Novels by Awoyode Dolapo

The hallway to the master bedroom had never felt longer. Or narrower. Or more dangerous.Because Adrian kept walking beside me, close enough that our arms brushed every few steps and every brush sent tiny sparks dancing up my spine.When we finally reached the room, we were greeted by…Chaos.Beautiful, expensive chaos.Ten tall boxes stacked like fashion skyscrapers.Adrian stared at them, deadpan.“This looks like you’re preparing to flee the country.”I crossed my arms. “It’s just clothes.”“That,” he said, pointing, “is not ‘just’ anything. That is a textile takeover.”I huffed. “Then don’t help.”He ignored that — of course — and peeled off his watch, setting it on the nightstand like he was preparing for battle.“Where do we start?” he asked.I blinked. “Seriously?”He looked at me, amused. “I said I would help. I’m many things, Elena, but I’m not unreliable.”Why did my heart melt at that?Embarrassing.Unpacking Begins… BadlyAdrian sliced open the first box with a precision

The morning after the gala felt strangely calmer, like an ending of the whirlwind of emotions it had witnessed. Or maybe I was the one trying to pretend everything was fine. Downstairs, the staff moved about quietly. Mrs. Patel, the head housekeeper gave me a warm smile as she placed fresh flowers in a vase. “Good morning, ma’am. I made your favorite tea,” she said. “You guessed right,” I smiled, even though I barely knew what my favorite tea was these days. “Where’s Adrian?” “In the gym, I believe,” she said. “He’s been in there since dawn.” Of course he had. I thanked her and headed toward the private gym. I had no intention of going inside, just passing the hallway but fate, apparently, had a sense of humor. Because the second I reached the door, it opened… And Adrian stepped out. Sweaty. Shirt half unzipped, his hair was slightly damp and his breathing in that controlled, annoyingly sexy way men who don’t struggle during workouts do. He froze. I froze. We stared at e

The house was quiet when we returned , that kind of heavy, deliberate quiet that presses against your skin. Even the walls felt like they were waiting for something to break the silence.Adrian didn’t say a word. He just slipped off his cufflinks, murmured something about work, and disappeared into his study the moment we walked through the door.I told myself I didn’t care.Then I spent the next twenty minutes pacing the living room, pretending to scroll through my phone while my mind replayed the night on loop.The gala had left me wired, too much polite smiling, too many whispered speculations about the “new Mrs. Kingsley,” and then, as if the universe hadn’t mocked me enough, Noah appearing like a ghost from a chapter I’d long since closed.But mostly… it was Adrian.The way his hand had found the small of my back naturally, cameras flashed. The way his expression shifted when I’d said Mrs. Kingsley like the word had done something to him too.I finally gave up pretending to be

If someone had told me a month ago that I’d be standing in front of a mirror trying to look like a billionaire’s wife, I’d have laughed bitterly. But here I was, smoothing down the emerald silk of a gown that probably cost more than my old apartment lease. The woman staring back at me didn’t feel like me.She had diamonds at her throat, soft curls pinned to perfection, and a practiced calm that didn’t match the noise in my chest. “Stop fidgeting.” Adrian’s voice came from behind me smoothly, low and precise as always. I met his gaze in the mirror. He looked infuriatingly composed in a tailored black tuxedo, a silver watch glinting beneath his cuff. His presence filled the room, steady and deliberate, while I fought the urge to trip over my own confidence.“I’m not fidgeting,” I said, still pretending to adjust my necklace. He came closer, and I could feel his gaze before I saw him in the mirror.“You’ve adjusted that necklace three times in the last two minutes.” “Maybe it’s

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about marriage, real or otherwise, it’s that silence isn’t peace.It’s just the sound before the storm.And that morning, the storm had finally arrived.It started small, It always does.The newspaper across the dining table, a glossy spread about the “Kingsley Gala,” with a photo of Adrian don in in a black tuxedo beside some elegant brunette in a silver gown. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her smile polished to perfection.I stared at the picture too long, trying to convince myself it didn’t matter.It was old, obviously. Probably business, probably nothing.But “probably” wasn’t enough.When Adrian walked into the kitchen, crisp in a charcoal suit, phone to his ear, I was already halfway through my coffee and halfway through my patience.He ended the call, setting the phone down. “Morning.”“Morning,” I said coolly.He looked up, already sensing something “What’s wrong?”“Nothing,” I said, flipping a page that I wasn’t even reading. “Just

If someone had told me that the quietest mornings could be the most dangerous, I would’ve laughed. But that was before Adrian started making coffee. There’s something almost domestic — sinful about watching a man like him do something ordinary. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing the faint lines of veins on his forearm. Even the espresso machine seemed to whisper around him. I leaned against the counter, pretending not to stare.I was definitely staring. He didn’t look up, but his voice was smooth, amused. “You know, you don’t have to lurk there like a spy.” “I’m not lurking,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m… observing.” “Observing,” said, pouring the coffee into two mugs. “That sounds serious.”“It is. Not everyone gets to see the elusive Mr. Kingsley making coffee. It’s practically a sighting.” He slid one mug toward me without looking up.. “Careful, Mrs. Kingsley. You make it sound like I’m an endangered species.” “Maybe you are,” I said, taking a sip. The c