Chapter 68 — The Instinct That Would Not Sleep
The reception room eventually emptied.
Not peacefully.
Not comfortably.
But slowly… carefully… like people stepping around shattered glass while pretending not to notice the cracks beneath their feet.
The women left first.
Mrs. Collins guided Rihannat out quietly while Faridat and Rayyan followed closely behind her. Even then, Rihannat could still feel the heaviness lingering behind her back.
The disappointment.
The suspicion.
The things left unsaid.
Especially from Mr. Abbas.
And somehow— That unsettled her more than his anger.
Because anger was loud.
But instinct?
Instinct waited.
Instinct watched.
Instinct remembered things people tried to bury.
—
Downstairs, the grand hall still glowed beautifully beneath golden chandeliers.
Nothing looked wrong.
A violinist continued playing softly near the center platform while guests laughed over expensive drinks and polished conversations. Servers moved elegantly between tables carrying silver trays.
To outsiders—
The Collins celebration remained perfect.
But inside the private corners of the hall…
Tension moved silently between families.
Basit stood near one of the far pillars quietly loosening the collar around his neck. His head still ached from everything revealed upstairs.
Farouq walked toward him first.
"You alive?"
Basit exhaled softly. "Barely."
Farouq leaned beside him dramatically. "Wonderful evening honestly. Ten out of ten." Basit nearly smiled despite himself.
Farouq lowered his voice afterward. "…You okay?"
That question carried genuine concern now.
Not teasing.
Not jokes.
Basit glanced toward the staircase briefly where the others had disappeared earlier.
"I don't know yet."
Farouq nodded slowly.
For once— He understood completely.
Before either could continue—
Qazeem approached quietly.
His expression remained calm as usual.
Too calm.
Which somehow worried Farouq more.
"There you both are," Qazeem said softly.
Farouq narrowed his eyes immediately. "That tone means you discovered something disturbing."
Qazeem ignored him.
His attention settled on Basit instead.
"Your father left."
Basit frowned slightly. "Left where?"
"He said he needed air."
Farouq blinked. "At a party?"
Qazeem's gaze darkened faintly. "He did not look calm."
That immediately erased the remaining humor from the conversation.
Because everyone knew what that meant.
Mr. Abbas Abdullah was many things.
Proud.
Intelligent.
Protective.
Once suspicion entered his mind—
He rarely let go until he uncovered every hidden layer beneath it.
Basit straightened immediately.
"Where's my mother?"
"With Mrs. Collins."
Basit nodded once before walking away quickly.
Qazeem watched him disappear into the crowd before speaking quietly.
"He's thinking --basit father. "
Farouq folded his arms. "That's normal."
"No," Qazeem replied softly. "He's investigating, his mind calculating.."
That sentence settled heavily.
Because both of them knew exactly what it meant.
Mr. Abbas had accepted the explanation publicly.
But privately?
Not fully.
Not completely.
He's still furious and feeling betrayed.
And Qazeem had noticed it first.
That brief hesitation earlier upstairs…
Also the moment Mr. Mustopha mentioned the kidnapping.
Something changed in Mr. Abbas's expression then.
Something sharp.
Like a memory reconnecting itself.
Farouq rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Please tell me tonight cannot become worse."
Unfortunately—
Fate heard him.
—
Outside the mansion…
The cold night breeze moved through the long rows of expensive vehicles parked beneath glowing lanterns.
Mr. Abbas stood alone near the edge of the fountain courtyard.
Silent.
Thinking.
His phone rested in his hand untouched.
His jaw remained tight.
Because no matter how many times he replayed the conversation upstairs—
One thing refused to settle properly in his mind.
Mr. Mustopha's lies. The major reason he refused to inform him was for his son sake.
He hope one of son could have Rihannat heart and gain her parents love and trust.
Mr. Mustopha had spoken too carefully.
Too perfectly.
Like a man who rehearsed truth while deliberately avoiding certain details.
And Abbas Abdullah hated it all.
Yes, he accepted the second reason which was genuine, knowing the girl could be in danger. It well enough to keep a tight leash on the information but to keep it from him felt like a joke.
He won't even tell him about it when he was the one who trusted Mustopha with it first.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then suddenly—
Footsteps approached behind him.
He did not turn immediately.
"Following me now?"
The voice that answered remained calm.
"No."
Mr. Mustopha stepped beside him slowly. "But I knew you would not leave quietly. Collins is more dear to you than you anger."
For several seconds—
Neither man spoke.
The fountain water echoed softly between them.
Then Mr. Abbas finally turned.
"You said you protected her."
"I did."
"You said you feared the wrong people reaching her first. So, am I included?
"Yes for your first question and no, you are not included. ."
Mr. Abbas studied him carefully.
"And yet…"
His voice lowered.
"…you never explained how you found her."
"She is my goddaughter and folakemi's friend."
"My two sons are also interested in her. Though the little brother had let go for his senior, Qazeem."
"Why didn't you tell them that?"
"They already know she's my goddaughter and folakemi's friend."
"And a prospective future daughter inlaw?"
No, that's not concluded yet so why the rush?"
"Oh, I thought you have already decided that?!"
Abbas, I'm sorry.
Yes, I might have sounded and acted selfishly for my son sake before..., but after some more diggings and further investigations, I....
Silence.
Mr. Abbas noticed instantly.
And the instinct inside him sharpened violently.
"There it is," he murmured quietly.
Mr. Mustopha's expression hardened slightly. "You are overthinking this."
"No." Mr. Abbas stepped closer. "I think you are hiding something bigger."
"That is enough."
"Is it?"
The tension between them rose instantly.
Mr. Mustopha's voice became colder. "The girl is safe. That should matter most."
"But it does not answer my question."
"She was found. End of story."
"No," Mr. Abbas replied sharply. "That is the beginning."
His eyes darkened.
"My instincts never fails me."
"Who found her first?"
Mr. Mustopha said nothing.
"And why," Abbas continued slowly, "…do I suddenly feel like there is more to this than you are saying?"
That sentence sliced through the air.
Mr. Mustopha finally looked at him properly then.
And for the first time tonight—
Something dangerous flickered behind his composure.
Not anger.
Fear.
Tiny.
Brief.
But unmistakable.
Mr. Abbas saw it.
And once he saw it—
Everything inside him shifted.
Because men like Mustopha did not fear ordinary secrets.
Which meant whatever remained hidden…
Was far worse than anybody upstairs realized.
—
Unaware of the storm building outside—
Rihannat stood alone near one of the quieter balconies upstairs.
The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the estate.
Beautiful.
Distant.
Cold.
Her chest still felt tight from the confrontation earlier.
Too many revelations.
Too many emotions.
Too many people discussing her life like pieces of a puzzle she herself barely understood.
"You disappeared."
She turned slightly.
Basit stood near the doorway.
His expression looked exhausted now.
But soft when looking at her.
Rihannat attempted a small smile. "So did you."
"That's fair."
Silence settled briefly between them.
Not awkward.
Just heavy.
Then Basit spoke quietly.
"I meant what I said upstairs."
Her eyes lifted toward him.
"I don't hate him for protecting you."
Something emotional flickered across her face.
"But your father does."
Basit leaned lightly against the balcony rail. "My father hates secrets and betrayal."
"And now?"
His gaze remained on her.
"Now I think he believes there are more."
Rihannat's fingers tightened unconsciously around the balcony edge.
Because the terrifying part was—
She felt it too.
A strange unease had followed her ever since the conversation ended.
Like something hidden beneath the surface had briefly moved…
Then gone still again.
Basit noticed her expression immediately.
"What is it?"
Rihannat hesitated.
Then whispered softly—
"…I think everyone knows something except me."
That sentence lingered painfully between them.
And neither realized—
From the darkened corridor nearby…
Segun watched quietly.
Smiling.
Because finally—
The fractures had begun opening exactly where he needed them to.
And once trust starts cracking—
Sometimes all it takes…
Is one final push.
******
When truth becomes heavy on the tongue, what should we do?
When it can endanger our loved ones, unravel lots of things that is more than us, what do we do??
What happens when we realised truth has becomes a burden, endangers the lovely relationship we've built for years. When all we do is to protect and shoulder the burden alone???
I need a honest answer.
@OlukoyaZainab