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When I came out, she’d dished the food, covered it neatly, and gone back to her spot on the couch. She glanced up at me and smiled.

“Sit small. This episode is mad,” she said, patting the cushion beside her.

And I did. I sat.

Not because I wanted to watch.

But because sitting next to her was the only thing anchoring me to the man I used to be.



---


Monday morning came with rain.

The Lagos sky was the color of wet concrete, clouds sagging low, impatient with their burden. Raindrops traced crooked paths down the office windows, the city’s usual soundtrack—horns, shouts, street vendors—muted by the downpour. It was the kind of weather that slowed everything down, made people late, made stories stall.

But I got to the newsroom early.

Partly out of habit. Mostly because I needed the noise, the emails, the deadlines. Something ordinary. Something clean.

I walked in soaked from the waist down, umbrella useless in the wind, and waved at the receptionist without much energy. My desk lamp was off, same as I’d left it Friday. Papers still sat where I’d pushed them aside—draft edits, a fact-checking sheet, an old press badge from a statehouse briefing.

But when I pulled open the top drawer, something new was waiting.

A small white envelope.

No name. No logo. Just sealed. Clean. Quiet.

I looked around. No one seemed to be watching. Janet from Layout was arguing with IT again. Deji was eating puff-puff over his keyboard like always. Normalcy.

I opened it.

Inside: a handwritten note in crisp, looping script. And beneath it, a black card—heavy, metallic, engraved with a single symbol I didn’t recognize. It caught the light in a way plastic never could. Almost like it was meant to glow.

I read the note twice before it sank in.

Femi,
You’re on the list now.
Discreet travel.
Private access.
Other doors.
When you need me, call.
Let no one know.
—B



Folded behind the card was a reservation slip. Cream paper, thick, embossed.

The Jewel Club – VIP Lounge, Victoria Island.
Permanent Access.
Last Fridays only.

No explanation. No instructions. Just access.

I stared at the card again, holding it in the fluorescent hum of the newsroom, watching how it shimmered. Not gold. Not silver. Something darker. Sleeker.

Like it wasn’t just currency—but a kind of key.

A key to what, though?

The Jewel Club. I’d heard of it—whispers, not facts. An invitation-only lounge for Lagos’ inner circle. Not just the rich. The entrenched. The ones who don’t show up on Instagram or campaign posters, but make the rules the rest of us live by.

And now, apparently, I had a seat.

I closed the drawer gently, tucking the envelope into a manila file labeled “Pending Pitches.”

Then I sat back in my chair and stared at the rain hitting the glass.

I had stepped through a door.

And on the other side was a life I had only written about—distanced by ink and ethics.

But now, it was mine.

Not a story.

Not a scoop.

A reality.

A choice.

And maybe… a trap.

Julie looked at her daughter quickly.

'Don't tell me what you want to discuss with me is your boyfriend.'

'It is part of it.' Damilola grimaced.

'Why is it that I'm very unlucky with those I've had as boyfriends? Why is it that I don't have a lasting relationship? Why ?'

'Hey, one by one, dear lady. Let's take the questions one by one.'

Damilola took a deep breath. 'Mummy, I have noticed that the relationships I have with men don't last; those I think should lead to lasting relationship don't last? Why is it like that?'

Her mother chuckled. 'My dear girl, why are you anxious over nothing?'

Damilola shook her head. 'Mummy, you think this is nothing? You think a relationship one has hoped will last forever and which suddenly comes to an end after four months or so, is nothing? I don't think so, mum. I don't think so.'

Her mother smiled. 'If you want the relationship to last, then you should make it work.'

'I'm trying on my part. I'm doing all I could do to make it work. The problem is the other person. They were not committed as I am. They're so unfaithful and unreliable.'

Julie mused over what her daughter just said. 'What made you come to all these conclusions?'

'Mum, let me give you the instance of the last lover I had. I was in his house last Saturday, after a couple of hours, I left, went to Ikeja for shopping and realized that I forgot my phone in his house.

'I drove back there and what did I see? I saw him romancing another lady in the sitting room. Yes, without any shame, they were romancing right there in the sitting room. Our relationship was just some few months old, and this happened.'

Julie was pensive for a while. 'All these don't mean you're doomed or something. What I can advise is: don't fall for any guy. Give in only to a serious minded one. Once you do that, you'll see that things will work out well.'

Damilola nodded. May be her mother was right. She had not been careful about making a choice. But wait a minute. All these lovers looked very serious and committed at the beginning. How was she supposed to know that they would turn out to be unfaithful and unreliable? Despite her mother's simplification of the matter, Damilola still believed there was much to it.




Hilda was around to spend the short two-week break after the end of the first semester. She had been around now for days, lazing around, chatting with friends on the phone and receiving some in the house. She had only spent exactly four days, so she still had many days to spend.

Her presence had disorganized Nonso's private plans. However, whatever would be the case, he had decided to visit Sename in the middle of the night tonight. He might have done that before now, but Hilda had this habit of watching the television until late in the night. That shouldn't be a problem, but it was: the room given to Sename was adjacent to the sitting room. Nonso would have to wait for her to leave the sitting room so that he could go and meet Sename.

When it was about half hour past midnight, Nonso tiptoed to the edge of the staircase. From there, he could hear the sound of the television. He went back to sleep. About an hour later, he woke up again. He watched as Pauline slept and snored.

He tiptoed to the staircase again. This time, there was no sound from the sitting room. Good, he thought. Stealthily, he climbed the stairs down and went to her room. He turned the knob and it opened. He had earlier told her he would be coming and she should not lock the door.

She sighed, a long, drawn-out breath, as though releasing a burden she hadn’t even meant to carry.

“Don’t bother,” she said finally.

Her voice was soft. Not forgiving, but not accusatory either. Just tired.

“I know it’s difficult to believe,” I said gently, “but it’s the truth. If not for the fact that I have a visitor in my room right now, I would have asked you to come with me and see for yourself.”

That made her eyebrows twitch. “You have a visitor?”

I nodded. “Yes. A female visitor, actually. But nothing serious—it’s just an old friend who dropped by unexpectedly. Honestly, I wasn’t planning for any of this today.”

A faint smile pulled at the corner of her lips, just for a second. “Sounds like your day’s been full.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” I muttered, managing a dry chuckle. “Once again, Ms. Kay, I’m deeply sorry about the missing bra. I swear to you, I wanted nothing more than to settle this peacefully.”

She gave a small nod, her eyes less tense now. “Alright, Dave. See you later.”

“Yeah,” I said, backing toward the door. “See you.”

I stepped out, closed the door behind me gently, and sighed hard. I hadn’t exactly solved anything, but at least I hadn’t made things worse. And thank God—she hadn’t pushed the issue. If she’d insisted on searching the room herself, I would’ve been forced to explain the Funmi situation too. That would’ve been far more complicated.

What a day, I thought as I trudged back to my room. My head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

Funmi was still sitting on the sofa, where I’d left her. As I entered, she looked up at me, a curious expression on her face. The television was on now, low volume, tuned to some fashion channel that I guessed she wasn’t even watching. Just flicking through the motions.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, trying to smooth the tension. “I had to settle something with a neighbor. It took a little longer than I expected.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied vaguely. “Just a small misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about.”

She nodded, eyes still on me. “So... what can I have?”

“Anything,” she said casually, like the queen of a small country.

I gave a polite nod. “Alright. Give me another moment. I’ll go get something for you.”

Before she could respond, I grabbed my wallet and stepped outside again, heading straight for the gate.

Just across the dusty road from the house, a familiar provision store stood nestled between two kiosks. I greeted the storekeeper and asked for two chilled bottles of malt and two packs of digestive biscuits—Funmi’s favorite combination back in the day. It was something of a ritual for us, once upon a time. I hadn’t thought about that memory in ages, but it came to me now, unbidden.

As I walked back to the compound, my thoughts returned to the other matter. The mystery of the disappearing bra refused to leave my mind. It was like an itch in my brain. How could something just vanish like that? I retraced my steps for the tenth time. I hadn’t moved the bag. I had locked the room. Damilola denied everything. And Funmi—well, I wasn’t sure what to think of her yet.

Could she have taken it?

That idea had crossed my mind earlier, but I had buried it. Why would Funmi take a bra that wasn’t hers? What would she even gain from that?

Still... her visit had been strangely timed.

As I re-entered my room, the cool air greeted me like a sigh of relief. Funmi had made herself at home. She was now reclined on the sofa, shoes off, legs curled beneath her, flipping the remote from one channel to another like she was waiting for something—or someone—to entertain her.

“Welcome back,” she said, without looking up.

“Thanks,” I replied, setting the bottles and biscuits on the table. “Got you something.”

She reached forward lazily and grabbed one of the malt bottles, inspecting the label before twisting off the cap.

“Digestives,” she said with a nostalgic smile. “Still remember my snack of choice, huh?”

“Hard to forget,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed again.

She took a sip and sighed. “You always were thoughtful, Dave.”

There was a pause.

I looked at her carefully. She still had the same poise, the same calm confidence that had always both attracted and unsettled me. But underneath that, there was something different now—something unreadable.

I had to say it. “So... what brings you here, really?”

He will onlyapologize IF he is wrong.

Facts on ground indicate that Mr. Trump is right.

I wasn’t sure if I was falling into something dangerous or stepping into the beginning of a second life.

But for now, I stayed.

And in the quiet between us, something unspoken solidified—an alliance dressed in skin and secrets.

---


By the time I pulled up to the flat, it was just after nine. The hum of the generator filled the night air, low and constant, like a heartbeat beneath the street’s silence. I sat in the car a while longer, engine off, lights dimmed, watching the orange flicker of the compound’s security bulb reflect off the bonnet. I could already hear the faint sounds of our neighbor’s baby crying, someone washing plates next door, and the echo of laughter from a small TV upstairs.

The world hadn’t changed.

But I had.

When I finally stepped inside, the smell of egusi and crayfish met me at the door—home, unmistakable. Warm, textured, familiar.

Solape was curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, wearing my old “Olamide Live in Concert” hoodie. The sleeves hung long past her wrists. She was half-watching a K-drama on the small TV, sound low, the glow of it dancing off her cheek. A bowl of garri and groundnut balanced in her lap like it had always belonged there.

She looked up the moment the door clicked shut.

“Babe. You’re back late o.” Her voice carried no suspicion, only concern. “Hope no wahala?”

I dropped my bag by the shoe rack and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Work stuff. Something in Lekki.”

It wasn’t technically a lie. Just… not the kind of truth anyone deserves.

She stretched as she stood, arms overhead, hoodie riding up slightly to show a sliver of soft belly. She yawned, rubbing one eye. “You want your food? I kept small egusi for you. With semo.”

“Yeah. Maybe later,” I said, my voice hoarse.

She didn’t press. She never did.

She crossed the room and kissed my cheek gently, her lips warm, faintly sticky from groundnut dust. Then she padded toward the kitchen, humming a tune from her show—soft, unbothered, the kind of peace that comes when you trust the world around you.

I watched her go, her steps light, barefoot on the tiles.

And the weight in my chest grew heavier. Not like guilt exactly—guilt is sharper. This was heavier than that. Slower. The kind of weight that settles behind your ribs and makes a home there.

She had no idea.

No idea where I’d been. No idea what I’d done.

And I didn’t know if I wanted her to.

Maybe I was already too far in. Too far gone.

There was something deeply unfair in how easily she moved through our space—so certain of love, so secure in us. I envied her for it. And hated myself for ruining the thing she still believed in.

I walked to the bathroom, washed my face. Looked at myself in the mirror. My own eyes looked like a stranger’s.

When I came out, she’d dished the food, covered it neatly, and gone back to her spot on the couch. She glanced up at me and smiled.

Good advice.

If Trump is really serious about helping Christians in Nigeria, let him do the following:
1. Publish names of those behind terrorism and banditry.
2. Publish names of their sponsors.
3. Seize all their assets.
4. Then give the government a fixed time of dealing with terrorism.
I am sure by the time they effect the first three points, things will change for good in Nigeria.

Government ought to feel the heat. Whether the government is directly fingered or not, whatever happens will bounce back on them.

Not again. Say No to Unbriddled sexual desire. It is dangerous.

Quite on point.
In Nigeria, the situation remains tensed up. Economic quagmire and tribal, political differences remain acute.
Unless, the tension eases off, the situation may continue or escalate.

It has gone beyond defending Nigerian image.

Government should get down to work and stop further sectarian attacks on Christians.

Security of lives and property matters.

Really?
That is disloyalty.
He is kidding.

FFK should tread softly.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Too bad. It is amazing how people keep falling for these schemes.

I had smiled through the pain, told her I was happy for her, and watched her walk away from my life like she had never been part of it.

And now, here she was again.

With a nod that lacked enthusiasm, I stepped aside to let her in.

Funmi entered like she owned the space, her eyes scanning the room like an estate agent surveying a rental. She gave a faint chuckle as she took in the surroundings—simple walls, an aging ceiling fan, a bed that doubled as a dining area, and a small shelf of novels and unpaid bills.

“Hmm,” she said with a smirk. “More like a cosy love nest than a bachelor's pad. Not bad, though. Could use some curtains.”

I gestured toward the only sofa in the room, and she lowered herself onto it gracefully, crossing her legs. I remained on the bed, feeling like a schoolboy being visited by his secondary school crush.

“So... this is where you’ve been hiding?” she asked, sarcasm dripping off her words like syrup.

“Hiding?” I raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just say this is where I’m staying for now.”

She let out a small laugh, but I wasn’t really listening. My mind had drifted—Ms. Kay. She was expecting me. She had finally agreed to see the bra again, and I had promised to bring it over. And now, I had no bra, no explanation, and a surprise visitor who might blow everything up just by being there.

“Excuse me,” I said, standing. “Just a minute. I need to attend to something urgent.”

Funmi didn’t protest. She leaned back into the sofa, legs still crossed, and gave a little wave. “I’ll be right here.”

I stepped out of my room and gently shut the door behind me. The late afternoon heat pressed against me like a second skin. I made my way across the corridor, each step slow and heavy with dread. When I reached Ms. Kay’s door, I paused again. I had no idea what I was going to say. I hadn’t even rehearsed a lie. I knocked—softly.

Her voice rang out from inside. “Yes, open the door and come inside. The door’s not locked.”

I pushed the door open with the kind of reluctance that usually accompanies confession.

Ms. Kay was seated on the edge of her bed, a bottle of peanuts in her lap, eyes fixed on the TV. Some kind of reality show was on. A contestant was being evicted while dramatic music played in the background. She muted the volume and turned toward me, her expression curious, expectant.

I couldn’t look her in the eye. I took a slow breath and said, “I’m really sorry I took so long. You won’t believe what happened.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“I’ve been searching... for it,” I said quietly.

“For what?” she asked, though I could see she already knew.

“The bra,” I replied. “I... I had kept it in a white polythene bag. I placed it on the edge of my bed. I was sure that’s where I left it. But it’s gone. I turned the room upside down looking for it. I searched my wardrobe, my pots, even the fridge... but it’s nowhere to be found.”

Ms. Kay blinked, her expression unreadable.

“You lost it?” she asked slowly, as though testing the absurdity of her own words.

“I didn’t lose it,” I said quickly. “It vanished. Someone must have taken it, I—”

“Who would take a bra from your room?” she asked, genuinely baffled.

I looked down, cheeks burning. “I... I don’t know.”

There was silence for a few moments. She turned the sound on the TV back up briefly, then back down.

“Well,” she said, popping another peanut into her mouth, “that’s quite the twist.”

“I swear to you, Ms. Kay, I’m not playing games. I really wanted to clear this issue. I know how it looked when you first saw it. But now... now even I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Ms. Kay studied me, chewing slowly. Then she said, “You’re sweating.”

“I know.”

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I let out a tired breath. “Not a ghost. More like a shadow from the past.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t press further.

“Alright,” she said finally. “If the bra shows up again, let me know.”

I nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

As I turned to leave, my thoughts spiraled. There was something unnatural about how the bra had gone missing. Too timely. Too precise. And Funmi showing up out of nowhere?

There were too many questions now, and not enough answers.


“Wait a minute,” Ms. Kay said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “Are you saying... that the bra is missing?”

I nodded, the weight of the absurdity hitting me all over again. “Exactly,” I said, my voice low and resigned. “It’s completely baffling. One moment it was there—right where I placed it—and the next, gone. Like it just... vanished into thin air.”

Ms. Kay tilted her head, studying me with that same piercing expression she used the first time we’d spoken. The weight of her silence unnerved me.

“I’ve turned my entire room upside down,” I continued, the words tumbling out of me, desperate to be believed. “I checked inside the wardrobe, under the bed, inside the cooking pots, the fridge—everywhere. Still nothing.”

I paused, swallowing hard. “I know how this must sound. And I’m really sorry I’ve put you through this kind of distress. I can’t even imagine how embarrassing and frustrating it must be for you.”

She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she looked past me, as if trying to connect the pieces in her own mind. I could almost see the calculations behind her eyes, measuring my words against my behavior, against whatever conclusion she’d begun to form.

“Look,” I said, straightening my posture a bit. “If there’s a price to pay—if there’s compensation you want—just say the cost. I’ll pay it. Whatever it is.”

She sighed, a long, drawn-out breath, as though releasing a burden she hadn’t even meant to carry.

“Don’t bother,” she said finally.

Back in the car, I was quiet as I drove.

"Yes, concerning Sharon," madam started, "She refered to you as P.A because that first day we spoke on the phone, I told her I would like you to work for me even as part-time due to your respectful and dignified tone."

I could not believe my ears. "You mean right from day one, your intention was to make me work for you?"

I was angry but I must control my temper.

"But, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say from the onset that you needed me to work?"

She did not answer me. "It is deceptive to tell me you want friendship, whereas what you need is a P.A."

She held me gingerly by the right elbow. Now, what did this mean?

"I didn't deceive you," she said softly.

I shook my head. "If you don't call that deception, what will you call it?"

She stared at me but I couldn't stare back as I had to concentrate on driving.

"I did not deceive you," she repeated. "It's true I did not tell Sharon the real motive but I did not deceive you."

"Are you still saying friendship is the motive?"

"Yes," she answered emphatically.

"But why didn't you tell Sharon?"

She looked exasperated. "How could I? How could I tell her such a thing?"

"And why not?" I demanded.

"Come on, Seyi. A woman has to be discreet."

I shook my head. "This thing that ought to be simple is getting complicated. How do you expect me to fully believe you?"

I shook my head again as I angrily blared the horn of the car at an errant danfo driver.

"Oh Lord, help me," I muttered.

She removed her hand from my elbow."Are you angry with me?" she asked. I was ready to be down to earth with her.

"A little bit," I replied.

"You had better not be."

I glared at her briefly and she glared right back.

"You had better not be because you are the cause of all this."

I was aghast. Momentarily, I lost the control of the steering wheel. It was like I had been given a whip lash on the back. Thank God it was only momentarily.

I had to allow some seconds to calm down.

"How is it my fault?" I asked with gritted teeth.

She must be very bad and desperate to do that.’

‘That’s what she did, and I’m so miffed with her.’ He pulled her to the bed and they sat on it.

‘How was your flight to and from Lagos?’

‘It was beautiful. I thank God for journey mercies.’

Just then, Munirat knocked on the door. ‘What should I prepare for you for dinner, sir?’ she asked from outside the room.

He thought briefly. ‘Eh, make pounded yam.’

‘Okay, sir.’

He gave a pause of some seconds before he spoke. ‘You’re looking more and more beautiful, Juliet.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘I can see you’ve done your hair. It’s beautiful,’ he commented. ‘Thank you.’

He held her lovingly by the waist and she seemed very pleased by that.



On Monday, Ayo and Juliet both dressed for work. While he would be going to resume work at his office at the Ministry of Information and IT, she would be starting her primary assignment at the Ministry of Culture. After his driver had dropped him in front of his office complex, the driver was instructed to drive Juliet to the other Ministry.
He had a meeting with the Minister, his boss, about ten in the morning, during when he gave him some briefings. The Minister commended him for a job well done. During the break, his secretary came to inform him that a woman sent by the Perm. Sec. wanted to see him.

‘Tell her to come in right away,’ he instructed.

A middle-aged woman came in carrying a bag. ‘Madam said I should give this to you, sir,’ she said.

‘Madam?’

‘Yes, Ms. Popo.’

The basket bag contained two food flasks, two bottles of wine, two bottled water and two packs of fruit juice.

‘All these for me?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Thank you. I will call her to say thank you, right away.’ ‘Okay, sir.’

The woman left his office.

He picked up his phone to call Ms. Funke Popo, but she beat him to it as her call came in. ‘Hello, madam.’

‘Hello, Mr. Ariyo. I sent a woman to bring some food to you.’

‘Yes, madam. I was about to call you and thank you. You shouldn’t have gone through all these troubles, madam.’

‘It’s no trouble. I asked my domestic maid to prepare it. I just felt like giving you a decent meal.’

‘Oh, thank you, madam. I do really appreciate your kindness.’ ‘It’s okay. It’s a pleasure. Enjoy your meal.’

‘Thank you, madam.’

The line was disconnected. He whistled to himself. Just what was this woman trying to do? First, the previous day, she had sent a driver and a car to convey him from the airport to his residence. now, she sent a woman to bring meal for him. He opened the food flasks to know the contents. The first flask contained richly-cooked fried rice.

The second one was filled with fried chicken and fried turkey, with some beef and stew. The chicken could last for days. Why was Ms. Popo doing all this? He asked himself.
In addition, she also put two bottles of wine and some drinks. All these were more than what a man could finish at a time!

He called his personal secretary. ‘Please get me some plates and serve me some food. He was served the sumptuous meal, but even a lot of rice was still remaining in the flask. ‘Care for some?’ he asked his secretary. She declined, but when he asked his driver, he accepted to eat some rice. He had to take the remaining chicken and turkey home, plus the drinks.

On getting home later day, Munirat was asked to take care of the meats.

He could not even eat any other food that day. By eight p.m., when he and Juliet were watching television, Ms. Popo came visiting again.

‘Madam, the madam,’ he greeted. ‘Welcome to my humble residence.’
She smiled expansively. Juliet had to excuse Ayo and the important guest.

She tried.
She really deserved it.

I agree.

The effects of the reforms are yet to be felt by the masses.

Coldspice:
This is very good writing. Well done.

Thank you.

My thoughts spiraled slowly, thick and unwelcome. I felt the guilt rising in my chest—not sharp, not immediate, but slow-burning. A creeping tide.

Solape’s name hadn’t been spoken, but she was here now. Not in body, but in weight.

“I knew you’d stay,” Princess Betty said softly.

Her voice was calm, almost tender. She didn’t need to raise it. Everything about her operated beneath the surface—suggestion, gravity, pull. Her fingers moved across my chest with the grace of someone who knew the effect of her touch, but wasn’t trying to prove anything.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t—not yet.

She turned slightly, her face just above mine. “You understand what this is now?”

I looked at her then. Her eyes held mine, unflinching. Not cold, not manipulative—but clear. Certain. The kind of clarity most people search for in therapy or religion. She had it in her gaze like it had been there since birth.

“I do,” I said.

No need for questions. No declarations of love. No illusions. This wasn’t romance. It wasn’t even, strictly speaking, desire. It was recognition. Mutual advantage. Two people seeing the world the same way for a moment—and deciding to share it, however briefly, from the same side of the line.

She smiled faintly and pressed her lips to my shoulder. The kiss wasn’t possessive or passionate. It was… affirming. A nod. A seal.

“You’re smarter than most men I’ve known,” she said.

Her words could have sounded like flattery. They didn’t. They sounded like observation. She wasn’t trying to seduce me. She already had.

I let out a slow breath. My body was still, but my mind wasn’t. Somewhere deep inside, a version of me was pacing. Restless. Regretful. Or maybe just afraid of what this moment might become—what I might become if I let it grow.

Princess Betty shifted, pulling the robe tighter around her waist. She sat up, her back straight, silhouetted against the soft spill of light from the window.

“This world eats men like you, Femi,” she said. “Not because you’re weak. But because you still believe in truth. In fairness. That’s dangerous in a place like this. That makes you visible.”

I watched her. Every word she spoke felt both like a warning and an invitation.

“I want to give you cover,” she said. “Not chains. Cover. So you can keep being you—only… protected.”

Protected. That word again. A promise. A threat.

Outside, somewhere distant, a car horn sounded. Life moved on, unaware of what had shifted inside Suite 202.

I sat up slowly, pulling the sheet across my lap. I didn’t want to seem vulnerable—not to her. But she had already seen the part of me I tried to keep out of reach.

“This isn’t going to be simple,” I said.

She turned her head slightly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Simple is for civilians.”

I met her gaze. There was something there. Not love. Not lust.

Respect.

And in its strange, careful way… maybe even trust.

I wasn’t sure if I was falling into something dangerous or stepping into the beginning of a second life.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice firmer now.

She cocked her head, smile fading into something unreadable. “I came to talk,” she said. “That’s all.”

I swallowed. My mind was darting back to the timeline again. Could she have been in the room? Could Funmi have taken the bra? But that made no sense. How would she even get in?

Unless—

She still had a copy of my old key.

The one I never collected back after we broke things off.

I stared in wonderment.


There was a knock at my door—three firm, deliberate taps.

My pulse, already erratic from the chaotic events of the past hour, kicked into another gear. I paused, feeling the dampness on my forehead intensify. With a quick motion, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the handkerchief I always carried—a habit picked up during my broke, sweaty campus days.

I dabbed my face, hoping to steady myself. It was probably Ms. Kay, I thought. She must be wondering what was keeping me. After all, I had promised to be back “in a jiffy.”

But when I opened the door, a strong, sweet scent flooded my nostrils—an expensive perfume I hadn’t smelled in over two years. It was intoxicating, familiar, and instantly disorienting.

“Hello, Dave,” the woman said softly, her voice teasing the edges of memory.

My mouth fell open in pure disbelief.

“Funmi?!” I gasped, blinking as though she were some hallucination brought on by heatstroke and stress. “What are you doing here? How did you even find this place?”

She smiled, tilting her head slightly to the side in that way she always used to—when she knew she’d just done something completely unexpected.

“Are you not going to let me in before the interrogation begins?” she asked, one eyebrow raised with casual confidence.

I hesitated. My instincts screamed that this wasn’t the time for visitors—especially not this visitor. My mind was still tangled in the crisis with Ms. Kay, and now, standing in front of me, uninvited, was the one person from my past who had the ability to throw my entire emotional compass off course.

But I couldn’t refuse her.

Funmi wasn’t just an ex. She had been my lifeline in school—helping me pay for meals, books, and sometimes even rent when things were rough. She’d called it love. I called it grace. We were inseparable for a time. And then, just like that, it ended. She told me she had met someone else—an older, wealthier, American-based Nigerian who “understood what a woman like her deserved.”

I had smiled through the pain, told her I was happy for her, and watched her walk away from my life like she had never been part of it.

And now, here she was again.

The man nodded. "Good afternoon."

I could see that he eyed me somehow.

"O ya, let's check the goods, David. Seyi, you can sit down. We'll be back in a minute."

They left the office. I could see them going to the wholesale side. Five minutes later, they had not come back. One of the sales girls came with a bottle of cold malt.

"I was asked to give you this,"

She served the drinks.

"Thanks."

Several minutes later, I could see madam walk to the cubicle. Then, she stopped to talk to one of the sales girl. A minute later, she came to meet me.

"Seyi, let's go."

We were soon back in the car. "We'll be going to Opebi."

I nodded. "Okay."

I could have taken Ojota/ Oregun road but I decided otherwise. I drove to the toll gate/ Seven Up area.

"Were you embarrassed I called you my P.A?" she asked.

I smiled. "Oh, not at all. If not that I'm currently employed, I will gladly be your P.A."

She smiled too. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

“If that's the case, then you can be my part time P.A."

I considered that as a joke. "With all pleasure, Big Aunty."

Several minutes later, we were at the Opebi outlet. It was much bigger than the first one, but it was purely whole sale.

Once again, the person in charge of the place took madam to inspect some goods. After some time, we left the place.

"That will be all for today. But, before we return home, don't you think we should stop at an eatery for food?"

"I'll stop where you want me to stop, but I don't really need food."

“Okay, let's take ice cream or something."

I nodded. "Alright."

I stopped at a popular eatery.

The hall definitely had tantalizing aroma, but I would not take food. Madam ordered for fried plantain chips and two jars of ice cream. We sat at isolated table and chatted idly.

Now, who says this woman could not be my lover? Her phone rang.

"Hello, Sharon," she said.

"Good afternoon, Big Aunty. I'm around in the house o."

I could faintly hear what Sharon was saying.

"You have to wait a bit. I'm at Opebi right now."

"Are you with your new P.A?" Sharon asked.

"Yes," madam answered.

"I hope he's doing a good job."

Madam smiled. "Yes, he is."

"Okay, I'm still in the house. Alright, see you."

“We'll soon be coming back."

Madam cut the line. "That was Sharon," she said.

I nodded, my mind busy. Sharon just referred to me as P.A. How could she do that? To think that not long ago, madam had introduced me as her P.A. It could not be mere coincidence that Sharon called and refered to me as P.A. too.

There must be something to this that I did not understand.

"How did Sharon get to know so fast that I'm your P.A?" I asked.

Madam paused for a long time.

"We will talk on the way home," she answered. "For now, let's enjoy our refreshment."

We took the chips and our ice cream, but my mind remained agitated. After about ten minutes, we left with our remaing ice cream.

Back in the car, I was quiet as I drove.