As I descended the stairs, the hum of laughter and music faded for a moment—just long enough for heads to turn.
I wasn't used to this kind of attention.
The soft wine-colored gown the stylist picked hugged me modestly, yet beautifully. My hair framed my face like something out of a magazine cover, and even the simple touch of gloss on my lips made me feel... different. Regal, almost.
Someone near the dessert table whistled lightly. "Ah, ah! Who is this fine lady descending like Queen Esther from the palace steps?"
The living room erupted in laughter, and I nearly turned back out of pure embarrassment.
"Patience ooo," Uncle Tunde said, pointing at me with a grin, "if you don't have a husband yet, better tell us today. We must adopt you into this family by fire and by force!"
More laughter followed, and I tried to laugh along, but my cheeks were already warm.
That's when I saw him.
Chris.
Standing near the front door in a pale blue kaftan, clean-shaven and smiling like he owned the day. I hadn't even noticed when he arrived. He stepped forward, nodding to the aunties who were still teasing me.
"You look... wow," he whispered when he got close. "You stole the show."
I offered a small smile, trying to hold onto the warmth around me. But there was a flutter in my chest—not the butterflies kind. The uncertain kind.
As if she had rehearsed it, Mum appeared beside us, her smile wide and glowing with pride. "Chris," she said, looping her arm through his. "My daughter's first love."
Chris chuckled awkwardly, giving me a sideways glance. I gave Mum a tight smile, praying she wouldn't say more.
We took a few pictures together—me, Chris, Mum, and Dad. Then the twins jumped into the frame, demanding a royal sibling photo.
The photographer clicked away, repositioning us, adjusting the light. My feet were already starting to hurt, but I didn't mind. Seeing Peace and Patrick beam in their glittery outfits and matching crowns made everything worth it.
The music floated gently from the speakers—classic Nigerian gospel tunes mixed with children's songs and light pop. The adults gathered in twos and threes, laughing over chin-chin and zobo. Someone argued about politics in the corner. Grandma was giving marriage advice to two cousins who were barely out of university.
Children squealed and ran around the giant inflatable bouncing castle in the compound. Balloons floated into the sky. The smell of jollof rice, grilled chicken, and small chops drifted through the open windows.
For a moment, everything felt whole. Ordinary. Safe.
Then the microphone squealed, and a deep, cheerful voice echoed through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, mummies and daddies, boys and girls—MC Mic is in the building!"
Cheers and applause followed.
The man himself bounced up onto the stage in a black agbada with gold embroidery and sunglasses way too big for indoor use. He bowed dramatically. "On behalf of the Adeyemi's, welcome to the royal birthday bash of our royal twins—Prince Patrick and Princess Peace!"
The crowd roared.
I clapped with the others, smiling at the joy around me. But deep down, I still couldn't shake the strange unease that had quietly taken root in my heart since this morning.
It was like a soft whisper…
Something was coming.
And no matter how perfect today looked on the outside, a shift was already stirring beneath it all.