Timmy_Omoluabi_

My Father In-law Sends Me Money Not To Touch His Daughter At Night

Chapter 1: The Unspoken Agreement

I never married Chiamaka for her family's wealth. I'm not that kind of man. Despite my modest means, I have pride. My name is Ifeanyi, and I'm thirty-two years old. I hail from Enugu, where we learned to face hardships head-on. Growing up, I fixed generators and air conditioners, and by twenty-five, I had established my own small company in Lagos. It wasn't a big operation – just two employees and a single keke for transporting tools – but I was managing.

That's when I met Chiamaka. She came to service her air conditioner, and I was smitten. She was sharp, with a soft voice and an air of quiet confidence that hinted at her wealth without flaunting it. I didn't know her father's background until three months into our relationship. By then, I was already deeply invested.

The first time I visited their mansion on Banana Island, I felt like I'd entered a different world. The atmosphere was cold and quiet, with an air of sterility reminiscent of a hospital. Her father barely spoke, his gaze piercing as if trying to read my entire life story. Her mother, on the other hand, smiled excessively, addressing me as "young man" in a tone that made me feel like an applicant for a domestic job.

Our wedding was a low-key affair, attended only by close family and a few influential guests. After the ceremony, they moved us into a luxurious flat in Lekki, already furnished and paid for five years in advance. I didn't protest, though I felt a pang of emasculation.

The first night after the wedding, Chiamaka turned away from me, facing the wall without a word. I thought perhaps she was shy or nervous, so I respected her space. The second night was the same, and on the third, when I gently reached for her, her body stiffened. "Don't," she whispered without turning. I pulled back, and we lay awake in silence until morning.
It was then that I received a credit alert on my phone – ten million naira from Chief Nwachukwu, Chiamaka's father. The message read: "For your silence and discipline. Don't ask questions. Don't touch her." I stared at the screen, wondering if this was some kind of test or arrangement. I glanced at Chiamaka, who was still sleeping peacefully, her demeanor distant but not unusual.

A part of me wanted to confront her father, to ask what was going on, but something held me back. A cold, unsettling feeling that whispered, "Leave it alone." It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes about the unspoken truths in their world.

Deep down, I knew this wasn't an ordinary marriage, and I had already crossed a threshold from which there was no clean exit.

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