Write a Review

INANNA (...every woman has a story)

All Rights Reserved ©

Summary

When her widowed father told lonely, eleven year-old Barbara she was going to have a step-family, she was excited to have a full home again – unaware that it was the beginning of a journey filled with grief, betrayal and secrets… …a journey that would transform a wide-eyed, naive girl into the beautiful and ultimate femme-fatale, Inanna Philips. Now, years later, Inanna has it all: -The perfect business – a Fortune 500 company; -The perfect man – the dashing and wealthy Olabode Adekoya: -And the perfect house – a gorgeous, sprawling mansion that’s the envy of the neighbourhood. Then, one day, she meets Joshua – and arrives home to find her beautiful mansion transformed into a damp, smelling forest infested with rotten trees and roaming wild animals… …and her perfect world unravels… Inanna is an intensely gripping and deeply emotional story of pain and secrets that keeps you captivated – and hurriedly turning its suspense-filled pages till the very end.

Genre:
Drama / Romance
Author:
DebbyOsa
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
29
Rating:
5.0
Age Rating:
16+

PROLOGUE

YESTERDAY

The dreams began about a month ago. I don’t know what triggered them.

They are almost always the same.

I am in my mansion. Alone. As usual.

Dressed in my favorite designer’s skirt and blouse. Sleekly coiffed weave. Perfectly made-up face. Manicured nails. Pedicured feet. All as usual.

What is unusual is that I am running. Frantically. From one room to another. Upstairs and downstairs. On designer heels.

I am trying to lock the door to each room. Behind them is a violent banging. Like something – or someone - is demanding to be let out. And a wailing so terrible, I clench my fists over my ears to shut it out as I run.

As I forcefully close one door upstairs, another creaks open downstairs. I do not try to see what is behind them. I simply pull against whatever is trying to fully open them.

I run. Up. Down. Up. Down. From room to room.

Soon, my hair is all undone. I have lost a shoe. My blouse is half-pulled out of my skirt. My waterproof make-up is running, mixing with the tears from my eyes as I try to shut out the anguished wailing.

I see Rachel walk towards me, holding a sheaf of official documents. She stops in front of me, curtsies slightly and hands me a pen. Like nothing is amiss.

I pause, breathing heavily, tears, snot and sweat dropping on to the documents as I sign. They leave black, burning marks on the white sheets. She doesn’t seem to notice. When I am done, she curtsies again and walks away.

Sometimes, it is Bode who approaches me with a bouquet of flowers or expensive trinket, smiling, not seeming to notice the tears or my dishevelment. The few times he hugs me, I leave black tear stains that burn through his Armani suit.

When I pull away, he disappears - and I blindly turn towards the next door.

At other times, it is Sarah the housekeeper who appears, or Adamu the gateman. They all carry on with their normal duties, oblivious to my distress and frantic activity.

The very few occasions the dream seems slightly different is when I see Simi. She approaches, smiling as usual, but her smile slowly fades as she gets closer. She takes in my state, and her eyes go to a nearby door. I turn my back to her and force it shut. When I turn around, she is gone.

I resume running, tears pouring down my cheeks.

*****

Unlike the movies, I don’t jerk awake from the dreams, panting and gasping. I simply open my eyes - which are dry. My breathing and heart rate are steady. I am not disoriented.

I only feel drained. Exhausted. As if I haven’t slept in days.

Thankfully, today is Sunday, and Lee will not be coming. I do not have to see the bedside clock to know it is 4a.m. My body adjusted years ago. I slowly pull away the covers, swing my legs to the floor, and walk into the sitting room adjoining my bedroom. From the tray on the side table, I heap four tablespoons of instant coffee into a mug, four tablespoons of honey, and four tablespoons of creamer. I take hot water from the dispenser nearby, not filling the mug. I am not a regular coffee drinker, but when I do, I like it instant, thick and sweet.

Several mugs and three hours later, I shut down my laptop, high from the amount of work I have been able to do – as well as the caffeine. Then, I take a deep breath and, before I lose my nerve, pick up my phone.

I need to see a psychiatrist. Or psychologist. Whichever.

About a year ago, one of our major international clients had hosted a very exclusive, N1,000,000-per-plate fundraising dinner for ‘mentally unhealthy victims’. The few distinguished speakers were titled, obviously well-read and widely-travelled, and sounded very knowledgeable. They also treated a lot of the country’s wealthy, one had discreetly mentioned to me while slipping me a business card.

I randomly select three of the shrinks and call. I am surprised they all are available on a Sunday morning. I book appointments using a false name. I will see each once, and choose which of them I will continue with.

If I do.

I walk to the bathroom. I will be spending the day at Bode’s. I hope to get some sleep there later on.

As usual, I don’t plan to mention the dreams.

*****

The first therapist needs psychoanalysing herself. She is frumpy, dowdy and obviously resents my looks. We hate each other on sight, and I spend the longest seventeen minutes of my life giving false smiles and falser information in an office filled with plastic flowers, garish colours and mismatching chintz furniture.

It is an assault on my senses.

The second office is tastefully furnished in brown leather, cream and gold. It reeks of money. The suave, handsome psychologist is like an octopus with strabismus - his eyes are everywhere on my body except my face. I endure his hands lingering on mine as he hands me a glass of red wine, and the brush of his fingertips as he gives me a card. But when he tries to gently - yet consistently - convince me that I am suffering from sexual dissatisfaction, I take my leave. I still have about thirty five minutes on the clock.

When I walk into the third – and hopefully, final – office, the first thing that strikes me is how young she looks. Her hair is pulled back in a barrette, and she has on a plain black dress with a thin red belt.

A tiny fish-outline gold brooch is the second thing that grabs my attention. I swear silently under my breath. I know what it symbolizes. The last thing I need is some religious fanatic psychoanalysing me through self-righteous goggles.

If I could, I would have turned around and walked out, but courtesy wins. For now.

She smiles as she welcomes me, the red stones in her ears flashing. We begin talking, and I surprisingly find myself drawn to her warmth. She is very easy to talk with, and I catch myself chuckling once or twice.

I spend almost the whole hour with her.

Just before I leave, I casually mention my insomnia. She is quiet for a bit, then asks, “Do you dream?”

I pause. “Yes, sometimes...” but before she asks what the dreams are about, I add “...but I don’t really remember them.”

She looks at me for some seconds, then nods slightly. She smiles. “If you ever remember them, and you want to talk, I am here.”

I nod, smiling back as I pick up my bag. “Of course.” I get up and we shake hands. As I drive away, I know I will not be going back.

I just realized I am not ready.

*****

Strangely, the dreams stop of their own volition. It is a week after the therapists that I realize I have stopped dreaming.

Just like that.

Something must have triggered them. I don’t care to examine possible triggers, however. I am just so relieved they have disappeared.

I only hope they don’t return.

Continue Reading Next Chapter
Further Recommendations

Anna: This book was amazing. The mother is a nut

Lilly2011: This book has some missing and misspelled words and some punctuatios that are in the wrong spot or shouldn't be there, but with that being said, if you can look past those, there were quite a few times I laughed so hard that I had a hard time breathing. There are some sad parts as well and one c...

Dionne Belfon: A fun and innocent read

Alina: J adore a quand la suite

annalaville: This is a great novel, such wonderful romance it is worth reading, just want to read more and more this is great.

Tamara: Mir gefällt die Geschichte

nightowl71672: Great book, great Author would’ve liked to have known more about his sister but otherwise it was a really great book And I will be sharing it!!!!

annemirl56: Gefällt mir sehr gut! Gut und zügig zu lesen.. deine Bücher laden zum entspannen ein.Danke dafür 🫶🫶🫶

More Recommendations

Valentina: - me ha gustado como lleva la historia es rápido pero a la vez lento, y en si no encuentro fallas graves solo leves como a veces (yo creo por error del autorrector)las palabras no coinciden con lo que están contando. - se las recomendaría a mis amigas más cercanas porque son las únicas que conoce...

Sheila: A good book I will read it further as it is finished

Saloni Acharya: The whole series is so good. It’s like you can’t keep it down without reading it the whole way and then start the next one. Time flies and you don’t realise it’s late night and you have to go to sleep 😂. The characters are awesome with strong plots and love every couple. 😍🥰

Mharms: It is nice that it is a serial of stories, book to book. The storyline is fast moving through history.

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.