Billionaire PRETENDS To Be A Poor Farmer To Find A Wife
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The Billionaire Who Became John: A Story of Love, Truth, and Second Chances
Chapter 1: The Gilded Cage
Nathan Reed had everything people prayed for. At just 30, he was already one of the richest men in the country. His father had built Reed Holdings into a giant—hotels, estates, malls, factories, and big blocks of land in different states. When his father died, all of it fell on him.
On paper, his life was perfect. He lived in a Lagos penthouse on the island. The penthouse had glass walls. One side looked over the lagoon. Far away, the Third Mainland Bridge stretched long, like a silver snake. At night, the whole city shone. Cars moved like small red and white ants. To many people, that view was a dream. To Nathan, it had started to feel like a cage made of glass.
He had cars that made people turn on the road. He had drivers, chefs, security, assistants. People rushed to open doors for him, to pull chairs, to carry his files. In boardrooms, men much older than him called him sir. Magazines called him the golden son, the young lion of Lagos, the billionaire prince.
But inside, Nathan was tired. Very tired.
That night, he came back from another big event at a hotel his company partly owned. It was full of influencers, big boys, society babes, music that was too loud, and laughter that did not reach anybody’s eyes. He threw his jacket on the couch and walked straight to the balcony with a glass of wine in his hand. The cold air hit his face. Down below, real life was moving. A danfo struggled through traffic. A woman balanced a bucket on her head and held a small child with her other hand. Two boys were walking and sharing one earphone, nodding their heads to a song only they could hear.
His date for the night had been one of those Instagram models with millions of followers. Long hair, body-hugging dress. Everybody stared when she entered the room with him. She laughed at his jokes, touched his arm at the right time, leaned in as if she cared about his words. “Nathan,” she had whispered, “you know, I have this business idea. If you can just support me with 300 million now, we can take over the whole market.” He had stopped listening after that. He was not surprised. He was just tired. Every time it was like that—some business idea, some small support, some little help that was never little. Nobody asked, “Are you happy?” Nobody asked if he slept well. Nobody asked if his heart was okay.
Now, standing on the balcony, he sipped the wine. Even the taste felt like nothing. Inside the house, the lights were warm and perfect. The furniture was expensive. The air smelled like a mix of perfume and new leather. Still, the place felt empty.
His phone vibrated on the table. He did not rush to check it, but the screen lit up anyway. It was a message from Laval, his strategy director.
“Boss, the board is asking again about those village lands on our books. Marcus says we should stop wasting them. Admi Mining is ready to move. We can sign the deal and start clearing the bush this year.”
Nathan stared at the message for a few seconds. Those village lands were just lines on his company asset list. Old concessions, old deals from his father’s time. He had not really paid attention to any specific one.
He typed a short reply:
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
He dropped the phone again. His mind was far. He leaned on the balcony rail and looked down at the road. He saw a young guy in simple clothes holding his girlfriend’s nylon bag. The girl was laughing at something he said. They looked like they did not own much, but they looked full. Nathan felt a strange pain in his chest. “I can buy anything,” he thought. “But I cannot buy that look in her eyes.”
He remembered something his father once told him in a hospital room. His father had been lying there, tubes and wires everywhere, but his voice was still firm.
“Nathan,” he said, “money is a tool, not a god. Money with peace is blessing. Money without peace is punishment. Don’t let this company become a curse on your head.”
At that time, Nathan thought he understood. Now, looking at all he had and how empty he felt, he knew he had not understood anything.
Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back. “I just want one person,” he whispered into the night. “Just one person who would love me if I had nothing.”
The city shone back at him, but it did not answer.
Chapter 2: Seeds of Change
The next day at the office, his body was there, but his mind was tired. In the boardroom, numbers danced on the screen—charts, graphs, forecasts. Marcus Adi, one of the board members, was talking with energy.
“If we release those unused rural lands,” Marcus was saying, “we can sign with Ady Mining and triple returns in two years. We are sitting on gold and we are crying that profit is slow. Let’s be serious, gentlemen.”
Some of the others nodded. Nathan looked at the slide. On one line, his eyes caught a name: Aura Land Block C7. Aura.
He had seen that name before—years ago when his father pointed at some document and said, “Old concession somewhere in the bush. We’ll figure it out later.” It had never felt urgent. Now Marcus was calling it unused asset.
“Nathan,” Marcus said, “young man, say something. You know we need something bold this year. The market is tight.”
Everyone turned to him. Nathan cleared his throat.
“We will not rush,” he said quietly. “Those lands have people on them. They are not just bush. I want a full report before I sign anything.”
Marcus frowned. “People,” he said. “Those small villages. We’ll relocate them. Pay them something. They’ll be fine. Development must come.”
“It will not come today,” Nathan replied. “Meeting adjourned.”
He stood and walked out before they could argue.
In his office, the glass walls looked over the same city. He felt trapped again. He saw his reflection in the glass—perfect suit, perfect tie, dead eyes.
He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he saw one name that still felt real: Tunde. Back then, Tunde only knew him as Nathan, a smart guy whose father had a business, not as billionaire prince. Tunde now worked with him in Reed Holdings, but their friendship was older than any company.
Nathan typed, “You home tonight?”
The reply came fast.
“Yes. Amelia cooked. Come and eat real food. You sound like somebody who needs soup.”
Nathan smiled despite himself.
“I will come.”
Chapter 3: Real Food, Real People
7 p.m. Tunde’s house was on the mainland, in a calm estate. Not poor, not loud, just simple. Nathan drove himself. No driver, no convoy. He parked, stepped out, and the first thing he smelled was stew. Real stew, not plated, decorated, fine dining stew.
A small boy opened the door before he could knock.
“Uncle Nate!” the boy shouted and jumped on him. Nathan laughed and carried him.
“You want to break my back?” he asked.
Tunde came out behind the boy, grinning.
“My guy,” he said and hugged Nathan. “Welcome. You look finished.”
“Thank you,” Nathan said dryly. “Good evening to you, too.”
The house was warm. The wall had family pictures. The TV was showing a cartoon with low volume. The sofa had a small stain where juice had once been poured. It felt like real life, not like a showroom.
Amelia, Tunde’s wife, came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel.
“Nathan,” she said smiling. “See your face? You don’t sleep again.”
“I try,” he said.
“You are not trying well,” she replied. “Sit. Food is almost ready.”
Dinner was rice, stew, and fried plantain. They prayed a short prayer. No long big grammar. “Father, thank you for food. Thank you for work. Keep us. Amen.”
Nathan ate and felt his body relax. He did not know if it was the hot pepper or the peace in the room, but something inside him loosened.
After dinner, the children dragged him to the balcony to show him something. They had small plastic buckets and old paint containers lined up in a row. Inside each, a plant was growing—a tomato plant here, small pepper plant there, a stick of spring onion.
“We are doing garden,” the little girl said proudly. “Mommy says plants tell the truth.”
Nathan bent to look.
“They are small,” he said.
“They will grow,” Amelia said from behind them. “If we keep watering. Plants are honest. If you care for them, they grow. If you ignore them, they die. No lie can help you.”
Her words stayed in his head.
Later, when the children slept, Nathan sat with Tunde and Amelia in the sitting room. The fan above them turned slowly.
“So talk,” Tunde said. “What is holding your neck like this?”
Nathan was quiet for a moment. Then the words came. He told them about the empty dates like the one yesterday. The way ladies smiled with their lips but counted his money with their eyes. The way he looked around his penthouse and felt like a stranger inside his own life. He told them about the board, Marcus, and the pressure to sign away the village lands like Aura for mining. He ended with a sigh.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I look at this life and ask myself, is this all?”
Tunde and Amelia listened without interrupting. When he finished, Amelia spoke first.
“You said Aura,” she asked.
“Yes,” Nathan said. “You know it?”
She nodded slowly. “My mother is from there. We used to go when I was small. Long dusty road, big mango trees, a river that bends like this.” She traced a curve in the air. “People there may not have much money, but they have each other. They will share last plate with neighbor.”
Nathan sat up. So Aura was not just a file, not just a line in an asset register. It was somebody’s home.
Amelia looked at him. “When you people in the city talk about rural land,” she said softly, “you talk as if the land is empty. But every place you call empty has children running on it. Has old people resting. Has graves behind small houses. When you push pen on paper, real lives move.”
Her words cut him. He looked at his hands. “These hands that sign,” he thought. “What have they really done?”
Tunde shifted forward on the sofa.
“Maybe that is your problem, Nate,” he said. “You see numbers all day. You need to see people again. Real faces, real sweat.”
“So what do I do?” Nathan asked. “Carry my whole board to Aura and tell them to weed farm?”
Tunde chuckled.
“Before board, start with yourself.”
Amelia nodded.
“You said you want someone that will love you if you had nothing,” she said. “Then go somewhere where nothing is normal, where nobody cares if you own 10 hotels or 10 shirts.”
Nathan frowned. “You want me to go and live in a village?”
“Do you have another plan?” Amelia asked calmly.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The thought scared him, but it also pulled him.
“What if I go?” he said slowly. “Just go. No suit, no driver, no company name. Just go. Live small for a while.”
Tunde looked at him.
“I can handle things here for some time. You will still join meetings online sometimes. But you don’t have to sit in this glass cage every day.”
Amelia added, “And maybe, just maybe, you will find what you are looking for in a place that has never seen your face on TV.”
Nathan leaned back. Silence sat with them.
“You people will not kill me,” he said at last, half joking, half serious.
Tunde laughed. “Better this than to die slowly inside air conditioned sadness,” he said.
Nathan did not answer, but a seed had been planted.
Chapter 4: Becoming John
That night, when he got home, he did not go straight to the balcony. He went to his bedroom wardrobe. He opened the big doors. Rows upon rows of suits stared at him, shirts in neat color order, ties arranged like a rainbow, polished shoes sitting in a line. They all smelled like success. They also smelled like suffocation.
Slowly, he pushed them aside and reached to the back of the top shelf. His hand touched something soft. He pulled it out. Old jeans, a faded t-shirt from his university days. The picture on it was almost washed away. There was a small tear near the collar. He remembered wearing that shirt to night class, eating bread and egg with Tunde outside the hostel when life was simple and he did not know the meaning of board pressure.
He held the shirt to his face and closed his eyes. “Who was I before, sir?” he asked himself.
He put the shirt and jeans on the bed. Then he took a notebook and sat at his desk. He started to write in small, plain words:
“Take a break. Leave Lagos for a while. Go to Aura. No flashy car. No suits. No Mr. Reed. Work with my hands. Live as a normal man. Find out who I am without money.” He looked at the words. His heartbeat fast. He added one more line. “Maybe find love that is not for money.”
He stared at that last line for a long time. His chest felt tight and light at the same time. He stood up and folded the page as if the decision would escape if he left it open.
He went back to the balcony. The city lights still shimmered. But now something was different. He did not feel trapped. He felt called.
Chapter 5: The Village of Aura
The next morning, Nathan woke before his alarm. His heart was not calm, but it was not dead. It was moving. He bathed, dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts, and went straight to his wardrobe. He did not touch any of the suits. He took the old jeans and faded t-shirt from the bed and wore them. The clothes were rough. They did not sit on his body like his tailored shirts, but somehow he felt lighter.
He picked up one small backpack. He folded two more shirts, one extra jeans, underwear, and a pair of strong boots into it. He added the small, cheap button phone he bought the day before in a corner shop. He left his two expensive smartphones on the table. He picked some cash. He looked around the room, the watches in the glass box, the leather briefcases, the perfumes lined up. He left all of them in his office.
He called Tunde and Laval into his private meeting room.
“I’m traveling,” he said.
“For how long?” Laval asked.
“I don’t know,” Nathan answered. “I’ll still join big meetings online, but for now, you two will run most of the daily operations. Laval, you handle strategy and reports. Tunde, you double-check any major decision, especially anything to do with land. Nothing gets signed on Aura or any mining deal until I say so. Use the foundation arm to review rural projects. Look for where we can fix, not destroy.”
Laval studied his face and saw something there he had not seen in a long time—decision.
“Okay,” he said. “I don’t understand everything, but I trust you.”
After they left, Nathan sat alone for a few minutes. Then he stood, took the backpack, and left his office without the usual drama. No driver, no convoy, just him. At the basement, he did not enter any of his flashy cars. He used an old plain SUV the company kept for simple errands and drove himself out of the island into the long road that left Lagos behind.
The city thinned, the air changed. Tall buildings gave way to short shops, then to trees. He drove past towns, then smaller towns. The road went from smooth to rough, from black to brown to deep red. He stopped a few times to ask for direction, using the cheap phone to check the small map Tunde had drawn for him.
By afternoon, he saw it. A small sign by the side of the dusty road:
Welcome to Aura.
He slowed down. The village was quiet, but not dead. Children ran barefoot, chasing a homemade ball. Women balanced big bowls on their heads and talked, their laughter sharp and bright. Men pushed wheelbarrows loaded with firewood or cassava. Smoke rose from small stoves at the side of houses. The houses were simple blocks with zinc roofs. Some were painted sky blue or yellow. Some were just cement. The paint idea never completed. Chickens moved freely, scratching the ground like they were searching for lost secrets.
Nathan parked near a small shop that had provision store painted in fading letters. An old woman sat in front counting coins.
“Good afternoon, mama,” he greeted.
She lifted her head and looked at him from his head down to his boots.
“Afternoon,” she answered. “You are not from here.”
“No, Ma,” he said, smiling. “I am looking for work. I can do farm work. Do you know any farmer that needs help?”
She squinted, still studying him. His jeans looked new. His boots looked strong. His hands, even though he tried to roughen them a bit, still looked like they had not known real suffering.
“You sure?” she asked. “Farmwork no play.”
“I am sure,” he said.
She hummed. “Go down this road,” she said at last, pointing with her lips. “Last house before the bush. Big mango tree in front. That is Pa Kola’s house. He is stubborn like goat, but his heart is clean. If he accepts you, you will learn work.”
“Thank you,” Nathan said.
Chapter 6: The Test
He drove slowly down the narrow road until he saw the mango tree. It was big and old, spreading shade over the small compound. There was a low house with cracked walls. Behind it, he could see the starting edge of a farm, green and brown rows stretching towards the bush.
Under the mango, an old man sat on a low stool, peeling cassava with a small knife. His hair was gray and his beard thick and white. His skin was dark and lined like a map of many years.
Nathan parked and came down.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he greeted with respect.
The old man looked up.
“Afternoon,” he replied. His voice was rough, but not harsh. “Yes, you are looking for who?”
“I heard you have a farm,” Nathan said. “My name is John. I’m looking for work. I can do anything. Dig, weed, carry, plant. I don’t mind where I sleep. I just want to work.”
The old man’s eyes sharpened.
“My name is John,” he repeated slowly. “You are from where, John?”
“Lagos,” Nathan said. “I grew up there, but I—I needed change.”
The old man snorted.
“Everybody here is trying to run to Lagos,” he said. “You are running from it. Maybe you are wise. Maybe you are foolish.”
He stood up, joints cracking, and pointed with his knife toward the back.
“You say you can work?” he asked. “Come and show me. Mouth is cheap, hand is expensive.”
Nathan followed him to a corner of the farm. The sun was hot. The soil looked hard. The old man gave him a hoe.
“Loosen this patch,” he said. “Don’t just scratch the surface like chicken. Go deep. Roots need soft ground.”
Nathan gripped the hoe. He swung. The metal hit the ground with a dull thud and bounced. Pain ran up his arms. He almost dropped it. The old man laughed.
“City hand,” he said, “soft like bread.”
Nathan reset his grip and tried again. He swung the hoe harder, bending his knees. This time it cut into the soil. Dust rose. Sweat already formed on his forehead. He kept working. The sun showed no mercy. His back started to ache. His palms began to burn, small blisters forming. Many times his body whispered, “Stop.” But something inside him said, “No, you asked for this. Finish small.”
After some time, the old man raised his hand.
“Enough,” he said.
Nathan stopped, chest heaving. The old man stepped into the patch and pressed the soil with his bare foot. He nodded.
“Not bad,” he said. “Not neat, but not lazy. You did not run away. Hey, that is something.”
Nathan straightened slowly.
“Thank you,” he said, breathing hard.
The old man looked at him again.
“My name is Kola Adami,” he said. “Here they call me Pa Kola. This land has been in my family for years. It feeds us when it feels kind. It punishes us when we are stubborn. If you will work here, you must respect it.”
“I will,” Nathan said.
“I don’t have money to pay big salary,” Pa Kola continued. “You will eat what we eat. You will sleep in the small room behind. You will work when there is work. When there is no work, you will still find something to do. No lazy man lasts here.”
“That is fine,” Nathan said at once. “I did not come for money.”
Pa Kola’s eyebrows rose.
“So, you came for what?” he asked.
Nathan opened his mouth. Many answers wanted to come out. “I came for peace. I came to run away. I came to find love.” Instead, he just said,
“I came for work.”
Pa Kola studied him as if he could see all the other answers hiding behind.
“Hm,” he said. “We will see.” He turned towards the house and shouted, “Ruth, we have one extra mouth. Add water to the soup.”
A voice floated from inside.
“I already saw him from the window,” the voice replied. “You have a big heart and small pocket, Papa. One day, you will carry the whole world into this house.”
Nathan chuckled softly. A moment later, a young woman came out. She wore a simple gown and plastic slippers. Her hair was packed back in a rough bun. Soap clung to her wet hands. She had strong arms, a straight back, and tired eyes. But behind the tiredness, there was light. Her face was not the kind people on Instagram would call perfect, but it was the kind that made you feel safe.
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Chapter 7: Ruth
“This is my daughter, Ruth,” Pa Kola said. “She is the one that holds this house together. I am just old bone.”
Ruth wiped her hands on her gown and looked at Nathan from head to toe.
“So this is the stranger who wants to be farmer,” she said.
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon,” she answered shortly. “Listen well here. We don’t have generator for you to on and off. We don’t have AC. We don’t have chef. We have sun, sweat, and sometimes food. If you came for soft life, turn back now.”
Nathan gave a small, honest smile.
“If I wanted soft life, I wouldn’t be here,” he said.
She looked like she wanted to argue, but changed her mind.
“Go and wash your hands,” she said instead. “Food will soon be ready. Papa, please don’t bring home somebody that will faint after one day.”
Pa Kola laughed.
“If he faints, he will wake up,” he said. “If he runs, we will use his story as lesson.”
Ruth shook her head and went back inside.
Nathan stood there feeling the sun on his skin and the dust under his boots. This was not the life he was used to. But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was somewhere that did not care who he was yesterday.
Chapter 8: The Hard Life
The small room at the back of the house had a thin mattress, a small window, and a nail on the wall to hang clothes. That was all. No AC, no soft carpet, no flat screen TV. When night fell, the sounds of the village replaced the constant hum of Lagos. Crickets, far-off laughter, a baby crying somewhere.
He lay on the thin mattress and stared at the ceiling. Every part of his body hurt from the few hours of work he had done. His palms burned, his shoulders ached, but his heart felt calmer.
He slept not long, not deep. He woke up many times to strange sounds—goat, wind, a lizard running on the roof. But when the rooster shouted before dawn and Ruth’s footsteps started in the kitchen, he got up.
The sky was pale gray. Dew sat on the grass. The air was cool and smelled of wet earth and smoke. Ruth was at the well pulling water with a rope. She looked at him.
“So you woke up,” she said.
“Yes,” he answered. “I heard the rooster.”
“Good,” she replied. “Here the rooster is your alarm. If you ignore him, you will suffer.” She filled a bucket and set it in front of him. “Carry this to the backyard,” she said. “We need water there.”
He bent to lift it. The bucket was heavy. Very heavy. He almost asked, “Is there no wheelbarrow?” But he swallowed the complaint and carried it, arms shaking. By the time he set it down where she pointed, his fingers felt numb.
“Not bad,” she said. “You did not fall. That is something.”
Breakfast was boiled yam and pepper sauce. Nathan ate with real hunger. He could not remember the last time he ate so fast.
“You eat like somebody that ran from war,” Ruth said.
“Maybe I did,” he replied quietly.
She looked at him for a second, then looked away.
Days turned into a pattern. Wake before dawn, fetch water, feed goats, go to the farm, come back, bathe with cold water, eat, sleep, repeat.
At first, every day felt like punishment. Nathan’s body complained about everything. His hands blistered and then hardened. His back felt like it would break, but somehow it did not. His skin darkened under the sun. His nails became dirty no matter how he tried.
But slowly, he started to change. The hoe no longer bounced every time he used it. His arms grew stronger. His movements became less clumsy. He began to understand when the soil was too dry, when it was too wet, when weed was hiding among good crops. Sometimes Pa Kola corrected him harshly. “Don’t rush,” he would say. “This is not paper you are signing. This is land. If you rush land, it will disgrace you.” Sometimes he praised him. “Hm, city boy,” the old man would say, “you are learning. You are not totally useless.”
Those small praises meant more to Nathan than any big title in the city.
Chapter 9: The Village’s Crisis
At night, he sat outside under the mango tree. Ruth would sometimes sit too, shelling beans or spreading garri on a tray. They did not talk much at first. When they did, the talk was simple. How was the farm? Hot. How was the market? Crowded. But slowly the words grew. He learned that her mother had died five years ago after a long sickness. He learned that she had refused to marry any of the men that wanted her because most of them did not want a wife. They wanted a free house help.
She learned that both his parents were gone. He told her the truth about that part. He did not tell her the size of their company. He did not tell her his last name. He stayed John from Lagos who was tired and looking for space.
One afternoon, a bank car arrived. The man brought a final notice:
“The land used to secure old loan will be taken if the balance is not paid in 30 days. Our client has waited long enough. They are ready to move. Everything is legal.”
Ruth’s eyes ran over the words. She saw it: Reed Holdings PLC, primary secured party. Her heart dropped.
Pa Kola’s hand shook as he held the edge of the paper.
“How much?” he asked.
The man pointed at the figure. It might look small to some people. Here it was impossible.
“The land is not empty,” one of the elders said. “Our houses are here. Our fathers are buried here. Where do you want us to go?”
The man adjusted his tie.
“I just do my work,” he said. “There will be compensation. Our client wants to develop the place. Mining, jobs, progress.”
“Progress that starts by pushing us out,” Ruth said, anger shaking in her voice.
The man left. The village was in uproar.
Nathan’s head was spinning. Reed Holdings. His company. His father’s signature was probably somewhere deep in those old documents. The land Marcus had been calling useless was the same land under his feet. His chest felt tight.
Chapter 10: Redemption
Nathan went to the only place in the yard where network bars sometimes appeared on his cheap phone, a small rise near the mango tree. He took a deep breath and called Tunde.
“I am in Aura,” Nathan said, his voice low and hard. “And we have a problem. A big one.” He explained about the bank, the notice, the villagers, and the deadline.
Tunde listened.
“This must be one of those old loan arrangements,” he said. “Your father did plenty in those days. Marcus has been pressing to move on them for mining.”
“I don’t care how old it is,” Nathan snapped. “We are not taking this land. Not like this. Not from these people, Tunde. I need you to do something for me.”
“Tell me,” Tunde said at once.
“I want Reed Holdings through our charity arm to buy that debt fully from the bank. Move it quietly under the foundation. Once we own it, I want 90% of it wiped. The remaining 10% we spread over three years. Small, small payment, something they can manage. No land taken, no relocation. And my name must not show in any paper. Not as Nathan, not as CEO, nothing.”
Tunde whistled softly.
“You know that is a lot of money,” he said.
“We spend more than that on one weekend event,” Nathan replied. “We waste that on branding nonsense. I won’t stand here and watch a whole village be thrown away for numbers on a spreadsheet.”
“Okay,” Tunde said quietly. “I will talk to Laval. We will move it under CSR. We will pitch it as rural stabilization project to the board. They will like the PR. Marcus will not like losing his mining toy, but he will survive. Send me the exact file number and bank name by text.”
Nathan read the details from the notice he had copied.
“Give me 48 hours,” Tunde said.
“You have 24,” Nathan replied.
Chapter 11: The Secret Unravels
Two days later, the white bank car returned. The same man came down carrying his file.
“There has been a change,” he said. “Your loan file has been purchased by another party. New instructions. Most of the debt has been forgiven. The balance left is small. You can pay it over three years in small installments. As long as you pay, no land will be taken. This is the new agreement.”
Silence. Then shouting, joy, tears. Ruth turned slowly and looked at Nathan. Her eyes stayed on him longer than on anyone else.
“God used somebody,” she whispered. “May he bless whoever it is.”
Nathan swallowed.
“Amen,” he said softly.
But someone else was watching: Ruth’s cousin, Stella. She had gone to town, found a newspaper, and discovered the truth: John was Nathan Reed, billionaire. The next morning, she confronted him.
“You have power,” she said. “You have money. You have company. You can change life with one call. Help me. Take me out of here. Give me good job in city. Help me start salon, shop, anything that will make me stand well. In return, I will keep quiet. I will not tell Ruth. I will not tell papa. I will let your love story continue.”
Nathan refused to be blackmailed.
“If I help you, I want it to be because it is right, not because you are holding knife to my neck. And if I tell them, it will be with my own mouth.”
Chapter 12: The Truth Comes Out
A few days later, the village held a small thanksgiving under the mango tree. Stella stood and revealed Nathan’s true identity. The crowd was shocked. Ruth’s face went pale.
Nathan admitted everything.
“Yes, it is true. I was running. I was tired. I wanted to be seen as man not money. I did not plan to stay. I did not know this place would become home. I did not know I would meet you. I did not plan to lie to you to hurt you. I was afraid of losing what we found.”
Ruth’s voice was bitter.
“So you lied because of love? You lied because you care?”
He tried to explain.
“I saved this land. When I found out I stopped the mining plan, I bought the debt through our foundation. I wiped it. I made sure nobody will remove you. I did that because I could not stand to see this place destroyed.”
“And you think that covers the lie?” she shot back. “You think money will wipe away the feeling that I have been sleeping beside stranger? That I have been telling my secrets to man that was wearing mask?”
He reached out a hand.
“Ruth—”
She stepped back.
“Don’t touch me. Tell me one thing: When you sat by that river and told me you love me, whose name was in your heart, John or Nathan?”
He closed his eyes.
“Both,” he whispered. “Because both are me.”
“Then both a liar,” she said. Her voice broke.
She told him to leave. He packed his bag and left.
Chapter 13: Redemption and Return
Back in Lagos, Nathan was a ghost. He barely ate, barely slept. He only answered Tunde and Amelia’s calls. One day, Amelia came and forced him to eat. Tunde reminded him that Marcus was trying to revive the mining deal.
Nathan called a board meeting.
“This company will not stand on stolen ground,” he said. “We will not make a profit by crushing the people sitting on the land under us. That time is over. Aura is not moving. Not now, not later. We will never mine there. In fact, I want all old rural land deals reviewed. Anyone who was signed in a way that mistreated people, we correct it.”
Some directors protested, but most supported him. Reed Holdings changed its policy. News spread. In Aura, people read the statement and felt safe.
Chapter 14: Forgiveness
Nathan returned to Aura, this time as himself. He went to Ruth and told her everything—about his father’s words, about his loneliness, about how he came to Aura to find peace and love that was not for money. He told her about buying the debt, about stopping the mining, about signing the land over to the community.
He said, “Even if you tell me now to leave and never come back, this paper will still stand. The clinic we plan will still stand. The school we plan will still stand. I am not paying for your love with projects. I am just trying to obey my father’s words at last. I want my money to have peace, even if my heart remains under punishment.”
Ruth listened. She was still angry, but her love had not left.
“I don’t know how to trust you fully today,” she said. “But I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending I don’t love you. So we will try slowly. You will not rush me. You will not hide anything again. You will bring all your titles, all your fears, all your money, all your weaknesses. Put it on the table. I will bring my stubbornness, my anger, my own fear. We will see if our two hearts can stay in the same room without one running away.”
They hugged under the mango tree. Pakola wept quietly nearby.
Chapter 15: New Beginnings
Nathan and Ruth took it slow. He visited Aura openly, sometimes for a week, sometimes for a weekend. He always came as Nathan Reed, not as John. He worked on the farm, helped with community projects, and made sure all papers were clean and clear.
He set up Reed Green Farms, supporting villages like Aura to grow better crops and sell to city supermarkets at fair prices. Ruth joined the local committee. She learned numbers, sometimes struggled, but never lost her sense.
One year after the big fight, they married under the mango tree. It was not a big city wedding. Just canopies, plastic chairs, rice and stew, soft drinks. People from Aura, staff from Reed Holdings, Tunde and Amelia, and even Stella, now training in catering in the city, came.
The pastor said, “You both have seen each other in farm clothes and in best clothes. You have seen each other in truth and in lie. You have seen each other in laughter and in tears. Today you are choosing to stay. The choice will not end today. You must choose again every day.”
Their vows were simple:
“I will tell you the truth even when it is hard. I will not use your love to control you. I will stand beside you when the world is loud. I will remind you of who you are when you forget.”
