From A Producer To A Global Superstar-Chapter 363: The visit

The house Dayo bought in Lagos sat quiet.

But quiet in a way that meant distance.

He didn’t stay close to extended family. That had been intentional about Dayo and his family coming over but Privacy was easier when distance existed. The compound was secure, modern, slightly elevated from the surrounding neighborhood — not flashy like that of the house he lived in at U.S but good.

No one knew the exact location yet.

And that was how he wanted it.

This visit wasn’t for other than celebrating the family so he didnt want to step into the lime too much to take the shine away from the bride.

The next morning.

Dayo was leaning against the balcony railing when his mother stepped out to meet him.

Inside the house, movement was already starting. Fabric rustling. Quiet instructions. Someone laughing too loudly and being told to lower their voice. The atmosphere carried that restrained excitement that came before something culturally important.

She looked at him for a moment before speaking.

"You’re not dressed."

He smiled faintly. "I am not coming along."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Are you not coming?"

He shifted his weight, folding his arms loosely across his chest.

"I don’t think I should."

Her expression changed, not angry — confused.

"This is family."

"I know."

"Then why?"

He exhaled slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"What they’re doing today isn’t a traditional wedding. It’s the formal visit. The groom coming to see the bride’s family properly. Kneeling. Greeting. Showing respect. Even if everything has already been arranged i dont think i am needed.."

She watched him closely.

"That’s exactly why you should be there."

He shook his head gently.

"No, Mama."

There was no arrogance in his tone. No defiance. Just clarity.

"If I go, it won’t be about them."

Silence settled between them for a moment.

"You think too much of yourself," she said lightly.

He smiled again, softer this time.

"It’s not ego."

He glanced back toward the living room where voices floated through the doorway.

"It’s reality."

She followed his gaze.

Even here, in Nigeria, the name Dayo carried weight now. Not global-chaos weight. Not stadium weight. But enough. Enough for people to shift attention unconsciously. Enough for phones to come out. Enough for whispers to begin.

This ceremony wasn’t about him.

It was about a man proving humility before elders. It was about symbolic bride price. About tradition. About structure older than the entertainment industry.

If he walked into that courtyard, people wouldn’t mean to look at him.

But they would.

And the moment wouldn’t be fair for the couple who owns the day so staying back was best until the weeding then he can come.

His mother studied him carefully.

"You don’t want to steal their light."

He nodded.

"Yes."

She let that settle.

For a brief second, something proud flickered in her eyes.

"You’ve changed."

He raised an eyebrow. "For better or worse?"

"For awareness," she replied with a smile

Inside, someone called her name.

She turned halfway, then looked back at him again.

"They will ask why you didn’t come."

"Tell them I didn’t want to distract from the groom’s respect."

She watched him a moment longer.

"And if they insist?"

He smiled slightly.

"Tell them I know my place and i would come for the actual weeding."

That made her laugh quietly.

"You, knowing your place?"

"In this matter? Yes."

She shook her head slowly but didn’t argue further.

As she began walking back inside, she paused again.

"You’re still part of this family, whether you attend the courtyard or not."

"I know."

"And don’t disappear completely."

"I won’t."

She disappeared into the house.

The sound level inside rose slightly — preparations accelerating. The formality of the day moving forward.

Dayo remained where he was.

He could picture it clearly without being there.

The groom arriving with his people. The kneeling. The prostration. The playful negotiations. The symbolic bride price. The elders speaking in Yoruba that rolled like poetry. The laughter when requests were exaggerated. The moment of approval.

It wasn’t spectacle.

It was structure.

And sometimes, knowing when not to stand in the center was its own kind of maturity.

He stepped back from the railing and moved inside quietly, but not toward the courtyard exit. Instead, he walked toward the sitting room on the other side of the house, far from the ceremonial area.

From there, he could hear faint echoes — greetings, rhythmic clapping, voices rising and falling.

He didn’t need to see it to respect it.

Outside the compound, the world still ran wild.

Producers. Reporters. Executives. Record labels. Industry power brokers.

All of them looking.

All of them calculating.

But here, in this moment, none of that mattered.

Here, a man was kneeling before elders.

And Dayo, for once, chose not to be the loudest name in the room.

He sat back into the couch, listening to the distant cadence of tradition unfolding.

Not every stage needed him.

Not every spotlight was his.

And that, more than anything, proved how far he had grown.

Just as he was about to go inside Sharon approached him.

"There’s something you need to know."

He glanced at her.

"What?"

"A few artists reached out the moment word spread that you’re in Nigeria."

He paused.

"Already?"

"Yes."

He leaned back slightly. "Who?"

She hesitated half a second.

"Davido."

That made him still.

Not shocked.

Interested.

Davido wasn’t small.

Established. Influential. Strong presence both locally and internationally. That wasn’t random outreach.

"And?" he asked.

"And there were indirect signals from others."

He understood what she meant.

"This trip is family."

Sharon nodded slowly. "You’ve said that before."

He gave her a look.

"I’m serious."

She raised one eyebrow. "You’re never ’just’ anything."

The girls, who were pretending not to listen, immediately leaned closer.

"Is it happening?" Deborah whispered dramatically.

"Nothing is happening," he replied calmly.

Sharon crossed her arms. "Tell me you’re not even considering it."

He didn’t answer.

That was enough.

She exhaled lightly. "I’ve worked with you long enough to know what that silence means."

He finally spoke. "Tell them I’m here for personal reasons. If there’s time, we’ll talk."

"That’s not a no."

"It’s not."

Sharon shook her head softly, amused. "You can’t switch it off, can you?"

He looked at her.

"I don’t try to."

A/N: might not update for a while, I just got a new job, so still trying to fit in🤧