices overlapping.

"Chief! Is this marriage political?"

"Cynthia-Rose! Are you pregnant?"

"Was money involved?"

The questions felt like stones thrown at her face. Fredrick's hand rested lightly at the small of her back. He raised his hand slightly, and the noise reduced.

"I will speak" he said firmly. "This is my fiancée. We are getting married. There is no scandal, no transaction. It is a decision made by two adults."

A reporter turned to her. "Miss Cynthia, are you in love?"

Her throat went dry.

Fredrick did not answer for her.

For a brief second, she appreciated that.

She looked at the cameras, at the flashing lights, at the hungry eyes waiting for weakness.

"I am not a victim" she said clearly. "And I am not a product. I have made my choice."

Murmurs spread.

Another voice called out, "Did he pressure you?"

She swallowed. This was the moment. The question everyone wanted answered.

She felt Fredrick's presence beside her, solid and quiet.

"No" she said firmly. "Pressure is when you have no option. I had one."

It wasn't a full truth. But it wasn't a lie either.

After a few more questions, security guided them back inside.

The door closed, and silence returned.

Her knees felt weak.

She walked away from him and sat down heavily on the nearest chair.

"Is this my new normal?" she asked.

"Yes" he replied.

She looked up at him, frustration rising. "You're too calm. It's like nothing shakes you."

He paused before answering. "Everything shakes me. I just don't let it show."

She studied him carefully.

"For you, this is strategy" she said. "For me, it's reputation."

"And reputation" he replied, "can be rebuilt."

She stood suddenly. "Not for women. Not in this city."

That hit differently.

He didn't argue.

Instead, he said quietly, "Then we will build it stronger."

We.

The word lingered in the air.

She looked at him long and hard. "You say we like this is partnership."

"It is."

"Then stop protecting me like I'm fragile" she said. "Tell me everything. No half-truths."

His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in assessment.

"You want the full weight of my world?" he asked.

"Yes."

He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"Be careful what you ask for."

A chill ran down her spine. Because for the first time since saying yes, she realized something deeper.

The media noise outside was not the real danger. The real danger was understanding exactly who she had agreed to stand beside.

And whether she was ready for it.