₦airaland Forum

My dear readers, I need your honest opinion on something.
For this new story “Darous – The Son of Thunder,” should we keep the series short and sharp… maybe 20–30 episodes?

Or should we allow it to breathe properly and go the long road, the way Countless and FFF went?

You people already know me. Writing small, compact stories is not exactly my strongest talent.

Once the story starts moving… it usually refuses to stop walking.

So before I start releasing thunder on everybody, I would really like to hear from you.

Should we keep it short… or should we go all in?
Your feedback will help shape how this story is told.

Darous The Son Of Thunder is our next story once we are done with our present project.

Friends Frenemies and Foes.

Drop reactions if you are looking forward to this masterpiece from ADIGUN IDOWU.

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You can start booking your seats now.

Episode 121 - The Quiet Trap.

Toyosi stood there for a few seconds, frozen in place.
Jude was already out of the car by then. He leaned casually against the door like a man who had just arrived at a lounge instead of a quiet hospital in the middle of nowhere.

The two of them stared at each other for nearly sixty seconds in total silence.

Toyosi’s face carried that controlled look she always wore when she was trying very hard not to react. The same expression she used the last time they were both at Mrs. Adeoye’s dining table.

Jude simply watched her, his hands buried in his pockets, studying her like a man trying to confirm if a memory in his head was painful or manageable.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable for all of us.

I decided to step forward.
I looked from Toyosi to Jude, then back again.
“Good,” I said calmly. “So the two of you remember each other.”

Neither of them answered.

I shook my head slowly.
“You see why I don’t like bringing important people to meet Aristotle's people?”

Toyosi’s lips twitched first.
Then she finally spoke.
“Shut up, Darous,” she said slowly, still looking at Jude. “Where exactly did you find this idiot boy?”

I opened my mouth to tell her the idiot boy was her cousin.

But before the words could leave my mouth, Jude’s eyes widened slightly.
He saw what I was about to say.
And he moved fast.

Before Toyosi could react, Jude stepped forward and pulled her into a quick hug, using Toyosi's blind spot to tell me to shut up.

Toyosi froze again for a moment — probably wondering what that was meant for.

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Episode 120 - The Long Evening.

I drove inside the compound.
The gate closed quietly behind us.

Mrs. Adeoye’s Mercedes was already parked near the entrance. I parked beside it and stepped out with Jude.

I was still looking for the perfect response to give him about Cynthia when he paused for a second, looking around the compound again.

The same compound that once hosted that ridiculous gathering of politicians and businessmen. The same compound where Tiffany and Toyosi stepped down from that Mercedes and scattered the dignity of three grown men in five seconds.

Jude shook his head lightly.
“Life is funny sha.”

I didn’t answer. We walked into the house.

Mrs. Adeoye appeared from the inner hallway almost immediately, as if she had been waiting for the sound of the door. Her eyes moved from me to Jude, then back to me.

I didn’t stretch the moment.
“Jude is on board.”

For a brief moment her composure broke. A small breath escaped her before she smiled.
“That is good. Very good.”

Then she looked at us again.
“I owe both of you an apology.”

Jude raised a brow slightly but stayed quiet.

“Jude, for lying to you about the business proposal. But be rest assured, we will still do business once this man is down.”

Jude only smiled at that.

She turned to me.
“And you, Darous, for not telling you his identity before the airport.”

“I thought as much.”

“So you guys forgive this old woman?” She put her palms together in an apologetic gesture.

“Apology accepted.” We both said it simultaneously.

That was the end of that conversation.

Later I told Jude, “It’s been over six months since I last set eyes on Cynthia.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes. Abi you… you are still interested in dating her?”

He smiled faintly, shaking his head.
“No,” he said. “I’m only asking because of what happened between us.”

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Episode 118 — A Friend Returned.

For almost two minutes we just sat there, staring at each other like two men who had seen a ghost and were still deciding whether to believe their own eyes.

Jude leaned back slightly in his chair, still studying my face as if he expected it to vanish.

I spoke first.
“Guy… ahah… you just disappeared like that."

" No be like that jare....." He said with a smile.

" No be like kini, Jude? No call. No text. Nothing nothing. Eh? Do you know how many times I tried to reach you?”

He opened his mouth but I didn’t stop talking.
“Your number was dead. Everyone said they had no idea where you went. At some point I even thought something bad had happened to you.”

I shook my head slowly.
“And the funny thing is that, when I needed you the most, you were nowhere to be found."

"Hmmm." He released a deep breath with that smile still on his face.

" Bro, you think say na joke? " I scoffed. " If I begin to tell you everything I’ve been through since you left, you won’t even believe half of it.”

Jude sighed again and raised both hands slightly in surrender.
“Okay, okay. Calm down first.”

He leaned forward.
“Darous, you know me na. Six years of our friendship. Do you really think I would just vanish like that without a valid reason?”

“I know you have your reasons. But what I’m pissed about is why you were unreachable at all. You know I thought it was because of Kenny and his threats back then, but I never expected you to just disappear like that…”

He shook his head.
“It wasn’t because of Kenny… no, no, no. I couldn’t explain anything then. But I promise you it was for a very good reason. And I will tell you everything now that we’ve met again.”

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Episode 117 — The Ninth Seat

“The courier came,” Mrs. Adeoye said in a calm voice that made me wonder what bad news was hidden inside those words.

“You know I couldn’t meet him myself.”

I nodded, holding back the urge to ask why, so she wouldn’t start questioning the “SMART” in my name.

“That would have exposed your identity,” I said.

“Exactly.” She gave a small nod.
“So I sent my Arab men to deliver the package. And they did.”

“Just like that?” I asked.

She took a sip of juice before answering.
“Nothing is ever just like that with those kinds of people. But in the courier’s case, he only sent instructions through a secure channel — a hotel room number. My men went there and handed over the sealed envelope containing the DNA report, the teeth of both parents, and every other thing that could prove the claim.”

“So the courier did not tell them anything about what next?”

“Nothing at all. They said he checked the seal, collected the package, and left.”

That sounded exactly like the kind of organisation that preferred silence over conversation.

“So what happened after that?” I pressed. “Because I still don’t see the bad news here.”

“I waited for over five days for them to get back to me Until one evening when I received an email.”

“From them?”

“Yes.” She reached for her phone.
“What baffles me is that, despite all my efforts to remain anonymous — using different phone lines, different routing, making sure there were no markers pointing to me on the documents — it still didn’t matter.” She turned the screen toward me.
“They still knew it was me.”

I stared at her.
“You mean they now know your identity?”

“That’s the bad news I'm talking about. They know who I am, and I don’t know what that means for us going forward.”

I let that sink in before asking, “What did the email then say?”

She unlocked her phone and read slowly.
“First, they confirmed the evidence I provided was authentic.”

“That means Aristotle is finished,” I said quickly.

She shook her head.
“No. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because according to them, confirmation is only the first step.”

I leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”

“The Circle confirmed that the current holder of Seat Number Five is not the biological firstborn son of the previous occupant.”

“That should disqualify him automatically. At least if what Tiffany’s father told us is true.”

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Episode 116 — Echoes and Evidence.


After that call with Mrs. Adeoye, I did everything possible to keep my mind away from Tiffany.
Not because I’d moved on from her.
But because thinking about her too much had started doing something dangerous to my head.

At first, it started small — like thinking I saw her in a crowd.
A woman passing by with the same type of hair as hers.
The same height.
The same walking style.
My heart would jump immediately.
I would slow down. Turn again. Look carefully.
Then I would realise it wasn’t her.
Just another Nigerian woman living her normal life.

The first few times it happened, I ignored it.
Then it started getting worse.

One afternoon I was driving the Prado through Allen Avenue traffic when I suddenly saw her standing by the roadside.
Clear as daylight.
White blouse. Black trousers. The exact outfit she wore the last time we went out to Cold Stone together.

My brain froze.
I slammed the brake so hard the car behind almost climbed into my boot.
Horns exploded everywhere.
Drivers shouted insults I didn’t even bother to answer.

But when I looked again…
The woman wasn’t Tiffany.
Just someone who shared the same hairstyle.

That day I understood something.
My mind was beginning to Judas-Iscariot me. In simpler, un‑Hebrewish terms — my mind was starting to betray me.

The Prado continued being my main companion — the only positive thing Aristotle had ever added to my life, aside from the money sitting in my accounts.

It’s not as if I didn’t have many free pvssy offers from beautiful women, but the smooth engine of the Prado, its solid body, and comfortable seats were a perfect companion for someone slowly losing his mind.

Sometimes I would see Tiffany standing near a shop while driving and my leg would hit the brake before my brain had time to process what I was seeing.

It happened more times than I liked to admit.

Unfortunately, the Suya boys and Around 90 were witnesses to one of those moments.
And they refused to just let it go.

The evening it happened, we were returning from a burial.
One of the Suya boys had lost his grandmother in Ibadan. The old woman suffered a heart attack after someone stole her precious goat — the one she had planned to use for the upcoming Eid al‑Fitr. So the four of them insisted I join them for the funeral.

The journey back to Lagos was fun and lively.
Until we reached Agege road.

The Prado was full.
I was driving.
The four Suya boys squeezed in the back like passengers inside a commercial bus.
And beside me in the front seat sat Around 90.

Halfway down the road, I saw someone crossing ahead.
A woman.
Same shape.
Same hairstyle.
Same walk as Tiffany.

For a split second, my brain screamed one word.
Tiffany.

My foot reacted before my head could stop it.
I slammed the brake.
The Prado screamed to a halt.

Inside the car commotions exploded.
The fat one among the Suya boys smashed his head against the seat.
The skinny one flew forward and nearly kissed the dashboard.
The tall one grabbed the short one’s neck thinking it was the seat belt.
Around 90 held the dashboard like a man whose soul was about to sign out from his body.



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Episode 115 – Legacy Debt

While the fight between Kalu and Jago was going on, nobody noticed when the rear door of the Benz opened gently.

Toyosi stepped out.
She moved quietly toward the dog house first. The dogs were already restless, their low growls rising with the tension in the air. But the moment they saw her, their bodies relaxed. The barking stopped.

She bent slightly and whispered to them, calming them the way she always had since they were puppies. Toyosi knew their barking could wake the drunken guards sleeping around the compound.
And that was the last thing they needed tonight.

When she was sure they were quiet, she walked back to the side of the Benz and leaned slightly against it.
From there, she watched.

Every word her father spoke to Kalu carried the same cold arrogance she had grown up hearing. Each sentence only made the anger inside her grow stronger.
It was the kind of anger that had been building for years.

Finally, she pushed herself away from the car.
And began walking toward them.

Her mother saw her first.
“Omotoyosi, go back! Go back!”

Aristotle did not even turn.
His eyes were still locked on Kalu.
“Get back in that vehicle, Toy,” he said calmly.

“Because of what?” she fired back as she continued walking. "Because you'll shoot me?"

“No. Because I am your father,” Aristotle replied coldly.
“And I am telling you to go back now.”

Toyosi kept moving.
“I stopped being your daughter the moment you threatened to shoot me.”

She came closer.
The headlights from the Benz lit one side of her face, leaving the other half hidden inside the night shadow.

“Omotoyosi,” Bunmi pleaded desperately.
Her body struggled against Aristotle’s grip as she spoke.
“Please go back, oko mi… please… ma je kin fi oju sunkun omo…”

Her voice broke as she tried to free herself.
“Don’t allow this bloodthirsty monster laugh over your grave…”

“Don’t do that, Mummy,” Toyosi said softly. "You can't stop me this night."

She stopped a few steps away.
Then slowly, she brought the gun out from behind her waist.
And raised it.
Straight at her father.

For a brief moment, Aristotle stared at her.
A surprised scoff escaped his lips.
It was the kind of scoff someone gives when they believe something is too ridiculous to be real.

But the surprise disappeared from his face almost immediately.
His expression turned cold again.
“So this is what our relationship have become,” he said quietly. "Toy?"

Toyosi shifted slightly to the side.
Now she stood directly opposite Kalu.
Aristotle stood in the middle.
Two guns pointed at him.

For a moment, the night became silent.
Even the wind seemed to pause.

“Toyosi,” Kalu said quietly.
“You don’t want to do this, trust me. You don’t want to have your father’s blood on your hands.”

Toyosi’s eyes flashed.
“Why does everyone keep telling me that same bullshit?”

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Episode 114 – Open Gate

Toyosi shut the door and sat down, trying to control her breath. She adjusted the gun behind her waist and sat properly. Her eyes remained fixed on the situation ahead.

The Benz’s engine was still humming softly. The headlights were still cutting through the dark, stopping at the side of the BMW like a boundary line nobody had permission to cross.

Kalu leaned forward slightly.
“Now what?”

“What what?” Toyosi asked with a frown.

“Are we just going to sit here and continue watching this maniac beat her to a stupor?” he said quietly.

“Haba!” She turned sharply to him. “Use your head, nau… detective. Can’t you see what he’s trying to do here?”

“Of course I see it.” Kalu straightened. “He wants to make me watch as he beats her to death.” He let out a low groan and looked ahead again, watching as Bunmi and her husband remained locked in a tense exchange.

“If that’s all you can see, then you are not seeing clearly.”

“Borrow me your lenses then. Let me see through them.”

“You see, I know my father. The sole aim of this confrontation with my mum is to use it to drag you out. He’s after you. He wants you to give him a reason to kill you. Confronting him now is all the reason he needs to send you to your grave.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “He just threatened to shoot you. You, his daughter.”

“And did he mention you?” she replied. “Even though he knows you are in the car right now. The moment you show up with that gun, you automatically become the main issue. And when you become the issue, he can even use my mother as an example to teach you a lesson. Are you going to let that happen?”

“So I just sit here and do nothing?” Kalu said.

“No. I’m already thinking of a plan. Just wait for my signal.”

Outside, Mrs. Adeleke was still talking with her husband.
The guard — Jago — stood firm. Gun steady. The muzzle stayed pointed at the Benz.

Then it happened again.
Aristotle’s hand rose and landed across Mrs. Adeleke’s face.
The sound travelled clearly.

She staggered.
She lifted her own hand and swung at him.
He shifted slightly. Her palm cut through empty air.

His hand came again.
A clean sweep across her face.
She lost balance and fell to the gravel.

That was it.
“Damn it. Fvck your plan, Toyosi. I'm getting out of here.” Kalu said as he reached for his gun on the dashboard.

He opened the door and stepped out quickly, his gun raised.

Jago fired immediately.
The windshield cracked.
Glass sprayed inward.

Kalu dropped and rolled hard across the gravel as bullets struck metal. Sparks jumped off the Benz. The shots were controlled. Jago was aiming to disable him, not to kill him immediately.

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Episode 113 - Blood And Command.


The engine of the Mercedes was still running. The headlights were on. The white beams stretched forward and stopped at the black BMW 760Li like a warning line.

The rear door of the BMW opened, and a man dressed in black appeared. He stood by the side facing the Benz, hands folded across his chest, his face hard as stone.

Toyosi leaned forward slightly. Trying to catch the identity of the man.

Then she froze.

“That’s my father’s personal bodyguard,” she said under her breath. Then louder: “What's he doing here?.”

Others said nothing.

“He’s supposed to be in Abuja with him,” Toyosi added, disbelief creeping into her voice. “What's going on? .”

Still, Kalu did not respond.
He was studying the distance, the possibility of escape.

The BMW was parked at an angle, blocking most of the gate but not fully touching the wall. There was a small gap near the tail end. Small. Risky. But it was there.

He was thinking if he accelerated hard enough and hit the back side of the BMW, it might shift just enough to create space for them to escape.

He knew the risks.
If he was caught this time, there would be no going back to the cellar. No second chance. No negotiation. His existence would end in the compound.

He glanced at Bunmi in the back seat.
She was as frightened as everyone else.

“I would rather go back into that house in a body bag,” she said quietly, “than spend one more second breathing there.”

Toyosi nodded slowly. "So what do we do?.”

Kalu adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
One deep breath.
He pressed his foot lightly on the accelerator, testing the response of the engine. The Benz responded smoothly.

He calculated again.
The angle. The speed. Impact point.

He was going to ram the tail end of the BMW. It would spin slightly once the tires lost balance.

It's risky but possible.

He began to press harder on the gas.
Then—

The rear door of the BMW opened.
Everyone inside the Benz went still.

A pair of polished brown loafers touched the ground first.
Then simple dark jeans.
Then a plain white T-shirt.
A small pouch hung across his neck.

No agbada. No campaign cap. No convoy noise.
Just casual dressing.

Aristotle stepped out as if he had had enough of the drama going on outside.

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Episode 111- Not A Straight Road.

Two days passed quietly after Toyosi had that conversation with her mother.

On the surface, nothing in the house looked different. The house staffs still came and went, going about their chores. Security men still rotated shifts at the gate and around the premises.

Because of the oncoming campaign and election season, Aristotle barely stayed home anymore. He would spend one day at the mansion and then vanish for the next two weeks, moving from rallies to meetings, always surrounded by his convoy and carrying the same unreadable face. He was almost never at home.

But inside the house, careful movements had begun.

Toyosi worked first on the businesses. She did not do anything in a rush — that would attract attention. One by one, she transferred operational control of the supermarket and the smaller outlets to her most trusted staff member, a woman who had been with her for years and knew the system well enough to keep things running.

The meeting happened inside her office. Toyosi kept her tone normal.
“I need to travel for some medical checks,” she told the woman. “I don’t know how long I’ll be away. And I want you to keep this between us.”

The woman looked concerned, but Toyosi’s expression stayed firm enough to stop her from asking too many questions.

Documents were signed. Access codes were adjusted. Supplier contacts were handed over carefully. By the time the meeting ended, the transition already looked natural on paper.

Outside of work, Toyosi kept trying to reach Tiffany. She called Darous again. And again. Each time, the answer came back smooth and well controlled:
“She’s getting better.”
“She just needs time to heal properly.”
“She doesn’t want to speak to you yet.”

The words never changed.

Toyosi sat in her car after the fourth call, her phone still in her hand, eyes fixed on nothing. Darous was lying. She knew it. He was too careful with his words. Darous was never this polished unless he was hiding something serious. Although she knew the glass cup she gave him would be used to hurt her father, she didn’t care as long as it harmed him. Still, she felt something was wrong with Tiffany.

But the restraining order tied her hands. She could not go near the house or the hospital where she heard Tiffany was admitted. She couldn't risk sending anyone without creating another problem for herself.

Upstairs in the main house, Bunmi moved differently too. She avoided anything like argument with her husband. Either on the phone or whenever he was around.

She even showed less reactions at the dining table. She needed her husband to be well relaxed. Any room for suspicion now would destroy everything they were working towards.

Her meetings with Kalu had turned into a real escape plan. Within a few days, the plan was fixed in Kalu's mind, ready to be carried out.

Mrs. Adeleke, Toyosi, and Mary would drive out when Aristotle wasn’t around, telling the guards they were going shopping. If the guards offered to escort them, they’d smile, decline politely, and keep it moving. Simple as that.

“So are you ready? Because we’re leaving in two days,” Bunmi said one afternoon, after they'd just finished having a few round of hot sex on her bed.

Kalu kissed her cheek lightly. “That's good. So where is the destination?”

“We will pass Libya, to Spain. Straight to Barcelona,” she said, her hand resting on his chest, her eyes searching his face.

“Barcelona?” he asked with a small smile. “Why Barcelona?”

She let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know… there’s just something about that city. The colors, the rhythm, the way the Catalonian people live. I’ve always wanted to feel that energy, to walk those streets, to taste their food, to hear their music in the open air.”

Kalu’s smile widened. “So it’s not just about this escape. It’s a dream come true for you, eh? Bunmi.”

Her fingers traced lightly across his chest. “Yes. A dream. And maybe, finally, a chance to breathe.”

He leaned closer. “Then Barcelona it is. If we stick to the plan, there won’t be a problem.”

She hesitated. “So you are sure no one will suspect a thing?”

“Everything still matches your travel history,” he said. “ There will be no red flags. Just ensure you stick to the plan. And make sure your husband do not suspect anything before you leave this house.”

She nodded, but her face shifted. A frown crept in.
“Wait, you sound like you’re not coming with us.”

Kalu didn’t flinch. “Bunmi, come on, you know I was never part of the escape plan.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice tightening. "I've got your papers ready for you. Why did you give me all your details when you weren't planning on leaving with us?"

“It’s the only way this can work,” he replied. “If I move with you, it complicates everything we've been building. Getting me out of the cellar is very risky. And your husband knows me too well. He won’t let me go.”

“My husband is not God. You assured me he won't be able to find us once we leave.”

Kalu sighed. The reason why he had told her that was because he knew he would end Aristotle's life once they are gone.

“True. But he has enough influence to chase us down. He knows I’m not the kind of man who just disappears quietly. He’ll hunt us down. The safest way for you and your daughter is for me to stay here.”

Bunmi sat upright. “Say whatever you want, Kalu. I’m not leaving this house without you.”

“Bunmi, don’t let your emotions ruin this. We need a clear head for this plan to work.”

“This isn’t about my emotion,” she shot back. “It’s my conscience. And it won’t allow it.”

He studied her face. She had already made up her mind.

“If you stay here, Kalu.” she said quietly, “whatever happens to you will sit on my chest for the rest of my life.”

Kalu tried to soften it, forcing a smile. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You can’t promise that.”

She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “In just a few days… the care you’ve shown me, the way you’ve talked with me… it’s more than I’ve had in thirty years of marriage.”

Kalu’s fingers flexed against his chest. "What about your daughter? Won't she question why I'm suddenly part of the plan? She will know there's something between us."

She rested her soft palms on his cheeks. "I can handle my daughter. Don't worry about her. All I know is, I’m not walking away from this house while leaving you here to face him." She looked him in the eyes. " Once we’re gone, how long before he puts one and two together and comes for you?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Even if I wanted to, the guards will never let me move with you. You know that.”

“Then find a way,” she said simply.

Kalu leaned back against the headboard, eyes narrowing. The weight of her words pressed hard on his chest.

Not long ago, his late wife had begged him to leave before things got worse. He had stayed. She had paid with her life.

Now another woman is here, refusing to move unless he moved too.

If he leaves, Aristotle walks free.
If he stays, history might repeat itself.

For the first time since the plan began, the road in front of Kalu was no longer clear… and he knew one wrong step now could bury all of them.

That day, he left Bunmi's apartment with heavy thoughts pressing on his chest. He spent the whole night searching for a way to balance it all. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find one.

To be continued.

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Episode 110 - Smiles and Scars.

Kalu was back in the cellar.
He sat on the cold floor, elbows resting on his knees, staring at nothing in particular. His mind refused to stay quiet.

He still could not fully understand how things had escalated so quickly between him and Mrs. Adeleke… Bunmi. To the extent they had sex under her husband’s own roof.

Had he just betrayed the memory of his wife? Or was this one of those human weaknesses men fall into when life presses too hard on them? He honestly did not know what to believe anymore.

His wife's face flashed in his memory— the way her fingers had tightened weakly around his hand as life slipped out of her body. He had made a promise to her that day.
He would avenge her death alongside her late brother and sister. No matter what.

Kalu exhaled slowly.
At least one thing was still working in his favour. Bunmi clearly had no love left for her husband. Not even a single drop. That alone will make his path smoother.

Once Toyosi agreed to the escape plan — Libya, Morocco, USA… anywhere but Nigeria — the real plan would begin. Once mother and daughter were safely out… then he would move on Aristotle.

He would end his life with his bare hands if he had to. After that, whatever happened to him would not matter. Because deep down, he knew something for certain: if Aristotle remained alive, Bunmi and Toyosi would never truly be free.

Still… he had to be careful. This was not just any man. This was the National Security Adviser of the country for God sake.

But fear was not what Kalu felt in his mind. As a former detective, he understood security systems better than most of the men guarding that house and Aristotle himself. Every protection had a weakness. Every tight wall had a small crack somewhere. He only needed one clean opportunity.
Get Aristotle alone.
Cut off his breath.
Make it look like a heart attack.

He knew compounds… mixtures… things that could be prepared quietly from an ordinary kitchen. To make it look like a cardiac arrest. He had been building the plan piece by piece ever since the day he convinced Toyosi to speak to the guards about giving him access to sunlight sometimes. Every move was already falling into place.

Simple in theory but realistically dangerous.

He let out a sigh as his thoughts drifted again. Back to Bunmi. That woman…

Kalu shook his head slowly. He had met many women in his life, but Bunmi was different. Sharp. Bold. The kind of woman who already knew what she wanted before most people finished thinking. She's a risk taker. That was why he was almost certain she would agree to run away before he even told her about it.

Still… he found himself wondering what exactly a woman of her level had seen in him. Enough to let him get that close to her to the extent of giving him her body.

A small amused smile appeared on his lips.
“Women sha… only God knows how they think. Those creatures are very unpredictable,” he muttered quietly.

Right then—
The metallic door to the cellar creaked open.

Kalu’s smile faded instantly. He looked up.

Standing at the entrance… was exactly who he had been expecting.

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How time flies

Episode 109— The Quiet Risk.

Kalu’s eyes shifted toward the door.
His body went alert at once.

“What’s that sound?” he asked Mrs. Adeleke, who didn’t seem to hear it.

“What sound?” she asked back.

Kalu looked at the door, then whispered.
“I think someone’s at the door. Are you expecting anyone?”

Mrs. Adeleke shook her head.
No. But her eyes flickered with anxiety.

Kalu did not wait a second longer.
He moved quickly, silently, and slipped behind the long sofa. He lowered himself into the blind corner where the wall met the armrest. From the entrance, he would not be seen unless someone stepped fully inside and looked toward his direction.

Mrs. Adeleke stood up slowly.
Her heartbeat was visible in the tightness of her throat.

She adjusted her wrapper and walked toward the door with controlled steps. Each footfall sounded louder than it should.

If it was one of Aristotle’s loyal guards, they would ask questions.
If it was another staff member, suspicion would begin.
If it was anyone else—like her husband? That would be chaos.

But her mind told her it couldn’t be Aristotle. She couldn’t remember the last time he even came to this wing of the mansion. If he wanted to see her—which he seldom did—he only sent his errand boys to fetch her. He never bothered with this part of the house.

Still, the possibility that one of his guards had caught a whiff of what was going on between her and Kalu couldn’t be overlooked. She prayed she was wrong as she moved toward the door.

She reached it.
For a brief second, she just stood there.
Then she unlocked it and pulled it open.
..



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Episode 108 - Tests And Tremors.


The first few days after Tiffany left felt longer than the whole week I spent in that ward with her.

I kept checking my phone like a mad man. Every vibration made my heart jump. Every notification that wasn’t from India made me angry easily.

Even calls from bricklayers and old clients about materials or fees gave me headaches.

On the fourth day, I found myself calling the hospital. They connected me to Dr. Arvind Sholey, the neurologist in charge.

“Mr. Darous,” he said, “ We are still running advanced neurological tests. There are minor responses, but nothing conclusive yet. Recovery in such cases requires patience.”

Patience. That word again.

“So, Doctor, she’s not getting worse? Is that what you’re saying?” I asked.

“No. She is not deteriorating,” he replied, before ending the call.

Normally, that little piece of news should have calmed me. But it didn’t.

You know the saying, you don’t value what you have until you lose it? That was my case.

I barely slept that night—or the nights that followed. When I did, I woke up sweating. Food lost its taste. My clothes hung loosely. My hair grew wild. One morning I looked in the mirror and hardly recognised the man staring back.

But as hard as it was for me, it was worse for Naomi.
She stopped asking questions after a few days. That silence was heavier than anything her words could have carried.

She moved around the house too quietly for a child her age.

One evening, she sat beside me and asked, “Uncle, when is mummy coming back?”
That question stayed in my head long after she slept.

We had to make a decision.
Mrs. Adeoye suggested boarding school. At first, I refused. She was just ten years and eleven months old. Still a child.

But the truth was, the house had become too heavy for her without Tiffany. Every corner reminded her of her mother.
So in the end, we had no choice but to enroll her.

The day I dropped her off, she carried her small box herself.
She hugged me tightly, her eyes wet with tears.

“Don’t forget to call me every day,” she said.

“I won’t,” I promised, fighting hard against the tears that wanted to flood my eyes.

She smiled softly.
“I love you, Uncle Darous.”

“I love you too, baby girl,” I replied, bending down so my eyes met hers.

“Bye…” she whispered, waving before turning away.

“Don’t forget to be a good girl, okay?” I called after her.

She only nodded. No words. Just that small nod.

Her little box in her hand.
Her small shoulders trying to carry a weight too heavy for her age.

As the gate closed behind her, I felt like I had failed twice. First Tiffany. Now this child.

I remembered Kalu— her father, still rotting away inside the dungeon of Aristotle. Her mother was killed by this same man. Now Tiffany that she now treat as her mother was skies away. Courtesy of the same person— Aristotle.

I won’t lie. The troubles I faced years ago, when I almost ended my life at the Third Mainland Bridge before Jude pulled me back, did not reach this level. That darkness was deep. But this one… this one was deeper.

The only thing holding me now was revenge. Revenge on Aristotle. For every life he damaged. For every tear Naomi cried. For every breath Tiffany took through the machines. In short, for destroying my life.

I swore I would not die until I saw him answer for it.

Therapist Layla helped me again this time. Mrs. Adeoye’s daughter. She had been there for me in the past after the kidnapping, and now she was here once more—sitting with me, speaking in that soft, calm voice with her British accent.
She must have noticed I always looked at her chest more than her mouth, so she always covered up whenever she wanted to talk to me.

“You are not grieving her death,” she told me one afternoon. “You are grieving the uncertainty of her situation. That is not easy. I know.”

Before I knew it, her therapeutic words and frequent presence began to take effect.

She would call me from time to time, just to check in. Sometimes she arranged meetings with me in her wing or her office at the house. We would sit together and talk. She tried to take my mind off Tiffany—asking about my work, my childhood, even small things like food, music, and football.

That was how I discovered she was a Real Madrid fan, and that she liked Ronaldo more than Messi. We would argue for hours about who was better, until our throats hurt. All of it was her way of pulling me out of the darkness.

And slowly, I began to feel the ray of light.

I started eating again. Fruits. Bread. Light soup. Just enough to keep me standing. Not because I wanted to live well, but because I needed enough strength to pull through the oncoming storm.

The following week, Mrs. Adeoye called me. Her voice was steady as always.

“The DNA result is ready,” she said. “I will receive the official copy shortly.”

I straightened. “How did you even manage that? It’s not like we have the glass cup Toyosi brought that day.”

She paused.
“I got the cup,” she replied smoothly.

“What? How?” I asked, shocked.

“I retrieved it from Rachael before she was handed over to the authorities.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“She took the cup,” Mrs. Adeoye explained. “She wanted to use it as leverage against Aristotle. When my team secured her, we recovered the item.”

“That sounds… convenient,” I said quietly.

“Convenient? No. Maybe you meant...efficient,” she corrected. “In situations like this, efficiency is everything.”

There was a short pause before I spoke again.

“And what was the result?” I asked.

“As I said, I will receive the document soon,” she answered. “But preliminary feedback confirms the findings are consistent with what we suspected.”

“Okay…” I said finally.

“Darous, how are your sessions with Layla going?” she asked.

“Well, going fine… she’s really trying for me, I won’t lie.”

“That’s excellent. Because I need you strong. What is coming next will require clarity of mind. Your grief is understandable. But I need to know your head is still in the game.”

I let out a slow breath. “I’m trying my best.”

“Try harder,” she said gently. “Aristotle is not resting. And neither should we.”

There was a short silence. Then her voice came again, calm and cool.

“Do you still remember the numbers inside the ledger you gave Aristotle?” she asked.

“Yes…” I answered.

“Perfect. I might also need the message you delivered to him from Black Mamba when you met him in prison.”

“Okay… but for what?” I asked.

“From all the information I gathered, those numbers will link us to the other seven fathers on the Circle’s table. And the message you delivered will be the first thing we say to them once we make that call. Without it, they won’t even listen.”

I sighed, understanding clearly.

“Read the numbers to me,” she said. “Let me have them down.”

I began to roll out the phone numbers one after the other.

When I finished, she didn’t even say thank you. She only breathed out softly.
“Good,” she said. “Your head is still where it should be.”

Then came the next question.
“When you were sent to Kirikiri, what did Black Mamba instruct you to tell Aristotle as a reply?”

“The Ninth Father Zugzwang,” I answered.

"Spell that Zugzwang."

"Z-U-G-Z-W-A-N-G."

Another silence.
“Alright… good,” she said.

“So that’s all we need to get their attention?” I asked.

“Hopefully, yes.”

“Alright. Let me know when you need me then.”

“Okay. Just get yourself together. And stay out of trouble. Remember—you must never tell Toyosi that we know it was her father who poisoned the drinks.”

I frowned.
“Why do I have to keep lying to her? That girl was also affected. She almost died that day.”

“I have my reasons,” she replied, steady as always. “An apple does not fall far from the tree.”

I told her Toyosi had been calling me often, asking about Tiffany’s condition. And that I kept telling her Tiffany was improving, just as she instructed.

“And that's exactly what you must continue to tell her,” she said. “We are in a crucial stage of this war. The circle of information must be limited. Especially around those closest to the man we are fighting.”

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
She was right. Even if Toyosi had truly changed, her blood tie to Aristotle was still a heavy concern.
Blood has a strange way of choosing sides when pressure comes.
It remembers its origin.
It bends toward its root.
And when the storm rises, loyalty to blood can drown every other bond.

“I understand,” I said finally.

“I will contact you once I receive the official DNA document,” she continued. “Or when it is time for you to come in.”

“Alright.”

“Stay focused, Darous.”

The call ended.

I sat there for a long time, thinking about how strange life had become.
One part of me was waiting for a woman fighting for her life in another country.
Another part of me was calculating moves in a silent war.

Grief and strategy living in the same body.



*******




Around noon of the third day, Kalu was led into Mrs. Adeleke’s sitting room.
He had not slept. All night his mind replayed the video—the knife, the struggle, the angle of the blade. He needed clarity. He needed confirmation. He needed to know what had happened to Tiffany—the woman caring for his child.

He had expected Toyosi to visit him in the cellar after something that heavy. Normally she would come—to explain, to cry, to ask for advice. But she didn’t. He already guessed she never made it home after the incident.

Mrs. Adeleke sat on the long sofa. Her face was swollen from crying, her eyes red. She looked smaller than usual—not in body, but in spirit.

He greeted her quietly.
“Ma… what happened? Did Toyosi get hurt?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Tears gathered again in her eyes.

“You can talk to me, ma… what happened? Where is Toyosi?” Kalu pressed.

She cleaned her eyes with a handkerchief, then sniffed.

“I have never known peace since I married Ayodele,” she said slowly. “Not a single day.”

She wiped her face again.
“And now I hear,” she whispered, “he is planning to hand Toyosi over to one emir’s seventeen-year-old son. As a wife. Because he wants to become one useless president. I don’t even care if that bastard becomes president of the world. I will only blame the fools that vote for him.”

Kalu’s jaw tightened.

“But trading my own daughter to marry a child? The same way my parents traded me to him? Ah… She is not even healed from what he did to her, for God’s sake,” Mrs. Adeleke said. “And he is already negotiating her future like she’s some property.”

Her voice broke.
“I don’t care what that man does to me,” she continued. “Let him do whatever he wants. Let him carry any woman he wants. I just want my child safe.”

She broke down again.

Kalu moved closer and sat opposite her.
He did not speak immediately.

Inside him, something was burning. Not the loud kind of anger that makes a man act recklessly. This one was quiet. Focused. It had been growing for years.

He had always wanted one thing—to end Aristotle’s life with his own hands.
But desire alone was not enough.

To do that, he needed certainty. Absolute certainty.
Certainty that when Aristotle fell, no retaliation would touch anyone connected to him.
No hidden accounts funding revenge.
No loyalists waiting to strike back.
No silent instructions triggered after death.

This woman—whom he was beginning to have deep feelings for—had shown him something rare: trust, kindness, protection. Even when her husband had locked him away like an animal, she had not treated him like one. That kind of trust was not something he could afford to waste.

He only needed a little more time.
Time to study the house fully.
Time to observe the movement of the guards.
Time to understand who reported directly to Aristotle and who merely obeyed just for money.

Progress had already begun.
The dogs, once aggressive, now wagged their tails whenever they saw him. That part was secured.

The guards had also relaxed around him. They no longer watched him with suspicion. Mrs. Adeleke had been giving them food and small envelopes discreetly. In exchange, they looked away more often.

They were becoming comfortable.
And comfortable men make mistakes.

When the moment was right, he would go for Aristotle’s jugular.
Clean. Final.

But now he was no longer sure he could wait.
Because the woman sitting before him was slowly breaking under the weight of a man who did not know how to love without controlling.

If he delayed too long, Aristotle might destroy her completely.
That could not happen.

Still, impulse would ruin everything.
Before anything else, she had to be removed from this house.
She had to be far away when it happened. Somewhere safe. Somewhere unreachable.

Only then could he move without hesitation.

He leaned forward slowly and gently lifted Mrs. Adeleke’s face so she would look at him.

“Ma’am,” he said softly.

She looked at him through the tears.

“How does the idea of running away from this man sound to you?”

And just as he said those words, a little movement was heard from the door outside.






To be continued.

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Episode 107 - Held By The Sky.

After a week of sitting beside Tiffany on that sick bed, that illusion people call time stopped meaning anything to me.
They say time “waits for no one,” but the truth is, it’s us dragging ourselves forward, pretending the hours are the ones chasing us. In that ward, nothing moved. The clock ticks, the earth spins, but it was all a joke. Time wasn’t running; it was mocking me, reminding me that the only thing shifting was my patience breaking apart.

The private ward was always quiet. The machines breathed for her in slow, steady rhythm. The heart monitor blinked with stubborn consistency, as if it was the only thing in the room refusing to give up.

Tiffany looked peaceful and that was the hardest part.

Her face had lost the tension of pain, anger, and fear she once carried when she decided to end it all. Now, all that remained was stillness.

Her lashes rested lightly against her cheeks. Her lips were parted just enough to make space for the feeding tubes. If not for those tubes and the soft mechanical hum in the room, she could have been mistaken for someone lost in a deep afternoon nap.

For the first four days of her coma, I refused to eat. My body grew weak but I didn’t care. The nurses tried to convince me. I ignored them.
Hunger felt like a punishment I deserved.

I barely slept. I barely spoke to anyone except the doctors and attending nurses whenever they want to clean her up.

Sometimes I would sit there and just watch her chest rise and fall with the help of the ventilator. The movements of her chest became something I'd memorised. I counted the seconds between each breath like it was a prayer.

The doctors came in shifts.
Each one repeated the same words Dr. Eniola Idowu had already told us, only dressed in different phrases.

“She is stable, but still unresponsive.”
“Her neurological status remains under observation.”
“We need more time.”

Every day they said it, and every day it sounded less like reassurance and more like they were preparing us for the inevitable.
It was beginning to feel like she might never wake up.

I sat beside her, holding her cold fingers, and the longer I stayed there, the more the illusion of time dissolved. Hours, days — they blurred into one endless stretch of waiting. And in that waiting, memories I thought I had buried began to surface, uninvited, sharp as edge of a broken glass.

The first day she entered my life was at the resort. How beautiful she was. How she later walked into my apartment and began lecturing me about how I shouldn’t have gone as far as hiring a G‑Wagon for four hundred thousand naira just to “feel among” when I was living in that kind of house.

How she challenged me without fear. How honest she was. She didn’t love me blindly. She loved me with the purest intention.

And the truth is, I didn’t deserve her.

I paid her kindness with betrayal.
I lied to myself that I was protecting her. That breaking her heart was somehow noble. That pushing her away would keep her safe.
But all I did was hurt her.

All the tears she cried because of me. All the nights she questioned her worth. All the times she forgave me when she shouldn’t have.
And now, seeing me with Toyosi in that position… that image must have destroyed something inside her.

I replayed that moment over and over again in my head.
The shock in her eyes. The pain. The disbelief.
I wish I could take it back.

I wish I could go back in time and stand up from that table. Refuse that drink. Walk away. Call her instead and make amends on the fake break up.

I regret every wound I ever gave her.
She was too pure for someone like me. She was light walking beside darkness and somehow believing the darkness could change.

And now she lay there, silent.

Toyosi called me on the second day to say she had been released from custody. She added that she would have visited Tiffany, but Mrs. Adeoye had already filed a restraining order against her.

Mrs. Adeoye, on the other hand, stayed away from that private ward for days.
Because I made it clear.
I told her if she stepped inside, I would not be responsible for what happened next.

She knew it wasn’t an empty warning. It was the kind of line you draw when pain has stripped you of patience. And she understood it well enough to keep her distance.

On the eighth day, I had just ended a phone call with Naomi. I told her her mother was resting. That she would be fine. That she just needed to take some medication and would be home soon.

I lied smoothly to the little girl, because she wouldn’t stop pressing me about Tiffany’s whereabouts.

She even begged me to tell Layla to bring her to the hospital. But I turned her down with a story I invented on the spot — saying anyone who entered the hospital had to take four injections in the neck so they wouldn’t get sick when they got back home.

“Ah, that’s not true, Uncle Darous,” she fired back. “Our teacher said we only use hand sanitizer and nose masks when visiting someone in the hospital.”

“Ermmm… well… that’s not what my own teacher told me,” I fumbled.

“What did she tell you, Uncle Darous?” she pressed impatiently.

“Hello? Hello?” I said into the phone, pretending I couldn’t hear her.

“I can hear you, sir…”

“Hello? Bad network.” I quickly ended the call, because something told me if I stayed too long, this little witch would start questioning my WAEC certificate.

The truth was simpler: I couldn’t let her see Tiffany like that. With all the tubes and the machines. The child had already suffered enough, and seeing her mother in that state might break her completely.

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