From A Producer To A Global Superstar

Chapter 458: Next Week

The week that followed did not unfold loudly.

Dayo woke each morning before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, his mind already oriented toward a single destination. Not the studio. Not the office. Not any of the meetings that Sharon had spent the previous evening carefully rescheduling. He moved through his morning routine with a focus that felt almost mechanical shower, dress, check his phone for anything urgent, ignore everything that was not.

Sharon had taken to answering his calls before they reached him. She fielded the inquiries with practiced efficiency, her voice carrying the same calm authority she used when negotiating contracts or managing crises. Dayo was unavailable. Dayo was tied up. Dayo would reconnect when his schedule allowed.

The people on the other end of those calls did not always accept the deflection gracefully after all Dayo wasn’t just a director or musician he owns a tech company and chains of restaurants around the globe so it was weird for him to be out of reach as it wasn’t not Dayo like.

Alice called twice. The first time, she left a message about label operations, her tone professional but carrying an undercurrent of concern that Sharon noted and did not relay. The second time, she called directly and Sharon answered, stepping into the hallway outside Dayo’s room to keep the conversation from carrying.

"He’s resting," Sharon said, which was not entirely a lie. Dayo was resting, in the intervals between his visits. He was also playing, and holding, and learning the weight of a child in his arms.

"Resting?" Alice’s voice tightened slightly. "Sharon, we have producers in from Nigeria. Akin and Jinad are already asking questions about when sessions start. Valerie is trying to schedule press. This is the window, and he’s letting it close."

"He knows what he’s doing," Sharon said. "Trust the process."

"I do trust the process." Alice paused, the silence carrying its own weight. "I trust him. That’s why this doesn’t make sense. He never steps back. Not from his own work."

Sharon looked toward the closed door behind her, where Dayo was gathering his keys, his jacket, the small bag of things he had started carrying with him each morning. Baby toys, mostly. Soft things. Items he selected with a care that surprised even himself.

"He’ll be back," Sharon said. "Just tey appeasing with everyone there. Let them settle in. When he returns, everything will move faster than you expect."

Alice exhaled, the sound carrying through the phone. "Fine. But Sharon? When you see him, tell him this isn’t sustainable. People are starting to talk."

The call ended. Sharon stood in the hallway for a moment longer, then walked back into the room to find Dayo checking his reflection in the mirror. Not for vanity. She had watched him do this before competitions, before performances, before any moment that required him to be fully present. He was preparing himself. Getting his face to match the calm he needed to project.

"They’re getting restless," Sharon said.

Dayo adjusted his collar, his eyes meeting hers in the glass. "I know."

"Alice is worried. Akin and Jinad are confused as this was meant to be the week for the competition and finalizing the artist to use. Valerie thinks something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong." He turned to face her. "Appease them. All of them. Make sure they know they’re not being stalled, they’re being prepared."

"And what do I tell them when they ask what you’re preparing for?"

Dayo picked up the bag he had set by the door. It was larger today than it had been on Monday. He kept finding things. A stuffed animal that looked like it would fit in a small hand. A set of soft blocks that made a gentle rattle when shaken. Things he never would have noticed before, that now seemed to demand his attention everywhere he went.

"Tell them I’m busy," he said.

"Dayo." Sharon’s voice dropped, losing the professional edge, gaining something more personal. "I’ve seen you work through illness, through injury, through things that would break most people. You don’t step back. You never step back. What’s happening?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Sharon had been with him for four years. She had seen him at his highest and his most controlled. She had never seen him like this, carrying a bag of baby toys toward a door, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"I’m learning something," he said quietly. "Something I can’t learn in a studio or an office. Something I can’t learn from a coach or a mentor. I have one chance to get this right, Sharon. And I’m not going to miss it because a schedule said I should be somewhere else."

She studied his face, reading what he wasn’t saying. Then she nodded slowly, the understanding settling into her expression without further questions after all she is Dayo’s agent and she knew Dayo has a child with Luna so it was okay to want to be with her.

"Go," she said. "I’ll handle the rest."

Dayo smiled and said. "You’re the best Sharon thanks I owe you one."

Sharon shook her head." Hmm you owe me more than one."

Dayo smiled.

He left, and Sharon watched him go, carrying a bag that contained none of the things he was known for. No contracts, no beats, no strategies. Just toys, and the quiet certainty of a man who had finally found something that made all of it wait.

The drive to Luna’s apartment had become familiar over the past several days. Dayo no longer needed the GPS. He knew which intersections took too long, which shortcuts saved minutes, which parking spots were usually open at this hour. He arrived with a consistency that would have impressed him if he were observing himself from the outside.

Today, he had found a toy in a shop near the studio. A small plush figure, soft and simple, with a rattle inside that made a sound like gentle rain. He had held it in his hand for a full minute in the store, turning it over, testing the weight, imagining small fingers grasping it. The shopkeeper had watched him with amusement.

"First child?" she asked.

Dayo had nodded without thinking, the word landing in his chest with a warmth he was still getting used to. "Yes."

His face was with a face mask after all he doesn’t want to wake up to seeing title like.

"Breaking News Dayo seen buying Kids Toy Does Dayo have a kid we are unaware of ?"

"She’ll love it. They always love the ones that make noise."

He had bought it, along with two others he hadn’t planned on. The bag was heavier today. He didn’t mind.

Luna opened the door before he could knock. She had started doing that, somehow knowing when he was close, or maybe just watching and waiting for him. She stood in the doorway, Jennifer in her arms, and her expression shifted when she saw the bag.

"More?" she asked, looking at the load in his hand.

"Just a few things."

"You said the same thing yesterday."

"Yesterday was a different things."

Luna shook her head, but there was a small smile at the corner of her mouth. She stepped aside to let him in, and Dayo entered the apartment with the same careful energy he brought to every space. But here, it was different. Here, he wasn’t performing. He wasn’t managing. He was just father.

Jennifer was awake, her eyes wide and alert, tracking him the moment he stepped through the door. She was dressed in something pale and soft, her dark hair slightly mussed, her small hands moving in restless patterns against Luna’s shoulder.

Dayo set the bag down and turned to face them.

"Hey," he said softly.

Jennifer’s reaction was immediate. She stiffened in Luna’s arms, her small body shifting, her hands reaching out toward him with an insistence that made Luna adjust her hold. The baby made a sound, not quite a cry, more like a demand. She wanted down. She wanted him.

"She does that now," Luna said, her voice carrying a mixture of amusement, a hint of jealousy and something else Dayo couldn’t quite identify. "The minute she hears your voice, or sees you, she starts struggling. Like I’m holding her hostage."

Dayo stepped closer, and the movement seemed to calm Jennifer slightly, though her hands remained outstretched. He reached for her, supporting her head the way he had learned, and Luna transferred her with the ease that came from practice.

The moment Jennifer settled against his chest, she made a small sound of contentment. Her hand immediately found his jaw, her fingers patting, exploring, touching his face with the focused curiosity that had become her signature. Then she reached higher, her fingers finding his hair, wrapping around a strand and pulling gently.

"She likes your hair," Luna said, moving to sit on the couch. "She does that with mine too, but yours seems to fascinate her more."

"Maybe it’s the texture." Dayo sat down across from her, settling Jennifer against his shoulder. "Or maybe she just likes pulling things."

"Probably both."

They fell into the easy rhythm they had developed over the past several days. Dayo would hold Jennifer, talk to her in the low voice that seemed to keep her calm, and Luna would watch from a distance that felt comfortable for both of them. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough space to breathe, and enough proximity to feel connected.

Jennifer climbed him. That was the word Luna had started using, though the motion was more of an awkward scramble. She pulled herself up his chest, her small hands gripping his shirt, her legs pushing against his stomach as she tried to reach his face. She touched his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose, patting each feature like she was memorizing it.

"You’re mapping me," Dayo said to her, his voice soft enough that only she could hear. "Getting the layout. I understand. It’s good to know the terrain."

Jennifer gurgled in response, her hand pressing flat against his cheek. She held it there for a moment, her eyes locked on his, and something in the stillness felt almost like recognition.

Luna watched from the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, a book in her lap that she wasn’t reading. She had been observing this ritual for days now, and each time, something shifted in her understanding of what was happening.

She had been Jennifer’s only constant for five months. She had held her through sleepless nights, fed her, changed her, sang to her when nothing else would calm her down. She knew every sound her daughter made, every expression, every signal. She had assumed that bond was unshakeable, exclusive, something that belonged only to them.

But watching Jennifer with Dayo, she realized that bond was not being replaced. It was expanding. Jennifer was not choosing him over her. She was simply making room for him, adding him to the small circle of people she trusted without question.

It should have made Luna happy. And it did, mostly. But there was something else, a thin thread of something that felt almost like jealousy, though she hated the word even as she thought it. Jennifer had never been this playful with her. Never this insistent about climbing, touching, exploring. With Luna, Jennifer was calm, settled, content. With Dayo, she was alive in a different way, energetic, demanding.

"He’s turned her into a climber," Luna said aloud, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent she hoped he wouldn’t catch.

"She was already a climber," Dayo said, not looking up from Jennifer’s face. "She just needed someone tall enough to make it interesting."

Luna laughed despite herself, the sound loosening something in her chest. "She’s going to be trouble."

"She already is."

They played together for what felt like hours but was probably less. Dayo would lift Jennifer, supporting her as she tried to stand on his legs, her small feet pressing against his thighs for leverage. He would lower her, let her crawl against his chest, then lift her again when she demanded it with her small, insistent hands. The rhythm was exhausting and exhilarating in equal measure.

By the time Jennifer started showing signs of fatigue, Dayo was also feeling the weight of the exertion. Not physical—he was used to far more demanding work—but the mental focus of staying present, of reading her signals, of making sure every movement was safe and supported.

Jennifer yawned, her small mouth opening wide, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again with renewed, fading determination.

"She’s fighting the sleep," Luna said, recognizing the pattern.

"Probably because she doesn’t want to miss anything."

"Yeah she never does that while I hold her though."

Dayo just smiled not saying anything.

Dayo adjusted his hold, settling Jennifer more securely against his chest. Her head found the curve of his shoulder, and her breathing started to slow. But her hand remained on his chest, her fingers opening and closing in a slow, sleepy rhythm.

"Should I put her down?" he asked.

"Not yet. Let her fall asleep properly. If you move too soon, she’ll wake up and the whole cycle starts again."

Dayo nodded, understanding. He sat back against the couch, holding Jennifer close, and let his own body relax into the support. Luna watched them from her place across the room, and the silence that settled was not uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people who had shared something exhausting and beautiful, and were now letting the aftermath settle around them.

Dayo’s eyes started to close. Not fully. Just the heavy, drifting state that came after too much focus and too little sleep. He had been doing this every day, arriving early, staying late, giving Jennifer everything he had, and his body was starting to notice the deficit.

He didn’t fight it. He let his head fall back against the couch, his legs stretching out in front of him, and he felt Jennifer’s weight settle deeper against his chest as she finally surrendered to sleep.

When Luna came back from here shower over several minutes later, she found them both asleep.

Dayo was on his back, his head tilted slightly to one side, his arms still cradling Jennifer against his chest. His legs were crossed at the ankles, a posture she had seen him adopt a hundred times before when he was fully relaxed, when all the control dropped away and he was just himself.

And Jennifer, small and impossibly light, had shifted in his arms until she was lying against him, her head on his chest, her body following the line of his. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, mirroring his position with a precision that made Luna’s breath catch.

She stood slowly, moving closer without making a sound. She looked at them together, father and daughter, separated by decades but aligned in sleep with a symmetry that felt almost genetic. The same crossed ankles. The same tilt of the head. The same stillness that settled over them when they were finally at rest.

Luna felt something complex move through her chest. Awe, maybe. Or wonder. Or the strange, bittersweet recognition that Jennifer was not just hers anymore. She was also his. In ways that showed up even in sleep, in the small unconscious habits that connected them without either of them knowing.

She took out her phone and took a picture to have a memory or such lovely father and daughter moment or maybe it was for another reason but she took the picture anyways.

She reached for the blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over them both, careful not to wake either of them. Then she sat back down in her chair, pulling her knees to her chest, and watched them.

For a long time, she just watched.

And then the thought came, the one that had been building for days, the one that had started as a whisper and was now loud enough that she could no longer ignore it.

What was happening here? What were they doing? She and Dayo had fallen into this rhythm without ever discussing what it meant, without ever naming what they were building. They were parents, yes. They were sharing time with their daughter. But what did that make them? What did this mean for them ? What were they to each other, beyond the biological connection they shared through Jennifer?

The questions pressed against her chest. She needed to ask. She needed to know if he was thinking about it too, if he had any sense of where this was going, or if he was just drifting along the same current she was, letting the days carry them without ever steering.

She looked at him, asleep with their daughter on his chest, and she tried to find the words.

"Dayo," she said softly, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t stir. His breathing remained steady, deep, the rhythm of someone who had finally let himself rest.

Luna opened her mouth again, but the words wouldn’t come. She looked at Jennifer, at the small hand that had curled into a fist against Dayo’s shirt, and she thought about what would happen if she asked and he didn’t have an answer. What would happen if she pushed for

definition and he wasn’t ready to give it. What would happen if she broke this fragile peace by demanding something he couldn’t yet provide.

She closed her mouth.

Not yet. Not today. Not while they were both so tired, so exposed, so unguarded in sleep.

But soon. She would have to ask soon. Because Jennifer was growing every day, becoming more aware, more connected to both of them. And soon, she would need to know what her world meant. Who her parents were to each other. Whether this was a temporary arrangement or something more permanent.

Luna pulled the blanket tighter around her own shoulders and settled into her chair. She would ask. But not yet.

For now, she would let them sleep. She would let the afternoon stretch into evening without interruption. She would let this moment exist exactly as it was, father and daughter, mirror images in rest, bound by something that needed no words.

And she would carry her questions quietly, waiting for the moment when she would finally find the courage to speak them aloud.