✦ ✦ ✦
The morning sun filtered through sheer white curtains, spilling gold across Nadia’s silk bedsheets.
Her room was quiet. The kind of quiet only certain Lagos addresses could afford.
No honking. No generators buzzing. Just the steady hum of her AC. Banana Island didn’t make noise. It made statements.
She was still in bed, scrolling lazily through her phone, one leg poking out from under her duvet. Her nails were painted a glossy nude, freshly done.
Beside her, a half-full glass of water sweated quietly on the nightstand next to an untouched book she swore she’d read before the month ended.
Her phone lit up.
Deji calling.
A small smile played on her lips before she answered.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Stranger? Not after last night.” His voice came warm, low. “You said you’d call me?”
“I was going to.” Her smile widened. “I just wanted to see if you missed me.”
“Oh, I did,” he said. “Every damn second.”
She laughed softly, rolling onto her back. “Really? Tell me more.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I missed you like Lagos traffic misses rain.”
She chuckled. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “My brain has been messed up since last night.”
“God,” she murmured, smiling into the phone. “What time did you sleep?”
“Past five.”
“What! Why?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how you looked. That black dress.” His voice dropped, low and teasing. “The red—”
“Stop.” She cut in, blushing as if he could see her.
“Honestly, you looked so good.” His voice softened. “I wanted to call once I got up, but you said you’d call first, and I didn’t want to come off too… you know.”
“Too what?”
“Too desperate. Too in love.”
Her breath caught.
The call went quiet. Just breath on breath.
“So, what’s your plan for today?” he asked, his voice casual, smoothing over the silence.
Nadia sat up, wrapping her duvet around her and sliding her legs over the side of the bed.
“Hair appointment around two… then dinner with Amaka later.”
“You two and your friendship dates.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Indeed, I am,” he laughed. “Are you finally going to tell her the big news?”
“Mmm…”
“Nadia.”
“Yes. Yes. I will.”
“Are you sure?”
She sighed and smiled. “I guess it’s time.”
“And when do I get to meet her?”
“One step at a time,” she said, adjusting the strap of her nightdress. “Let her hear about you first.”
“Fair.” He paused. “And us? Do we get to see tonight?” His voice was hopeful.
“I thought you had that online meeting with your foreign clients?”
“Oh shit,” he muttered. “That’s true. I completely forgot. The time difference issue.”
“I should start charging you for reminders,” she said.
“Kindly bill me in kisses,” he replied.
She rolled her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips.
“So, tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she confirmed.
“And maybe the rest of our lives?”
She groaned, laughing as she stood. “I have to start my day. And you have work.”
“Sadly. Call you later?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay then. Bye, I love you.”
“I love you too. Bye”
She lingered on the call screen a moment longer, still smiling, before padding into the kitchen, phone still in hand, her slippers shuffling softly on the tiles.
She poured herself a glass of orange juice, took one sip, and tapped through her contacts.
Dialling: Amaka 🧡
“Babe,” Amaka answered on the second ring, voice bright and familiar. “Tell me you’re sending me money or food.”
Nadia laughed. “Neither. Just calling to disturb your life.”
“Successful. Consider my life officially disturbed.”
“Are you free for dinner today?”
“Depends,” Amaka said. “Are you paying?”
“Of course.”
“Then yes, I am shockingly, suddenly, and wholeheartedly free.”
Nadia laughed. “There’s something I want to tell you. In person.”
That earned a pause. “What’s going on?”
“I might have met someone.”
“Again?”
“Amaka.”
“Sorry o! Continue.”
“He’s… different. Sweet. Focused. Like… he talks about the future, marriage. He knows exactly what he wants.”
“Wow. All that in how many months?”
“Not months.”
“Weeks?”
Nadia hesitated. “A week.”
“Ha! Nadia.”
“What?”
“A week is not even long enough for Indomie to cool, and you’re already marrying the man.”
“I didn’t say I was marrying him. I said he… we’re talking about it.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re not falling for it, right?”
Nadia leaned against the counter, her smile fading a little. “He’s not like the others, Amaka.”
“Babe, that’s exactly what you said about the last one. And he was talking marriage too until the car keys and the bank accounts were out of reach.”
“He’s different.”
“Sure. But is he in love with you, or with your father’s position?”
That landed hard.
The silence stretched just a beat too long.
“You’ll love him,” Nadia said quietly.
Amaka sighed. “You always say that.”
“And you always end up loving them.”
“Until they try to borrow money or introduce me to their business partner.”
“Let’s talk about it when we see. I’ll text you.”
“Okay o.”
“Later, babe.”
“Later, Madam Bride-to-be.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The morning sun hit differently in Ikorodu.
Not softer. Just harsher, like the heat was punishing everyone in sight.
Chidi stood shirtless in the toilet of their cramped one-bedroom, toothbrush in his mouth, staring into the cracked mirror above the sink like it owed him answers.
The house was anything but quiet, filled with the groan of a ceiling fan fighting for its life, the distant buzz of traffic, and the sharp voices yelling somewhere outside.
A mattress, old, thin and complaining, sat in the corner of the room where Chukwu still slept. Limbs sprawled like he fought dreams for a living.
Chidi spat into the sink and reached for his shirt hanging on a rusted nail stuck in what was left of the toilet door. Black, slightly faded, but ironed.
He slipped it on, tugged at the collar, and looked over at Chukwu sleeping through the mirror.
“You go sleep till God come carry you abi?” he muttered, brushing lint off his trousers.
Chukwu didn’t stir.
“You no fit commot go find job?”
A grunt. Barely.
“Shey house rent go pay itself?”
Chukwu turned over slowly, dragging the blanket over his head.
“Abeg, no start this morning.”
“I no dey start. I dey continue.”
Chidi adjusted his collar again in the mirror, watching the fog of his own breath fade off the glass.
“Guy, serious talk. Rent don due,” he said louder, over his shoulder. “Landlord go soon start dey call.”
Chukwu peeled the blanket off his face like it offended him.
“And so?”
“And so your half dey miss.”
Chukwu sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His hair stood in wild defiance, uncombed, unbothered.
“Why you dey stress yourself? Money go show.”
“You for write am down. Motivational quote of the year.”
“I no be you, Chidi. I no fit dey waka round Lagos dey mix cocktail for big men. Wetin dem dey even pay you? 10k?”
Chidi turned, toothbrush still in mouth.
“And you, wetin you dey do? Sleep like persin wey get belle?”
“Na contractor I be,” Chukwu said, reclining with his hands behind his head. “I no dey find work na work dey find me.”
“Contractor wey no get contract.”
“Jealousy go kill you.”
“Wetin go make me jealous? Na the body odour abi the bounced debit alerts?”
Chukwu laughed, a low, lazy chuckle.
“Dey play. Me wey go soon buy benz.”
Chidi rinsed his mouth, wiped it dry with his hand, and stepped out of the toilet.
“Na how many times I don hear that one?”
He grabbed his phone, wallet, chain and a faded cap from the wall, then moved to the door. As he opened the door, he glanced back at Chukwu.
“Try bath today. Or at least change boxers.”
Chukwu raised a middle finger without looking.
Chidi smiled, answering with his own middle finger before walking out.
“Your papa,” Chukwu shoved his palm forward in a lazy waka. “Chai, I don forget say we get the same papa.” He hissed, long and sharp — mstewww.
The door clicked shut behind Chidi, and the room exhaled.
Chukwu stayed on the bed, sprawled out like life wasn’t in a hurry. The fan above creaked with every slow turn, doing more complaining than cooling.
He stretched, scratched his chest, then pulled the blanket over his head like he was clocking back into sleep.
“Mumu bartender,” he muttered. “As if him salary fit feed family of mosquito.”
He chuckled once, low and smug. Then silence again. Just the loud hum of Ikorodu in the background, waiting for noon.
✦ ✦ ✦
Somewhere in Lekki, in a studio apartment where everything looked more expensive than it was, Amaka sat on the edge of her bed, her phone buzzing beside her like it owed her money.
She didn’t move.
Her phone lit up.
Tega calling.
Amaka stared at it like it was a bill she didn’t feel like paying.
Decline.
It rang again.
Decline.
On the third call, she picked it up, stared for a second longer, and then tossed it back onto the bed.
“Not today, please,” she groaned, scratching at her braids as she walked into the bathroom.
She wasn’t in the mood. Not today. Not for Tega’s voice. Not for the lies he’d wrap in expensive names and false promises.
When she came back out, the phone buzzed again. This time with a text.
She grabbed it, thumbed it open.
Private Event. Club 24/7 tonight. Shut down levels. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. I can get you in. You don’t wanna miss this one.
Amaka stared at the message for a few seconds, lips pressed into a flat line.
Club 24/7?
The last time Tega promised her an exclusive night, she ended up at a glorified birthday party full of yahoo boys posing as crypto traders. All noise, no money and one rented Benz.
She sighed.
Still. Club 24/7 wasn’t your regular. If he was telling the truth this time…
She bit her lip, hesitated, then hit call back.
“You still dey vex?” Tega answered on the first ring. “How many times you wan make I tell you sorry?”
“Sorry? Sorry?” she said, her voice sharp with irritation. “EFCC almost arrested me with those foolish boys.”
“I for bail you out.”
“You—are you mad? Look Tega, I am not in the mood for nonsense today at all.”
“Relax now. I wan give you VIP access to the hottest event of the year.”
She hesitated for a beat before replying, “Who’s going to be there?”
“Everybody,” he said, voice full of fake calm. “Wiz dey come. Seyi T just flew in. Naomi, the model and many more celebs. All confirmed. I swear.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“This one na for real. I swear down.”
Amaka was quiet. He could hear it.
“So you go wear silver or gold tonight?” he pressed.
“How much?”
“500k.”
“Are you okay?”
“This one—”
“Tega. It’s like you want me to block you.”
“Oya wait, 300k. I don try.”
She let the silence sit long enough to make him sweat.
“If I don’t see one real celebrity, you will return my money. Complete,” she said finally.
“Dem go dey plenty. I swear.”
“Keep swearing. This your mouth that has no guarantee.”
As soon as the call ended, Amaka sighed and sat back down. Her eyes scanned the room. The vanity mirror. The shoes lined up under the bed. The outfit she’d already mentally picked out.
Then it hit her.
Dinner. Nadia.
“Shit,” she muttered.
She tapped through her phone, found Nadia 💕, and hit call.
“Hey, babe,” she said as soon as it connected, voice bright. Too bright.
“You’re calling me?” Nadia said, sounding surprised. “I was just about to text. Are we wearing heels or flats?”
“Yeah, about dinner… I have to cancel.”
A pause. Not long, but long enough.
“Seriously?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Something just came up. There’s this event at Club 24/7 tonight. Last-minute invite. You know how Lagos is.”
Nadia exhaled. “So, I’m really going to be alone tonight.”
“I’m a horrible friend, I know,” Amaka said, her voice breaking into a playful fake sob. “But even if I invite you, you won’t come. Little Miss Introvert.”
“Guilty,” Nadia said with a soft laugh. “But still…”
“Let’s reschedule. Tomorrow night, my treat. You can even pick the restaurant. And heels, definitely heels.”
“You better not cancel on me tomorrow.”
“I won’t, I promise. I promise. I promise.”
“Alright. Enjoy your event.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
“Byeeee.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The road outside Club 24/7 was chaos wrapped in perfume and headlights.
A Rolls inched past a Ferrari, which blocked a G-Wagon, which nearly scraped a Range. Girls in tiny dresses screamed into iPhones while bouncers with chests like concrete yelled names off a list that didn’t mean much.
Amaka had been outside for fifteen minutes, clutch in hand, already annoyed. Sweat kissed the back of her neck. Her heels, new and not yet broken in, were sending complaints to her soul.
She dialled Tega again.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Calm down, I dey come. Na work dey hold me.”
Chidi, known to Amaka and most of Lagos nightlife as Tega, answered like he’d done this routine too many times to be nervous.
He wasn’t anybody special. But for the right price, he could get you into almost any event in Lagos.
Not by invitation. By improvisation.
“Tega! If you embarrass me again…”
“You go see me now. Just dey where I talk.”
She ended the call and exhaled through her nose.
Two minutes later, he showed up. Grinning like a man who’d never lied in his life. Black shirt, silver chain, laminated staff ID around his neck.
“Fine girl,” he said, that practised, placating tone slipping in as if it could erase her annoyance.
“Save it,” Amaka said, slapping an envelope onto his chest. “That’s 150. You get the rest when I see one real celeb.”
Chidi weighed the envelope with mock offence.
“Ah-ah. You wound me oh. Na so our trust don die?”
“Yes. Now Move.”
He laughed and turned, leading her past the main line, down a narrow side path to a service entrance lit by a line of golden bulbs, quiet against the chaos in front. He flashed his ID to a bored security guard who barely looked up.
And just like that, they were in.
✦ ✦ ✦
The music wrapped around Amaka like perfume. Thick bass. Strobe lights. Cold air that smelled of money and alcohol.
“I go find you later,” Chidi said, peeling off towards the bar, already blending into the staff.
The inside of Club 24/7 was every bit the fantasy social media had been selling for months. The crowd was beautiful, loud, curated. Every corner shimmered with wealth or the illusion of it. Bottles sparkled. Phones hovered mid-air for Instagram stories. Laughter rang out in bursts that sounded rehearsed.
She paused for a second, letting her eyes adjust to the neon-glow chaos.
And then she smiled.
This? This was her element.
She flipped her hair, adjusted her dress slightly, and slid her phone out from her clutch.
Front camera. Lighting test. Perfect.
Record.
“Lagosians don’t play,” she said into the camera, smirking. “If you’re not at Club 24/7 tonight, you’re at home watching it on people’s stories.”
Upload.
She started walking. Heels clicking. Hips intentional. Every few steps, someone turned to look.
That was the game. Presence. Posture. Power.
She scanned faces. Yes, that was Naomi, the model. And wasn’t that actress — what’s-her-name from that DSTV show?
Tega hadn’t lied.
Not this time.
She slid her phone away, eyes bright now. This night might actually be worth her 300k.
✦ ✦ ✦
Amaka was halfway through a glass of wine, offered by a passing waiter, when she heard the voice. Calm, measured, yet heavy enough to feel like he owned the room.
“Excuse me… but how is everyone here breathing with you taking up all the air?”
Amaka turned, laughing.
“Wow. Is that how you get a lady’s attention?”
The man standing beside her wore a tailored, plain black suit that looked expensive without trying. No jewellery. Just presence. The kind you couldn’t fake.
“It worked, didn’t it?” he said.
“Barely.”
“I’m AD,” he said, reaching for her hand. Not to shake, but to kiss the back of it. Slow. Deliberate. Like the perfect gentleman.
“AD?” She raised an eyebrow. “Short for what, Almost Dangerous?”
He laughed, deep and smooth. “You could say that.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “I’m Amaka.”
“Beautiful name,” he said. “But I would’ve gone with ‘Problem.’”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t need to. I can already tell.”
She laughed, genuinely this time. “So, what are you? Smooth talker? Rich kid? Fake politician?”
“Tonight?” he said. “I’m just a man looking for good company.”
“And I’m just a girl looking for a better drink,” she said, lifting her glass slightly.
“Let’s fix that.”
He offered her his arm like he’d been born in a tux.
She took it like she’d been raised for red carpets.
✦ ✦ ✦
The bar was long, lit from beneath like it had a heartbeat of its own. Bottles lined the shelves like trophies. Bartenders moved with speed and precision.
But only one of them paused.
Chidi aka Tega.
His eyes caught Amaka the second she approached. He blinked once, slowly, then smirked like the universe had dropped something juicy in his lap.
“Welcome,” he said, wiping the counter like he was prepping for royalty.
Amaka froze for half a beat, then smiled like she didn’t know him and took a seat.
“Two glasses of your most expensive champagne,” AD said, sliding into the seat beside her.
Chidi looked from him to her, then back again. “Coming right up.”
“Friend of yours?” AD asked.
“Never seen him in my life,” Amaka replied smoothly, not breaking eye contact with Chidi.
AD chuckled. “He must really want a tip then.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Chidi hummed as he poured their drinks. Then, with an exaggerated flair, he slid Amaka’s glass across the counter and said in the worst French accent she’d ever heard:
“For you, Madam.”
He set AD’s glass down slowly in front of him.
“Enjoy,” he said, his gaze fixed on Amaka.
Her smile held, but didn’t reach her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the glass.
“Can we go somewhere else?” she said, already rising.
AD raised an eyebrow. “Like?”
“Somewhere more… private.”
He smiled, taking that exactly the way a man like him would.
“Say less.”
He reached into his pocket, dropped a bundle of crisp mint notes on the counter without looking, and followed her as she turned away, leaving both drinks untouched.
A few steps in, Amaka glanced back. Slow. Deliberate. Her eyes swept over him from head to toe, pausing just long enough at his face before turning away.
He watched them go, murmuring something under his breath only he could hear. He looked up at the cameras, hesitated, then slipped the notes into the register.
✦ ✦ ✦
AD walked ahead, leading Amaka up a narrow staircase tucked beside the bar. A small red sign above the wall read: VVIP Access Only. A bouncer stood at the base, arms folded, and gave AD a single nod. The kind reserved for people whose presence was invitation enough.
The music dimmed, but didn’t vanish. It still thumped below, muted now, like it was being filtered through velvet.
They stepped into a lounge wrapped in leather and low light. Rich wood floors. Plush chairs. Bottles arranged like art.
Beyond it, a stairway curved upwards. They climbed to the first floor, where a hallway stretched ahead, lined with private rooms. Each door identical, all sleek wood with discreet gold numbers.
AD didn’t pause. He led her past two doors, then stopped at the third. Reached into his pocket. Pulled out a key. Slid it into the lock like it was routine.
He looked over his shoulder, smiling.
“You said you wanted somewhere private.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling.
He pushed the door open and held it for her.
“This is as private as it gets,” he said.
Amaka stepped inside, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood.
The room was dim, the kind of low light that made everything look more expensive. A leather couch sat in one corner, a large TV in the other. A mini fridge hummed quietly beneath a marble shelf.
At the centre, a neatly made bed draped in hotel-grade white sheets sat untouched.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Then came the second sound, softer, but heavier somehow. The lock turning.
She turned. Something felt off, but her smile held.
AD slipped the key back into his pocket, smiling like they were about to make a toast.
“We don’t want any interruptions, do we?” he said, moving toward the fridge.
She let out a thin laugh. “Of course not.”
He crouched, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of Hennessy.
“We left our drinks downstairs,” he said. “But the party doesn’t have to stop just because we changed the room.”
“Actually, I think I’ve had enough drinks for tonight,” she said, her eyes sweeping the room.
“Oh, come on. Don’t say that.”
“I really shouldn’t have more.”
Without pushing further or looking at her again, he poured himself a drink. Set the bottle down. Peeled off his jacket. Dropped it over the couch.
Wallet. Keys. Phone. All lined up neatly on the couch.
Then he took a slow sip, calm as ever. Still the perfect gentleman.
“You look tense,” he said, looking at her with a smile. “Relax. You said you wanted privacy.”
“It’s a bit stuffy in here,” she replied. “I just need some fresh—”
He stepped forward without warning, closing the space, and gripped her waist. Firm.
“Don’t be shy,” he whispered, leaning in.
She turned her face away. Fast.
“Actually… I’ll take a drink,” she said, voice too bright, too loud.
She pulled back, moved to the fridge. Her hands shaking as she opened it.
When she turned back, he was shirtless. His belt undone.
Her stomach dropped.
She dug into her bag, pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.
“Hello? Yes. You’re here. I’m coming out now—” She was already moving towards the door, phone pressed to her ear.
AD’s face changed. His smile dropped. His jaw clenched.
“You said you wanted somewhere private,” he said flatly, stepping into her way. “What did you think was going to happen in somewhere private?”
Amaka took a step back.
“I have to go. My friend is outside.”
He moved closer.
“My friend is outside,” she repeated.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, breathing harder than he should have been.
She tried to move past him, but he caught her by the arm.
“Let go of me,” she snapped, yanking back.
Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor.
“Help!”
His grip tightened. She yanked harder. Her heel slid. She stumbled, and the side of her head struck the bedframe.
A dull, wet thud. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in any room. She collapsed. Her body didn’t move.
AD stood over her, frozen. His hands still half-raised like he hadn’t caught up with what just happened.
“Get up”
No answer.
“I said, get up.”
Still no answer.
Then he saw it. The dark stain spreading beneath her head. Crawling slowly across the hardwood.
His breath caught. He knelt beside her and shook her arm gently, then harder.
“Amaka… Amaka get up.”
Her body stayed still.
He stood, unsteady, eyes darting around the room as if the real culprit might still be hiding there.
He grabbed his shirt. His jacket. His wallet. His keys.
Didn’t tie his belt. Just bolted out the door.
Her phone lay face-up on the floor, screen glowing with an active call.
On the other end, Nadia’s voice wavered. “Amaka?”
Silence.
“Amaka, are you there?”
Nothing.
“Amaka… what’s going on?”
Nadia looked down at her screen. Still connected, carrying nothing but quiet.
She ended the call. Called back immediately.
It rang. And rang.
To be continued…