The Billionaire Pretended to Be Sick Just to See His Family’s Reaction—But Only His Maid Cared

Episode 2

Three days after he altered the will, Chief Bamidele woke up to find his family strangely attentive. Not loving—just… watching. Eyes sharp. Movements slower. His wife brought him tea for the first time in years—except she didn’t pour it with love. She poured it like a woman delivering a bribe. Adaora started coming to his room to “chat.” Kola sat by his bedside once and asked him, “Dad, what are you thinking about these days?” like someone trying to fish secrets from a cracked mind.

He knew then.

They were suspicious.

Someone must have found out.

He hid the revised will inside a locked safe disguised as a bookshelf in his private study. Only he and his lawyer, Mr. Oketola, knew its contents. Mary didn’t know. No one else knew. So how did they suddenly start caring after weeks of cold shoulders?

Then came the first attack.

Not physical. Psychological.

It started with whispers in the house. Rumors.

“Mary’s dressing has changed.”
“She’s trying too hard to impress the chief.”
“She’s young, single… who knows what happens behind closed doors?”

Then came the confrontation.

At breakfast.

Mary was serving tea when the chief’s wife, Abike, said loudly, “You’re always around my husband these days, Mary. Do you not have work in the kitchen anymore?”

Mary froze.

Chief Bamidele’s spoon paused mid-air.

“I—I’m just doing my duty, ma.”

“Your duty?” Adaora scoffed. “Because rubbing his feet at night is now part of your job?”

Kola laughed without humor. “Maybe she thinks she’ll be the next Mrs. Bamidele.”

The room went cold.

Chief Bamidele slammed his hand on the table. “Enough!”

They all fell silent.

“She is the only one who has treated me like a human being since this so-called diagnosis. If your conscience stings you, that’s not her fault. It’s yours.”

He stood and walked out. Mary followed quietly, her eyes on the ground, holding back tears.

Later that evening, his lawyer arrived—called urgently by the chief.

“I want the will moved to the bank vault. I don’t trust this house anymore.”

Mr. Oketola agreed. “Sir… with all due respect, you’ve created a war zone.”

The chief looked out the window at his family lounging by the pool, pretending to care. “Then let the war come.”

But it came faster than he expected.

The next morning, Mary was gone.

Her room was empty. Her bag gone. Her phone line—switched off.

Panic rose in his chest.

He questioned the other maids. The cook. The security guard. No one knew anything. No one saw her leave.

Until a note was found in the dustbin, half-burned, in Mary’s handwriting:

“I think someone’s trying to poison him. The tea tastes wrong. I don’t feel safe here anymore.”

Poison?

He ran to the kitchen. Checked the tea containers. Smelled them. Nothing.

But something about the sugar tasted metallic. Wrong.

He confronted Abike that night. “Where is Mary?”

She sipped her wine calmly. “Gone. Maybe she finally realized her place.”

“Did you threaten her?”

“I warned her. She was overstepping.”

“What did you do to the tea?”

She smirked. “Are you sure your illness isn’t messing with your taste buds?”

That night, Chief Bamidele didn’t sleep.

He called a private investigator.

“Find Mary. And find out everything about my family. Every secret they think I don’t know.”

The following week shattered him.

Adaora was secretly dating his business rival’s son—and leaking internal financial reports.
Kola had forged his father’s signature to withdraw funds from one of the dormant accounts.
And Abike… his wife of 31 years… had purchased poison online under a fake name, and made a series of calls to an unknown number right after his “diagnosis.”

She wasn’t waiting for him to die.

She was planning it.

And Mary? She had gone back to her home village in Kwara after receiving a threat note in her drawer:

“If you don’t leave this house, you’ll leave in a coffin.”

Chief Bamidele broke down.

Not because they hated him. But because he had raised them.

He had taught them morals. Honesty. Loyalty.

But somewhere along the journey of wealth… they stopped being family.

And so he made his final decision.

The next morning, he called for a family meeting.

And this time, he wasn’t coughing.

He wasn’t groaning.

He stood—tall, strong, fully dressed in a sharp grey agbada, holding the final copy of his will.

They gasped.

“You’re not… sick?” Kola stammered.

“No,” Chief Bamidele said coldly. “But now I know who is.”

He laid the will on the table and said, “Mary has more heart in her calloused fingers than all of you combined. You should have treated her with the love you denied me. Now you’ll understand why she deserves everything.”

The Billionaire Pretended to Be Sick Just to See His Family’s Reaction—But Only His Maid Cared
Episode 3

The air in the mansion was thick with disbelief. Chief Bamidele’s words still echoed in the marble dining room like thunder long after the storm had passed.

“I’m leaving half of everything to Mary,” he had said. And now that Mary had returned—with receipts, recordings, and truth in hand—the battle had begun.

But what the chief didn’t know was that the war had already started without him.

Three days after Mary returned, someone broke into Mr. Oketola’s law office. Not to steal money. But to find the will.

The safe had been tampered with. Nothing else touched.

Luckily, Oketola had moved the final document to a secret deposit box as the chief instructed. But this was no random act. It meant someone in the family was willing to destroy evidence to stop Mary from inheriting a kobo.

Chief’s phone buzzed. It was a private message from Oketola: “They know the will is final. They’re getting desperate.”

He stared at the message in silence. His hand trembled slightly. Then he looked out the window at Mary, who was tending the garden like she had always done—calmly, humbly.

She didn’t even know how much was at stake.

Later that night, Bamidele called a family meeting again—this time with security present.

“I’ve been kind,” he said. “But now you’ve tried to break into my lawyer’s office. If I see even a whisper of criminal intent again, I’ll press charges.”

Abike stood. “This girl has charmed you into destroying your own bloodline!”

“This girl,” he repeated, rising slowly from his seat, “was the only one who stayed when you all left. She was the only one who cried when I coughed. She was the only one who asked if I was okay. You were calculating what to inherit. She was trying to save what’s left of my life.”

Then Kola stood.

“She’s not who you think she is,” he said darkly.

Everyone turned to him.

“What do you mean?” Bamidele asked.

Kola reached into his jacket and threw a file onto the table. “Check it.”

The chief opened it.

Inside were photos. Grainy, old. Newspaper clippings. A police report. Then he saw it—Mary’s real surname.

“Mary Alake Adio… daughter of Felix Adio.”

He frowned. “That name… sounds familiar.”

Kola folded his arms. “It should. Felix Adio was the security officer that took the fall for your embezzlement scandal 27 years ago. He was fired, disgraced, jailed—and died shortly after release. You never even looked back. Mary is his daughter.”

The room went dead silent.

Mary stood at the back, frozen.

She didn’t deny it.

“I was eleven when my father was dragged out in front of our neighbors,” she said softly. “He cried all night. He said he was innocent. But no one believed him. Not even you.”

The chief swallowed hard.

“I didn’t know—”

“No. You didn’t care,” she cut in, her voice rising slightly. “I swore I’d never forget what happened. But I didn’t come to destroy you. I came to watch you. And what I saw… was a broken man who had no one. Not even himself.”

Adaora gasped. “So this was revenge?!”

“No,” Mary said, shaking her head. “It was supposed to be. But something changed. I saw the man my father once served. Not the empire-builder. The human being.”

She turned to the chief.

“You’re right. They don’t love you. They love your wallet. But me? I loved the version of you that made jokes when you were sick. That smiled when I brought pepper soup. That apologized for using too much sugar. I didn’t want your money. I wanted you to have someone real before it was too late.”

Tears brimmed in Bamidele’s eyes.

But before he could speak, the lights cut out.

Complete darkness.

Then—

Gunshot.

Screams.

Someone had fired inside the house.

Chaos erupted.

Guards rushed in. Mary was dragged behind the kitchen counter. Abike yelled for help. Kola ducked. The chief stumbled, clutching his side—a graze wound to the shoulder.

Then came the voice.

From the hallway. Cold. Male.

“Give me the will.”

A man in black, face masked, walked into the living room holding a pistol.

The guards aimed—but hesitated.

Mary looked at the gunman—and gasped.

She recognized the voice.

It was someone from inside.

It was the cook.

The man pulled off his mask.

“Sorry sir,” he muttered, not meeting Bamidele’s eyes. “They paid me too much to say no. The will… where is it?”

Bamidele winced in pain, trying to stand. “You’ll shoot an old man for paper?”

“No, sir. I’ll shoot anyone for what you’ve created. Greed. Hatred. I’ve been here ten years and never got a raise. But I was offered ₦5 million to burn a file.”

Mary stepped forward, slowly. “Don’t. This is not who you are.”

He raised the gun at her. “Don’t make me.”

Suddenly—

Police sirens wailed outside.

The house had been under silent watch since the break-in at the law firm.

The gunman panicked. Tried to run.

But the guards tackled him.

It was over.

But not really.

Because now the truth was out.

Mary was the daughter of the man Bamidele once allowed to fall.
His family had hired someone to destroy the will.
He had narrowly escaped death in a twisted plan by those closest to him.

And Mary?

Mary had come for revenge… and found something worse …….

The Billionaire Pretended to Be Sick Just to See His Family’s Reaction—But Only His Maid Cared
Episode 4

The bullet wound wasn’t deep, but it was enough to send Chief Bamidele to the hospital for three days. He dismissed it like an old man would: “Ah, it’s just a scratch,” he told the nurses. But beneath the bandages, something else was happening.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not because of pain, but because of Mary.

She was gone.

Again.

After the incident with the cook-turned-hired-gun, she vanished. Her room emptied. Her phone dead. No note this time. No trace. Just absence. Cold and loud.

He asked everyone. The guards, the neighbors, even Mr. Oketola.

No one knew where she’d gone.

He sat by the hospital window one evening, watching the sun sink into orange silence, whispering to himself, “Did she really care? Or was this all one long revenge?”

But then his chest tightened.

Not emotionally. Literally.

He coughed. Felt a weight behind his ribcage. The room blurred. His hand trembled as he pressed the nurse button. Within seconds, he was rushed into emergency care. Tubes. Wires. Machines beeping like angry hearts.

This time, the illness wasn’t fake.

The doctors said it was his heart—irregular rhythm, a silent condition that had gone undetected for years. They were shocked it hadn’t taken him earlier.

“You have to rest,” the doctor said. “Avoid stress. Your body isn’t joking anymore.”

Funny, he thought. The body was finally doing what his mind had only pretended.

But as he lay there, weakened by reality, a nurse walked in with something odd—a wrapped envelope.

“Someone dropped this for you last night. No name,” she said.

He opened it.

Inside: a black-and-white photograph of Mary as a child—standing beside a young man in a security uniform. Her father.

And beneath it, a note:

“You weren’t the one who framed him. But you were the one who looked away. I came to remind you. But I stayed because I saw something still good in you. You’re sick now—and I pray you fight it for the right reasons. Live for what matters. If you truly mean what you wrote in that will… then burn it. Not in anger. But to prove you’ve changed.”

— M

His hand shook as he read the last line again.

Burn it?

Why would she ask that?

He called Mr. Oketola. “Do you know where she is?”

“No, sir. But she’s right.”

“What do you mean?”

The lawyer sighed. “You wrote the will out of revenge. You gave her half because they didn’t deserve it. But what if… you gave her everything out of love instead? And with no strings?”

Silence.

Then the chief closed his eyes and said, “I need to go back to the beginning.”

⸻

One week later, back in the mansion, he did something no one expected.

He gathered his entire family.

His wife, Abike—cold as ever.
Kola—still fuming over his frozen accounts.
Adaora—suspicious, sarcastic, waiting for another ambush.

“I’m changing the will again,” he announced.

Abike hissed. “Of course. You’ll give it all to the maid now.”

“No,” he replied calmly. “I’m giving it to no one.”

They blinked.

He continued, “All the businesses will be converted into a trust, managed by a board—not you. The properties will be sold. The money used to start a foundation—for abused workers, abandoned staff, ex-prisoners, and their families. That includes Mary. That includes her late father. And that includes every staff member you all stepped on.”

Abike rose. “You can’t do this.”

“Yes, I can,” he said. “And I have. The papers are already signed.”

Kola laughed bitterly. “You’ll die alone.”

“No,” Bamidele said quietly. “Because Mary reminded me what being seen feels like. And whether she comes back or not… I’m not afraid of being alone anymore. I’m afraid of becoming like you.”

The doorbell rang.

A guard entered with a letter. No one moved.

The chief opened it slowly.

Inside were court summons.

Abike was suing him.
Kola was joining the suit.
Adaora too.

Claiming mental instability.

“He’s rewriting the will under emotional distress,” the document said.

But the real twist wasn’t in the paper.

It was in the final page.

Signed and filed by a secret lawyer unknown to them.

Under the lawyer’s signature:

M. Alake Adio.

Mary.

She had filed the trust documents herself—the final twist in her journey.

And she had made sure that the man who once pretended to be sick had now truly healed, even if it meant losing her forever.

The Billionaire Pretended to Be Sick Just to See His Family’s Reaction—But Only His Maid Cared
Episode 5

The courtroom was packed.
Not because of the lawsuit—but because of the story. The media had run wild with it: “Billionaire disinherits family, rewards maid. Now faces lawsuit from wife and children.”

Chief Bamidele sat quietly beside his lawyer, Mr. Oketola. His face was pale, thinner from the hospital stay, but his eyes were steady. Focused. Prepared.

On the opposite side, Abike sat tall in expensive lace, her red lipstick a shade too sharp. Kola and Adaora flanked her, their faces full of forced pain—plastic sympathy designed to win the crowd.

But they didn’t expect who walked in next.

Mary.

Not in her maid uniform. But in a sleek, modest suit. Simple. Clean. And beside her, holding a worn-out brown envelope… was a grey-haired man with trembling hands.

Chief Bamidele sat upright.

He whispered, “No… it can’t be.”

Abike’s eyes widened. She recognized him too.

The judge banged the gavel. “Court is in session.”

Oketola stood. “Your Honor, the defense would like to call a witness: Mr. Daniel Owokoniran, retired security officer and the former partner of the late Felix Adio.”

Gasps rippled.

Kola leaned over to his mother, whispering, “I thought he was dead.”

Mary stood. “He’s not. And he has something to say.”

The old man took the stand slowly. His voice shook, but his words didn’t.

“Twenty-seven years ago, Felix Adio was accused of leaking security codes from Chief Bamidele’s estate. But he was innocent. I know, because I was the one who made the mistake.”

Silence.

The judge leaned forward. “Explain.”

Mr. Owokoniran’s eyes filled with tears. “I was bribed to leak internal security codes to a rival businessman. Felix found out. He confronted me. I panicked and told HR he was responsible. He was fired. Jailed. Died shortly after.”

He turned to Bamidele.

“I’m sorry, sir. He was your most loyal guard. And I ruined his life.”

Mary closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“But that’s not all,” Owokoniran continued. “Felix wrote a letter before he died. A letter to his daughter. It took years to reach her. But she brought it to me.”

Mary walked forward, opened the brown envelope, and handed the letter to the judge.

The judge read it aloud:

“My sweet Mary, I forgive the man who did this to me. I forgive the world. And if you ever get the chance to see Chief Bamidele again, don’t hate him. He trusted me once. I failed him. But I believe there’s still good in him. Be the goodness I couldn’t prove.”

The courtroom fell into silence.

Even Abike looked shaken.

Then came Mary’s final words.

“I didn’t come to ruin anyone. I came to restore my father’s name. And yes, I cared for the chief. Because I saw a man suffocating in a house full of people who only saw his wallet. And I stayed… because I knew what it felt like to be unseen.”

Judge Okonkwo nodded slowly. Then turned to Abike’s team.

“You accuse this man of mental instability. Yet he’s the only one who has made decisions with clarity and compassion. Case dismissed. The will and trust remain valid.”

Gavel. Bang.

It was over.

But not really.

Because outside the courtroom, Bamidele pulled Mary aside. His voice trembled.

“I failed your father. But you’ve given me a second chance.”

Mary smiled softly. “He would’ve forgiven you. And I already have.”

He looked at her—really looked at her. And in her eyes, he saw his own redemption.

“I can’t be your father,” he said. “But I can be what he once was to me—a protector. A legacy.”

She nodded. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

3 Months Later

The Bamidele Foundation for the Forgotten opened its doors in Lagos.

Children of former domestic workers. Widows of abandoned security guards. Young girls who had been silenced by wealth and power—all walked in free.

Mary was now the director.

Chief Bamidele visited every weekend—no longer surrounded by gold or marble, but by laughter, books, real love.

Kola disappeared to Ghana. Adaora tried a reality show that failed. Abike filed for divorce and lost all claims to the estate.

And for the first time in decades, the old man wasn’t pretending to be sick.

He was truly alive.

The End.

Final Message 

The people you ignore when you’re strong may be the only ones who carry you when you’re weak.

Family is not built by blood. It is built by presence, loyalty, and quiet love in loud rooms.