The Wedding That Almost Wasn’t — Her Ex Showed Up

When people ask me why I love event planning, I usually smile and say, “Because no two events are ever the same.”

But honestly? It’s because of stories like this—stories that could easily be a Netflix drama.

So, picture this: I had been working for weeks on a high-profile Lagos wedding at a luxury venue in Lekki Phase 1.

The bride, Tonia, was a fashion influencer with over 200k Instagram followers. The groom, Femi, was a tech bro with deep pockets and a smile that could sell an app in 30 seconds.

Everything was going perfectly—florists setting up the baby’s breath arch, caterers unpacking trays of small chops, the DJ doing sound checks with Afrobeats bangers—until the phone call came.

11:47 a.m. – Bride’s Suite, Lekki Phase 1 Hotel

I was fluffing Tonia’s dress when her phone rang. She didn’t answer, so I picked it up.

Me: “Hi, this is her wedding planner—”

Voice on phone: “Tell her to check her email. Now.” Click.

Weird. I handed her the phone.

Tonia (reading): “WHAT?! No no no no no…”

She dropped the phone like it burned her.

Me: “Talk to me.”

Tonia: “Someone just sent Femi… PICTURES. Of me. From before we met. But… it looks bad.”

And just like that, my dream wedding turned into a crisis management seminar.

12:15 p.m. – Groom’s Room

I rushed over. Femi sat on the bed, phone in hand, face stone cold.

Me: “Femi, I don’t know what you saw, but—”

Femi: “It’s not about what I saw. It’s about who sent it. It’s her ex.”

Oh, fantastic. Lagos men and their timing.

Me: “Look, people try to ruin weddings for sport. Don’t let him win today.”

Femi stayed silent, scrolling.

1:00 p.m. – Back in Bride’s Suite

Tonia was pacing like a reality TV star about to throw wine.

Tonia: “What if he calls it off? My followers will EAT me alive. Hashtag ‘CancelledBride.’”

I wanted to laugh but didn’t. My job was to keep this ship from sinking.

3:15 p.m. – Wedding Venue

Guests were arriving. Champagne was flowing. I was moving between tables like a chess master.

Then my assistant whispered, “You won’t believe who just walked in.”

It was him. The ex. Wearing a smug grin, holding a small envelope like it was a grenade.

3:40 p.m. – Behind the Stage

I intercepted him.

Me: “Whatever game you’re playing, I’m ending it now.”

Ex: “Relax, I’m just here to wish them well.”

His smirk said otherwise. I took the envelope and walked away.

4:00 p.m. – Ceremony Start

The music swelled, the crowd rose, Tonia floated down the aisle like a Vogue cover. Femi’s eyes softened. For a second, I thought we were safe.

Until halfway through the vows…

Femi: “Before I say ‘I do’… there’s something I need to ask.”

The entire hall froze. My heart did a full backflip.

Femi: “Tonia… were you ever really done with him when we met?”

Gasps. Cameras clicking like paparazzi.

Tonia: “Femi, I swear—”

Femi: “No, I believe you. I just wanted to tell him… he lost. And I won.”

Laughter erupted. Guests clapped. The ex stormed out.

6:00 p.m. – Reception

Afrobeats shaking the chandeliers, jollof steaming, champagne bottles popping. Tonia and Femi danced like nothing had happened.

She whispered to me during the bouquet toss, “Thanks for saving my day. You’re not just a planner—you’re a wedding bodyguard.”

I laughed. “All in a day’s work.”

But deep down, I knew: this was the closest I’d ever come to being in a Nollywood plot.

Event planning is 20% flowers and timelines… and 80% crisis control with a poker face.

And yes, I still check every guest list twice.