₦airaland Forum

Damilgodwin:
Hmmm, e b like say I get anti-dote ooo😁😁, no worries. Kill them, I go use Tiffany beauty for the waking up process 😁😁

Oya Na. Let's see how it goes.... 😂😂😂😂

Meedon:
We are now in page 5

done my boss. I stayed all night cooking this. I hope it's worth it.

Continuation of episode 15.


The doctor came out of the emergency unit after more than an hour. His eyes told the story before his mouth even opened.
We rushed toward him the moment we saw the white coat.

“I’m sorry. He lost too much blood. The knife tore through his stomach badly. We tried… but we...we lost him.”

The words hit us hard.
Kenny dropped to the ground, tears pouring down his face uncontrollably. Jude buried his face in his hands, shaking all over. My chest felt like it was on fire. Our friend, our brother, Baba T… he was gone.

Still trying to accept what had happened, the nurse led us down the narrow corridor. My legs felt heavy, like they were made of cement. Every step felt so slow. No one said a word. Only Kenny’s silent sobs broke the quiet.

Then the nurse pushed open the door.

There he was.

Baba T.

Lying on the bed. Still. Quiet. Lifeless.

The hospital sheet covered him up to his chest, but even in death, his round belly pushed the fabric up, like he was still reminding us of who he was.

Our Baba T. Our brother. Our friend, now gone, unable to move again. His strong hands, never to lift again.

My chest burned as I stared. Just hours ago, that same belly was bouncing as he laughed at Kenny’s foolish jokes. Just hours ago, he was raising his glass, spilling beer as he shouted, “To life, my guys!” And now… life had left him.

Baba T loved Arsenal with all his heart. He could argue about them for hours, never backing down. It was more than a team to him — it was part of who he was.

Now he lay still on that bed. His hands, once raised in joy, were silent. His voice, that fierce cheer, gone. I looked at him and felt my heart break. The man who loved us so much was gone, and I wondered if he knew how much he was loved — how much his passion had meant to all of us.

Kenny broke down first. His cry tore through the room, raw and ugly. He stumbled forward, gripping the edge of the bed. His tears poured like a broken tap.
“No, no, no… Baba no do us like this. No leave us, abeg. We just dey laugh together. You no fit just turn log of wood like this. Baba, talk nah!”

Jude sat in the corner, his head in his hands, trembling like a leaf. I leaned against the wall, my eyes aching. Tears started to fall, slow and heavy.

It hit me then — hours ago, four of us were joking at the bar, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. And now, only three of us were crying like children at the foot of a hospital bed, staring at the lifeless body of the fourth. The holy book was clear — the gap between life and death is so small, just a split second.

Kenny’s voice cracked again, shouting into the silence.
“That man na my brother! My only brother for this world! You know how many nights me and Baba dey share one plate of garri? When I no get where to lay my head, na him carry me. When life wan crush me, na Baba hold me steady. Who else I get for this city? WHO?!”

His voice shattered me. I covered my eyes, but tears still leaked through. You know like every friendship circle that consist of more than three or more people. There are always the ones who are closer to each other than to the rest of the group. When you don't see one of you on time, you always know who to ask from that same circle where he his. That was Kenny and Baba T just like what Jude was to me also.

I stared at Baba T’s face. His lips pale, his eyes closed, his chest still. The same mouth that used to throw endless jokes and argue like his life depends on it. The same chest that carried so much laughter for us. Gone just like that.

Baba T was older than all of us. The “senior man” of our circle. But he never pulled rank. He treated us as equals, as brothers. He had no family but us.

He was an orphan. A widower. A man who lost his wife to breast cancer. That was how he got engaged to bottles of beer. That bar where he fell tonight… that was his second home.
You see let me tell you, behind every drunk man you see in a bar, there’s always a story. Baba T’s story was his wife’s death. He never truly recovered from her loss.

And despite his scars, he gave us joy.
We used to mock his belly all the time. Kenny would slap it from behind and say, “Baba, this your belle deserve its own zip code.” Jude would sometimes rest his head on it like a pillow when he got too drunk to stand. Me? I’d laugh and say, “Baba T, I know one day, the Hubble space telescope will eventually locate another planet inside that your belly?”

He never got angry. He would just chuckle, rub it with pride, and say, “Una go die young, all of una.” Then he’d buy us another round.

But now… who would buy us that round again? Who would laugh the loudest? Who would take the jokes?

The weight crushed me. I walked to the bed, touched his cold hand, and whispered,
“Baba, why you take this knife for us? Why do you have to chest everything for us? We are lost without you..... ” My tears dropped on his skin. For the first time in years, I cried uncontrollably.


Kenny slammed his fist against the bedframe, trembling with grief.
“This man held us together! He was the glue of this circle! Without Baba, we’ll fall apart. You hear me? We’ve don dey break apart. Who will settle our fights? Who will make us laugh? Baba, please, wake up!”

His words echoed through the ward like thunder. Nurses peeked inside the door, then quietly left us alone with our pain.

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, lost in grief. Then, suddenly, Kenny snapped. His sorrow turned to anger. He spun around sharply and looked straight at Jude.

“You!” he roared, his voice shaking the walls. “Na you kill am! Na you cause all this! If no be your yeye cheating, Baba for dey alive today!”

Before I could move, Kenny charged at Jude. He slammed Jude to the ground with the strength of a madman, his fists raining down.
“You thief my brother from me! God punish you!”

Jude screamed, struggling, but Kenny’s madness was stronger. His blows landed without mercy. Then, like a wild dog, Kenny bent low and sank his teeth deep into Jude’s arm. Blood spurted. Jude howled in pain.

I rushed, grabbing Kenny’s arms, pulling him back with all my strength.
“Kenny stop! Stop! This one no go bring Baba back!” I shouted, but he fought me like a man possessed.

Even as I dragged him off, Kenny twisted his body and sank his teeth deeper before finally letting go. Jude rolled to the corner, clutching his bleeding arm, gasping.

Kenny stood in the middle of the ward, shaking, his face wet with tears, his voice broken.
“My life don spoil! My brother don die! Baba suppose grow old with us, dey gist, dey drink. Now coffin go carry am! Tell me how I go live with this pain? Tell me how I go laugh again without my Baba?!”

The room was filled with our cries.
Three broken men.
One silent body on the bed.

And right there, I knew it —
Our circle was broken forever.

Life had just divided us into two: the days when Baba T was alive… and every day after this one.

The ward eventually quieted down after Kenny’s outburst. He was still sobbing, his face swollen with tears and anger. Jude sat on the floor, holding his arm where Kenny’s teeth had sunk deep, blood staining his shirt.

Later that night, we filled out the hospital forms, answered the doctor’s questions, and gave Baba T’s details as best as we could. Kenny managed to tell the doctor his full name — Babatunde Omitunde — the name that gave rise to the nickname, Baba T

By the time I stepped out of the hospital, the night had fallen heavy. The city noise felt far away. My shirt was wet with tears and sweat, but my heart was heavier than all of it.

When I finally got to the entrance of my compound, I pushed the gate weakly, climbed the front door stairs slowly, and reached my door. I slotted the key, twisted, and entered.

The sitting room was dark. I flicked the switch and froze.

She was there.
Cynthia. Sitting on my couch, her eyes full of pity. She was still in the same blood‑stained clothes from the bar, the ones she wore when she stabbed Baba T.


To be continued.

Your reactions matters. Drop comments on your thoughts. Can we even justify Cynthia's actions?

Like I said, each page will now consist of 2 episodes. How fast we move on this story now largely depends on your reactions. I'll try my best to keep my own end of the bargain. I hope you do yours. Fill the pages with likes and comments. They are fuel. I'm telling you.
Happy weekend guys.


Episode 15 – Beginning of the End

The whole bar froze. Nobody made a sound. Even the music playing from the small speaker at the corner suddenly sounded too loud.

Cynthia’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Answer me!" she thundered. "Toyosi is her name? The girl you’ve been cheating on me with, Jude?”

She began walking towards us, slow, steady, each step heavier than the last. The knife in her right hand caught the dim light, flashing like it was alive. Her eyes—two burning flames—were fixed only on Jude.

Kenny, ever the clown, tried to force a joke.
“Ah ah, Cynthia, calm down nah. You don dey watch too much African Magic. Na film you dey act?”

We almost sighed in relief—almost. Until Cynthia laughed.

It wasn’t a laugh of someone amused. It was sharp, cold, and short, the kind of laugh that makes your blood crawl. Suddenly, every single one of us went stiff. Even Kenny swallowed hard, his smile dying on his lips.

“You… Kenny,” she hissed, her voice shaking with fury. “You want to use this to catch cruise? You think this is a joke?”

Before anyone could answer, she snatched up an empty beer bottle from a nearby table. The sound of glass exploding on the tiled floor made all of us jump like school kids caught stealing meat from the pot. Our hearts pounded; the air in the room turned heavy.

“Does that look like I’m here to joke?” she screamed. Her chest was rising and falling as if her lungs were on fire. “I’ve been standing there." She pointed at the window close to where we sat. "for the past five minutes… listening to all of you.”

Nobody dared move. Nobody dared speak. The rage in her eyes wasn’t normal—it was wild, something words could never fully capture.

She raised the broken neck of the bottle in one hand, the knife still in the other. Our skin prickled with goosebumps.
The whole bar had already scattered. Customers ran out, chairs fell, bottles rolled on the floor.
But we were pinned. That corner of the bar was where we always sat, And now, there was no way out. We couldn’t even try the window—iron burglary proof was right there.

“You see…” she continued, her voice lower now, but sharper. “If you want to catch a man spilling his secret, just follow him to the midst of his friends when they are drinking. One drink and he will start telling you all his life secrets.”

At that moment, none of us could breathe. Our throats were dry. Every time she moved, every sound she made, the room shook with tension. And all our eyes—every single one—turned to Jude..

I raised my hands slowly. “Cynthia, abeg calm down. We fit talk this thing.”

She snapped at me like thunder.

“Don’t you dare open your mouth!” she screamed. “You knew!. You knew what he was doing, and you said nothing. You covered for him.”

I stepped back quickly. The rage in her eyes made my chest tighten.

“Do you know he hasn’t touched me for over a week?” she shouted. “Do you!?”
I shook my head.

“With that thing between his legs, he still had the guts to use it on another woman?” Her voice cracked, but her anger only grew stronger.

“Do you know how many abortions I’ve done for this b**stard? My parents keep asking when I’ll bring home my fiancé, and each time I bring it up, he waves me off. Do you know what that means for a woman?”

Her words came like hot iron on bare skin.

“I’m thirty-four. No husband. No child. Eight years of my life… wasted!” Tears rolled down her face, but her grip on the knife didn’t weaken. “And now he wants to dump me for another woman.”

Jude tried to step forward, voice shaking. “Cynthia, please, calm down. Let’s talk at home—”

“Home?!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “Today, Jude, you will leave this earth!”

She raised the knife higher, her other hand still clutching the broken bottle. “Whoever tries to stop me will follow him. I don’t care anymore. I’m ready to die today — but I promise you, Jude will not live a second longer than me.”

The whole room froze. Jude’s back pressed against the wall, sweat dripping down his face. Kenny’s usual funny smile had disappeared — he was trembling. Baba T’s jaw dropped; he looked like he had seen a ghost.

Me? My legs felt weak, my palms sweaty, but I forced myself to stay calm, to find a way to stop her.
But Cynthia wasn’t blinking. Her rage had swallowed her whole.
I just stood there, shocked. This wasn’t the Cynthia I knew. The Cynthia I knew was soft, quiet, the kind of woman who always swallowed her words and always begged Jude even when he was clearly at fault. I had seen her cry for his forgiveness more times than I could count. But the woman standing in front of me now, with a knife in one hand and a broken bottle in the other, was a stranger.
If I could put her appearance into the perspective of someone you know, it would be that of Taraji P. Henson. Cynthia, standing there, was almost a perfect replica of that emotional scene with Taraji in Tyler Perry’s Straw—the very scene that brought tears to the eyes of nearly everyone who watched it.

It was as if all the years of pain had finally boiled over, and I couldn’t tell whether to pity Cynthia or fear her.

Then Baba T stepped forward.

He wasn’t shouting. His voice was low, steady, almost fatherly.
“Cynthia… listen to me.”

She glared at him, but he didn’t flinch.
“I’m not here to judge you. I hear your pain, I see it. But think about what you’re holding in your hands. Think about what you’re about to do. There’s no coming back once you cross that bridge.”

Her breathing was heavy, her hands shaking. “Baba, forget it. I’ve crossed a lot of bridges for this fool many times. This thing is too much. All of you can’t understand what I’m going through right now. Today is the last day for him.”

But Baba T took another step, palms open, his voice softer.
“I know betrayal hurts. I know what it’s like to lose everything. But you’re still alive, Cynthia. You still have tomorrow. Don’t throw it away because of one man. Don’t let this pain turn you into somebody you’re not.”

His words hung in the air. Even Kenny’s eyes blinked fast, hearing him talk.

But Cynthia’s eyes were burning. She snapped at him.
“Baba T, shift! This one no concern you! If you talk again sef, I go forget Jude and follow you join!”

He sighed, still calm. “It concerns all of us, Cynthia. Because when you do something like this, it won’t just be Jude you destroy. You’ll destroy yourself too. I beg you, hand me the knife and the bottle, please. Let’s talk.”

For a moment, her eyes flickered — something almost like doubt — but then her jaw tightened.
“No! Today is the end for this fool!”

Then it happened.

Cynthia charged toward Jude, the knife gleaming under the dim bar light as she rushed at him.

Before I could move to stop her, Baba T stepped in front of Jude.


The blade sank into his stomach.

The whole place froze.

Baba T’s eyes widened. He staggered back, staring down at the knife buried in his belly. Blood spilled like water from a broken sachet.

“Oh god of thunder!” I shouted, rushing to him.

Cynthia gasped, her voice breaking for the first time. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean—” she stuttered as she dropped the broken bottle in her hand.

But Jude tackled her to the ground quickly, pinning her hands with all his strength as two men who had been hiding by the door rushed to help him.

Me and Kenny grabbed Baba T quickly before he could fall to the floor. His shirt was already soaked, blood spilling too fast. I pressed my hands around the knife still stuck in his big round belly, but when I looked down, his intestines were already pushing out.
God no… Baba T, stay with me!” I cried, my voice breaking. Kenny was shaking hard, his hands covered in blood as he tried to hold the knife in place.

He coughed, blood running from his mouth. His hand reached for mine, but it was weak and trembling.
“Don’t… let me…” he whispered, his voice fading as he fought for breath.

We didn’t think twice. We grabbed the keys of one customer’s car outside and lifted him in with the help of Jude. Kenny was crying openly, his hands pressed hard against the wound, but the blood just wouldn’t stop.

I drove the car like a man losing his mind, horn screaming, leg pressing hard on the throttle. In the back, Jude and Kenny were pressing on the wound, but blood kept pouring. Kenny was sobbing, his cries ripping through the car. I held the wheel so tight my knuckles hurt, trying not to fall apart. Jude was shaking, eyes wide, frozen by fear. Everything was moving too fast, like time itself was running out.

When we finally got to the hospital, we carried him in, screaming for help. Nurses rushed him to the emergency room. We sat in the lobby, our hands covered in his blood, our shirts too. Kenny’s prayers echoed through the lobby. Our hearts pounded, each beat heavy with the fear and anticipation of what was happening inside the emergency room.

Minutes felt like hours. The smell of disinfectant burned my nose. Kenny was pacing back and forth, muttering, “He can’t die… he must not die.” Jude sat in a corner, shaking, his hands trembling with fear.


*******

From the moment Darous stepped into his office, Detective Kalu’s instincts stirred.

The boy looked the same — that unsure smile — but something was off. The Darous who had spoken to him at the party was gone. Now, he sat there in front of him, claiming that everything he told him at the crime scene was just the words of a drunken man.

Kalu leaned back in his chair, studying him. Only one force in this city had the power to twist a man’s words that way. The Circle.

And when Kalu spotted the G-Wagon outside, his suspicion hardened into certainty. A bricklayer driving a G-Wagon? Impossible. Darous doesn't strike him as someone that can be involved in yahoo yahoo and most importantly someone like him couldn’t rent a four-hundred-thousand-naira car without a hand pushing him from behind.

The Rolex watch on his wrist sealed it. The Circle had been on contact with him.
Darous tried to hide it well, but Kalu had spent too many years reading men. He caught every tremble in his voice, every nervous shift of his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. Lies always lived in the body before they reached the lips. That was why he had spent years in police college — not just learning laws, but also learning men and their behaviours.

So he set a trap.

“Let me grab a paper from the next office,” Kalu had said casually, before leaving the room.

He didn’t go far. Through the slit of the blinds, he watched what Darous would do.

Darous hesitated at first, then moved. The boy crept to the cabinet, pulled out a file, and opened it with shaky hands. His eyes darted quickly over the pages. He thought he was being clever.

Kalu’s heart broke.

It wasn’t shock — he had expected this. But watching it confirmed how deeply the Circle had sunk its claws.
They always found the brightest minds and bent them into puppets. All for the promise of crumbs.
For a moment, the detective’s chest breathed heavy. The boy was another casualty of a society that had failed him.

When Kalu finally re-entered, his face showed nothing that can make Darous suspicious. He let Darous believe the act had gone unnoticed. What Darous didn’t know was that Kalu had already prepared two versions of the statement he gave him at the crime scene— the original statement he had spoken that night was locked away separately.

Kalu had been chasing the Circle for over a decade. He knew their games and their patterns. He had survived their assassins, their traps more than once, he had even crossed path with their most feared killer — the Limping Man. That night, Kalu had been seconds from death before he fought back, a bullet tearing through the assasin’s leg. The assassin limped away into the darkness, and the underworld gave him his new nickname. The Limping man.

Kalu lived differently because of that. If the Circle knew he had a wife and daughter, they would have buried them by now. He saw them only on arranged weekends. He always disguises himself with fake beards and strange clothes whenever he wants to visit them. He even made sure his only daughter-Naomi-never beared his surname. He had given her his late mother's maiden name. It was the only way to keep them alive and safe.

The Circle definitely had something on Darous—a threat, a secret, a weakness. Kalu could see it in the boy’s eyes, in the way his shoulders sagged under the weight of it. That made the boy valuable.

This wasn’t just a case file anymore. This boy might be the key to breaking apart the entire Circle.

Kalu sat up straight in his chair, watching Darous leave the office with a fake boldness in his eyes. He let him think he had fooled the old detective. Let him believe he had escaped.

Now Kalu knew what he had to do. He needed to find out what the Circle was using to control Darous. Once he had that, he could turn it around, win Darous’s trust — and then make his move.


*******

Typicool8:
E don enter page 5 o TBM

😀😀😀😀😀.


From now on, Na two episode per page. It now depends on you guys how you want this story to be run. Either fast or slow. But don't worry, the next update will drop today.

Damilgodwin:
Please Boss Darous you will just have to re-edit ooo. Nothing must happen to my calm jude

if you want to save your favourite character, send 2 BTC to my wallet 😀😀😀 or I'll start killing them one by one... 😀😀😀

Episode 14 continuation.


A few hours later, she drove into the compound in the same black GLE she’d used at the party. Tiffany stepped out of her Benz in a plain gown, the kind that didn’t try too hard—yet it shaped her in a way no man could ignore.
Nothing too loud—just that calm, soft elegance she always carried. The fabric flowed with her steps, and even the evening breeze seemed to respect her presence. Her hair was packed neatly, a little gloss on her lips, sandals on her feet—yet she stood out like a diamond hidden inside sand.

The moment she opened the car door and kissed me, I felt the eyes of one of my neighbours burning holes into my back. The man froze, pretending to adjust his slippers, but his eyes didn’t move. I could almost hear the thought running through his head: “Na bricklayer get this kain babe? How?”

I didn’t blame him. Tiffany wasn’t the type to dress to be noticed—she just got noticed, effortlessly.

When Tiffany walked into my apartment, her eyes moved from wall to wall, scanning everything. Small sitting room. Old tiles. Simple chairs. I saw her face drop, quick like a battery going flat.

“This is where you live?” she asked.

“Err… yes. Welcome to my palace.” I tried to joke, but the smile didn’t reach her face.

She folded her arms. “But you own a G-Wagon?”

I scratched my head, torn between lying and telling the truth. I sighed. “Oh, that one. I… uh… rented it for the party.”

“Whaaaat?!” she almost screamed.

“Why are you shouting na?” I raised my palms. “Everybody does it. Even your celebrities rent cars.”

Her eyes narrowed like knives. “You rented a car worth seventy million naira just to show off at a party?”

“Noo. Not seventy million. I paid only four hundred K for it.”

“Oh my God…” she gasped, shaking her head. “Can you hear yourself, Darous? You are obviously more dumb than you care to admit.”

Her words stung, but I tried not to show it. I forced a smile, hoping to calm her.
“Tiffany, calm down. It’s not like—”

“Calm down?!” She cut me off, her voice sharp as a slap. “You’re living in this… this place, and you’re throwing away money just to fake a lifestyle that’s not yours? Are you mad?”

My chest tightened like someone had tied a rope around it. I tried to speak, my voice low.
“Look… it’s not about being fake. It’s about—”

She cut me off, her words like bullets. “No, it is fake. You wanted to impress people who don’t even care if you exist. And you think that makes sense?”

I raised my hands like I was surrendering to the police. “Tiffany, please. It’s not like that. I just—”

“I don’t think I can be with a man who lies and lives a fake life. I can’t. Obviously you men are the same breed everywhere...”

Her words hit me like a slap. I felt my throat close up, but I forced a smile. “Okay… but at least you can’t deny I made you laugh."

“Laugh?” she snapped. “You think laughter will pay rent? You think jokes will buy food? Why not just become a comedian if that's what you really want out of your life?”

I was speechless. The atmosphere was thick, my walls echoing with her anger.

“You are more foolish than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. You are even worse than my ex-boyfriend. All of you are birds of—”

“Hey… will you just shut the fvck up?” I roared. That was the height of it. I can take any kind of insult in my life, but here’s where I draw the line. Don’t ever compare me with your ex. I hate that more than I hate poverty itself.

“What did you just say to me? Darous?” Tiffany snapped, stepping closer, her perfume hitting me sharp. “I dare you to tell it to my face.” Her anger was burning. Every breath from her nose felt like hot steam rising from a boiling pot.

I gritted my teeth, heat rising in my chest. “This is about survival! About respect! Nobody sees you in this city unless you shine. Nobody listens to your story if you look broke. They’ll step on you, spit on you, and keep walking like you don’t exist. I’m tired of being invisible!.”

Her eyes widened, but I pressed on, my voice shaking now, half anger, half pain.
“You think I like wasting money? You think I enjoy living in a place like this, struggling to pay bills? I’ve worked myself half-dead on construction sites just so people won’t call me a failure. But no matter what I do, it’s never enough. People respect the car, not the man inside it!.”

Silence. She just stood there, arms folded tighter. I felt my throat burning, but the words kept coming out. I couldn't control it.
“That G-Wagon… it wasn’t about showing off. It was about finally walking into a place and not feeling small. For once, people looked at me like I mattered. For once, I wasn’t just ‘Darous the bricklayer’.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “But here I am again — exposed. Foolish like a clown in front of you.”

Tiffany’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her face had softened, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t died.

“You can call me stupid, call me mad,” I said, my voice low now, almost breaking. “But all I ever wanted was to be seen… to feel like I belong.”

I dropped onto the chair, covering my face with my hands. My chest heaved. For a moment, the whole room was quiet, except for the hum of the generator outside.

Then after some moments of silence, Tiffany whispered, “Darous… you don’t need a G-Wagon for me to see you.”

But I didn’t look up. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed her, because the moment all those words left my mouth, I knew I’d messed up. My anger had gotten the best of me, and now the room felt heavier. I hated myself instantly. This was Tiffany — the same sweet girl who had driven all the way here just to spend time with me. She came to laugh, to catch a vibe, not to sit in this thick air we’d created.

I almost give myself a knock on the head right there. Why did I let anger win? Why did I turn what could’ve been a soft evening into this?

But one thing life had taught me: when a woman who likes you is upset, you don’t try to act like a boss, you don’t try to be the macho man. That’s a losing game. Here's a tip on what really works. You lean in, you breathe, you play the victim — but so gently she won’t even realize that’s what you’re doing.

So I leaned forward, my voice low and calm, like water.

“Tiffany… I’m sorry. You’re right. I was stupid. But you don’t know where I’m coming from. You don't know my background.”

She folded her arms, eyes are now getting soft but they still carry some hidden fury in them. “ Oya, tell me. Because right now all I see is just another copy of every other irresponsible guy out there."

I swallowed hard and started talking slowly.

“I grew up in a polygamous home. Food was never enough. My father, bless his soul… he tried, oh he tried, but most times we managed with whatever came our way. Even if it was garri without sugar. At least, we ate something.”

Her eyes softened a little. She sat down opposite me, still silent.

“Then my father died,” I continued, “and everything scattered. No university, no college. I couldn’t. I just started bricklaying. Carrying blocks when my mates were carrying textbooks.”

Tiffany’s face changed, the fury completely leaving.

“Then I came to Lagos, after few months, I was tired of life. I almost killed myself ” My voice cracked deliberately. “But my friend Jude found me. Took me in, gave me shelter, gave me hope. That’s how I survived.”

Her lips parted. She was no longer angry; she was listening.

“So when Mrs Adeoye called me for that job… I worked with all my heart. She paid me more than I ever expected. And when she invited me to her party… I just… I didn’t want to look like the odd one out. You know the saying: fake it till you make it. That’s what I did.”

I lowered my head, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Tiffany. If I hurt you with my foolishness. I didn’t mean to.”

Silence. Her breathing slowed. I looked up. The fire in her eyes was gone. Pity had replaced it.

She sighed deeply. “Maybe… I was too harsh on you. I judged you before knowing your story. I’m sorry too.”

I nodded slowly, my chest loosening. “Thank you.”

Then she looked me straight in the eyes and said something that shocked me.

“You know… I was once in your shoes.”

I frowned. “You? No way. You? The elegant Tiffany? You don’t look like someone who ever suffered. In fact you look like someone who only knew the location of her building after it had been completed”

She smiled bitterly. “Don’t be fooled. I came from a very wealthy family. My father was a successful lawyer. He worked for powerful people, made good money. I was his only child. He loved me more than life itself.”

She paused, then her voice dropped.

“But when trouble came, he lost everything. His own brother betrayed him and sold him to the wolves. Like I told you that night, he even went to prison. His reputation gone. His name spoiled. My father died in prison and that same uncle stripped me of all my inheritance. You’d think a lawyer would protect his only child with ironclad documents. But it happened anyway, my uncle found a way to strip me of everything. I was thrown to the streets.”

I blinked, shocked. “You? On the street?”

“Yes. I slept in uncompleted buildings. I wrapped myself in torn cloth so men wouldn’t see me as an attractive prey. I lived like that for almost a week until Toyosi found me.”

Her eyes glistened as she smiled. “That girl you saw at the party with me… Toyosi is my savior. She picked me up from the street, gave me clothes, gave me food. Even the business I’m running today, she gave me fifty million naira to start. The car outside?… it was hers too. Everything… she gave me. I'm forever in her debt.”

I exhaled, shaking my head. “Wow. That’s… that’s crazy. What about your mother?”

She chuckled sadly. “My mother? I never knew her. She had a mental crisis after giving birth to me. They call it Postpartum psychosis. My dad and her separated afterwards. He raised me alone. My uncle later told me she had died.

"And you believe him?"

"Honestly… I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

For a while, we both sat there, two wounded souls, trading scars like war veterans. The tension had melted into something deeper.

She leaned closer. “So please, stop faking it. Don’t waste your energy pretending. Put it into building yourself. You have talent, Darous. Don’t destroy it with lies.”

I nodded, feeling touched. “I hear you. And… thank you for opening up to me also.”

She smiled faintly, then stood up. “I actually came here to… give you a proper chance to complete the job we started on Saturday night when we slept together. To be honest, you made me feel really good that night but it was unfair of me to leave you like that and just sleep off.”

Her words sent my blood rushing.

“But now,” she sighed, “my mood is gone. Maybe next time.”

She leaned over and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. Just like that, the tension melted away. We spent the next hour curled up, watching the final episode of Alice in Borderland. Then, right at the peak of the suspense, my generator coughed, grumbled, and went off on its own. Not because of fuel — no. It was simply my generator’s way of telling me, “Guy, after five years of loyal service, abeg go and buy another one.”

One good thing about dating a girl that has her own car is you don’t have to stress yourself trekking long distance to see her off. And you also escape those neighbor’s suspicious eyes, the ones that always think you two just finished having sex. Truth is, many times like ours, boyfriend and girlfriend can spend hours inside a room without even touching each other at all. There's more to this life than just hammering each other in the name of sex every time.
So I stood by and watched as she drove out in her sleek Benz. And for the first time, I didn’t just see a fine woman. I saw someone carrying scars like mine. It hit me—this girl actually cared. She loved me. And before I knew it, I was falling for her too.

It was around 3 p.m., evening already pushing its way in, when I walked back inside and my phone buzzed. Binance notification. I opened it and almost fainted — 3 ETH had just dropped. The Circle just paid me for the mission at the detective's office. Even though I still felt somehow bad for lying to Mr Kalu, but man must survive. I told myself as I converted the Ethereum to naira.

At last, all the stress of the day had produced something good. I leaned back on my sofa, smiling like a man that just hit jackpot. Without wasting time, I sent some money to my siblings, then marched straight to the generator shop. Got myself a brand new one and some other things.


“Later that evening, I called the boys to our usual joint. With the money in my account, I could have carried them to one fine resort like the place I first met Tiffany. But her words kept echoing in my head—no more fake life. So I told myself: forget resorts, forget rented cars. Just me and my guys, the way we always do.

The table was filled with beer bottles, grilled fish, and roasted meat.

Kenny, in his usual clown mode, pointed at me.
“See this Darous. You carry G-Wagon go party, but na keke you dey take come here. Abeg, na two people dey live inside you?”

The boys exploded in laughter.

I leaned back, sipped my drink slowly, then shot back:
“Kenny, at least me I dey switch rides. You, na only one vehicle you get since dem born you—your two left legs.”

The whole place shook with laughter, people at other tables turning to look at us like we were mad. Kenny held his head.

Baba T almost fell off his chair laughing. “Correct comeback!”

Kenny held his chest, pretending to faint. “Jesus, e pain me o!”

We laughed so hard that drinks nearly spilled off the table.

Jude, smiling like a satisfied goat, leaned back.
“Forget una own. My own na Toyosi. That girl na gift from heaven. Best night I’ve had in years.”

“Ehn ehn!” I shouted. “Jude don collect oil for head. No wonder him dey shine like new tyre.”

Everybody roared, banging the table.

“Darous, I like this babe ah swear,” Jude continued. “But I forgot to collect her number that day... abeg, help me tell Tiffany to send you her number na.”

Before I could even answer, Kenny nearly fell off his chair laughing.
“Jude, you dey craze? So after you claim say you knack Toyosi, na only bedframe you carry commot? You no even fit carry her number join?”

The boys scattered, choking on their drinks.

Then Baba T added the finishing strike.
“Wait o… Jude, how person go talk say him sleep with woman but no collect her number? No be juju be that?” He ended it in that Asari-Dokubo’s meme tone.

The whole bar collapsed with laughter. Jude just smiled faintly, probably thinking of what to say.

I was about to come to Jude's rescue when a sharp but familiar voice cut through the laughter.

“So… Toyosi is her name. The girl you’ve been cheating on me with?”

We all turned.

Standing at the door was Cynthia — Jude’s girlfriend. The same Cynthia we had all crowned “wife” for more than two years. She wasn’t just Jude’s girl; she was our girl too. She cooked for us, laughed with us, sometimes even scolded us like we were her younger brothers.

But this Cynthia standing at the door tonight was not the same one we knew. Her hair was scattered, her eyes red and wet like she had been crying for hours. Her chest rose and fell fast, like someone running on fumes. Her hand trembled slightly, but her grip on the knife was firm — the kind of grip that told us she had already decided what to do with it.

And in her right hand… was a knife.

Not just holding it — gripping it tight. This wasn’t kitchen play. This was rage. This was pain. This was heartbreak walking into our room, wearing the face of a woman we thought we knew.


To be continued.

Next update drops when ever we reach page 5. Thanks y'all. I appreciate all those that have been dropping encouraging comments since. Esheey gan.

Episode 14 – Behind the Smiles

The door cracked open just as my fingers brushed the file. My soul nearly jumped out of my body.

A woman dressed in full police uniform poked her head in.
“Good morning, Inspe—” Her voice stopped the moment she saw me frozen in Kalu’s office. My hand was stiff in the air, hovering like a student caught cheating in an exam.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Ermm… Mr Kalu told me to wait here,” I blurted, finally finding my voice. “He’s in the other office.”

“Alright. Thank you,” she said, and the door clicked shut behind her.

I let out a long breath. My heart was hammering like a pestle pounding yam inside a mortar. I glanced back at the file. One page stuck out — messy handwriting, rushed notes. I squinted and picked out the lines:

“…limp… left leg… exit… 19:52… Ebenezer, shot once… 4 witnesses so far. Gunshot wound… no exit wound…”

My ears picked sounds of footsteps approaching. I scrambled back into my chair. Kalu walked in holding a blank sheet.

“Here,” he said, handing it to me. “Write everything you just told me. Keep it clear.”

My palms were still damp as I wrote. I rushed the lies out, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble in my writing. He took the paper without looking at my face, slid it into the file, and said: “You can go now.”

I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I left the office.


---

I returned the G-Wagon to the rental office. The man behind the desk checked the clock and whistled.
“Oga, you’re three hours late. That’s extra thirty K.”

“Thirty K?” I gasped.

He nodded. “Yes. Ten K per hour. Check your contract.”

I bit my lip, paid, and walked out. So the car that had already swallowed 400k opened its mouth again and collected another 30k — all because I wanted to play big man for one night. And the fuel money? Close to forty thousand naira gone.

By the time I reached home, my head was banging. I tore off my shirt, dropped my phone, and collapsed on the bed. Before sleep could take me, I typed everything I’d seen in Kalu’s file and sent it to Chuka. I also told him I’d withdrawn my earlier statement — hoping that would take the assassin off my back.

His reply came in minutes:
“Good job. Payment will come soon. Rest.”

For once, those words sounded like a lullaby to my battered mind.


---

Hours later, I was deep in sleep when my phone rang. I cracked one eye open, yawned, and dragged the phone closer. The name on the screen almost chased sleep away completely — Tiffany.

I cleared my throat and put on my smoothest voice.
“Hello, Miss International Trouble.”

She giggled. “International what?”

“Trouble. Because since the day I met you, I’ve been suffering from PTSD… Post Tiffany Stress Disorder.”

“You this guy…” She burst into loud laughter.

“I swear, I’m about to open a GoFundMe for therapy. I’m traumatized.”

“Darous, you’re crazy.” She laughed again, and I joined her.

Then she asked, “So, what are you doing?”

“Right now? I’m stretching my back on the bed. But if you want, I can quickly stand up and start washing plates, just so I look responsible.”

Another round of laughter. She shook her head through the phone.
“You’re so unserious. Anyway… I’m kind of bored. I feel like paying you a visit today. I want to know where you live.”

I sat up immediately. “Wait… visiting me? Like physically? In my own humble abode?”

“Yes,” she said, laughing.

“You coming with your friend?”

“Nooo. I’m coming alone. Just send me your address.”

I hesitated, then typed it in and sent it. The moment the message delivered, I shot out of bed like a soldier on parade. Plates — washed. Pots — washed. Every washable thing in the house — washed. I rearranged the sitting room, took a long shower, and even put on the generator. My humidifier did the rest, filling the air with a fresh scent that made my small apartment smell like one of those showrooms in Lekki.

pFolar:
See hot back to back updates like Christmas gift.. 🎁😁 TBM you too much. Every read Na joy. Every read Na cliffhanger.

Every read Na banger. Soo interesting. Darous and the circle issue go hot gan I'm sure of that. A big bomb go explode soon.

Ride on sweetheart. The sex-scene with Tiffany needs to be completed ooooo😁😁😁😁

I appreciate your comments

Na fuel to my spirit 😁

PrinceOFprince:
😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁😁

That lemon game wan finish me with laughter. Cos I perfectly relate with it. I've played that game before. I ended up drunk ahswear. But let me give you a warning. No play am with women o. Those creature know how to play it like mad 😂😂😂😂😂

Mr Prince, the first time I played that game with some ladies at my birthday party, I almost died. Those girls nearly finished me with shots! 😂 The funny part? The game barely caught them at all. They even added a rule that someone can help you take your drink only three times in a row. But me? I carried all my shots by myself like a stubborn warrior — and honestly, it was not funny at all. POP! 😂😂😂

Episode 13. Between Truth and Prison.


Detective Kalu got home late that night, and sleep was nowhere to be found. He sat on the edge of his bed, his shirt hanging loose across his shoulders, staring into the dark. The face of the young man from the crime scene—Darous—kept flashing through his mind.
‎
‎Probably in his early thirties, with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, Darous had a way of noticing things others missed, almost like he could see into even the most deepest corners of anything at all. Kalu couldn't shake the memory of his late brother-Thomas, who had that same gift. Thomas could connect dots in ways that made the chaotic world around them feel manageable. But that brilliance had cost him his life. Kalu ground his teeth. He couldn’t save Thomas from the Circle, but he was determined not to fail Darous.
‎He moved to the fridge, grabbed a whiskey bottle, and poured half a glass. With one tilt, he emptied it, then eased himself onto the edge of his cushion chair. The house was quiet; his wife and only daughter, Naomi — named after his late sister — were already deep in sleep in their rooms.
"Why hasn’t the Circle approached Darous yet?” he wondered. “With the kind of gift that boy has, he’s exactly the type they would want to recruit and twist to their use. But here he is — still free, moving about like nothing. If the Circle had gotten to him already, Darous wouldn’t even dream of standing before a cop like me, let alone talking the way he did.”
Kalu’s mind slipped back to the image he couldn’t shake — the lifeless body he’d seen at Mrs. Adeoye’s party. The man’s name was Ebenezer.
‎Ebenezer had been his target for a long time. Kalu had collected enough evidence tying him to the Circle, but just when he was closing in, they silenced Ebenezer forever to keep him chasing shadows like he had been doing for more than a decade. And as if that wasn’t enough, the Circle had unleashed their deadliest assassin, The Limping Man— a name that made even powerful men shiver. A man with a limp, who always left a trail of blood behind. So when Darous mentioned seeing someone slip away with a limp in his left leg, Kalu felt a strange relief. It meant he was on the right track. It also confirmed what he already suspected — Darous was truly gifted.

Kalu buried his face in his hands. The Circle wouldn’t stay silent forever. If Darous continue living his life this way, sooner or later, they would come for him. Kalu swore he will never let history repeat itself—he couldn’t lose another person born with the same gift as his late brother.
‎A good thing he had told Darous to show up at the station the following monday. "I'll try my best to make sure he doesn't end up like my brother." He muttered to himself that night before entering the dream land.
‎
‎*****
‎I couldn’t sleep that night. My bed suddenly turned into a courtroom bench. My pillow? An evidence file, heavy with secrets, waiting to swallow me whole.
How do you even lie to a police officer? Not just any officer, but Detective Kalu—the kind of man whose eyes don’t just look, they record, rewind, and play back like CCTV. Just imagining it made my chest feel like I was inside a locked cell.

So, like every confused Nigerian youth looking for deliverance, I picked up my phone and asked Google the big question:

“Punishment for lying to police in Nigeria during a murder investigation.”

The answer nearly made me drop my phone. My hands were shaking as if the phone had turned into hot coal.

Section 125A of the Criminal Code Act (Nigeria): giving false information to mislead a public officer—punishable by up to two years in prison. If the lie is connected to a murder case of someone going to the right hand of God? Congratulations, you just upgraded yourself to accessory to murder and the —life imprisonment. And if by bad luck your lie is linked to the death of someone going to hell fire ? Forget prison, just start practicing your final words because death-row is waiting with open arms.

My whole body went cold. I could feel prison winking at me, like one fine babe across the bar, whispering, “I dey wait for you.” I could even see my title changing from “Mr.” to “Ex-con.”

And the truth? Prison is one thing, but graduating with the badge of “Ex-convict” is another. The University of Prison is not for everybody—some don’t survive till convocation, some fail out before exams, some never even see results. Yet here I was, standing in line to enroll in that unwanted institution.

My brain was scattered, my thoughts chasing each other in circles, and in the middle of all the panic… sleep still found me and carried me away like a thief.
‎As human beings, mornings hit us all in different ways. Some people wake up thinking about food—bread, yam, leftover rice, or maybe that soup hiding in the fridge. Some wake up already calculating how to survive the bills waiting for them. Some wake up and remember the one match that cut their betting tickets the previous night, denying them the opportunity to buy the filling station they had priced in their heads when the 'potential winnings' showed on the screen of their phone. Others open their eyes with smiles, replaying a sweet dream, while some wake up annoyed because the dream stopped just when it was getting interesting. There are even people who wake up and the first thing they grab is their phone, scrolling to see if Lionel Messi scored while they were snoring.
‎Truth is, what crosses your mind first thing in the morning has a seventy-five percent rate of shaping your whole day.
‎For me, the moment I opened my eyes, I didn’t think of food, work, or even prayer. What jumped straight into my head was the memory of last night—the call from Chuka, him telling me I had broken a circle rule, and the strange mission that he had sent me in that cursed WhatsApp group.‎
‎I was still contemplating on how to go about the whole thing when my phone rang. The screen flashed a name: Chuka.

‎I picked up, still feeling a bit groggy.
‎“Guy, don't tell me you are still sleeping by this time when you know what's at stake,” Chuka’s voice boomed like a generator. “Anyway, I have information that might help you.”
‎I rubbed my eyes. “What type of information?”
‎He chuckled the way people do when they know they’re about to mess up your life.
‎“Detective Kalu always reach his office before almost everyone in that department. Sometimes one hour earlier. If you can get there before others, you will have like… eighty percent chance to run your mission clean.”
‎I froze. Eighty percent? This wasn’t WAEC. This was prison or freedom.
‎I didn’t know whether to thank him or tell him to go to hell, but I just swallowed spit and muttered, “Alright. Noted.”
‎I jumped into the shower like my life depended on it, because it actually did. The plan had been to first drop the G-Wagon at the rental office based on the contract I signed before the car was rented to me, but forget that. Missing this early-bird window might mean I’d never see outside of prison walls again.
‎So I got dressed as quickly as I could and zoomed straight to the Lagos State police headquarters.. I checked the time, it was ten minus two minutes after eight. In simpler un-mathematical terms, 8:08am..
‎My palms were sweating as I asked for Kalu’s office. One officer pointed down the hallway, and in less than two minutes, I was standing before a glass door with transparent blinds. True to his words, that area of the station was silent.

I peeped inside Mr Kalu's office and there he was — Calm as a rock, stacking files on a shelf like a man who had been waiting his whole life for someone like me to walk in.
I knocked.

“Come in,” he said. His voice carried command, but there was a strange calm in it that made me relax a little.
I stepped in. He turned, stretched out his hand, and gave me a warm handshake.
“Good morning, sir,” I said.

"Have your seat.* He said back.

I sat across the table. The table was a battlefield — files scattered everywhere, books stacked like barricades. Kalu finished with the shelf and came to sit opposite me.

I don’t know how it happened, but the moment I stepped into that office, something strange washed over me — the same calm I felt when the muffled gun went off at that party. A flat, brazen calm, like the whole world had pressed pause just for me.

Kalu adjusted his glasses, leaned back, and said, “So… Darous. Let’s talk.”

“Alright, sir,” I said, trying to sound calm and collected. He packed some files aside and placed another one directly in front of him.

“Darous,” he said, looking at me straight. “First, tell me about yourself. Start with the basics.”

I folded my hands on my knees and answered, “Well, my name is Adigun Darous.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Where are you from?”

“Lanlate in Oyo State, but I’ve been in Lagos a few years.”

He nodded slowly. “What do you do?”

“I’m a bricklayer. I do building work. I take contracts — renovations, shops, anything.”

“And how did you get to that event where the incident happened?”

“The host invited me, sir.”

“Hmmm. How do you know her?”

“I worked for her. I renovated a wall in her house some weeks back. She was the one that called me.”

“And how long have you been working for her?”

“That was the first time, sir.”

“First time?” He raised a brow, doubt creeping into his tone.

“Ye…es,” I dragged the word, trying to figure out what he was fishing for.

“And you said she called you? Mrs. Adeoye?”

“Yes… she did.”

“How did she get your contact? Or did someone give her your number?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. As long as she paid me for the job, I don’t care if she got it from my ex.” I forced a smile. “Or is that a crime too?”

He didn’t answer. Just wrote something down, then looked up again.

“What’s your highest education?”

“SSCE,” I said.

“Really?” He leaned back. “Why haven’t you used that ability? You notice things sharper than the average man. Why settle for this kind of work instead of pushing for more education?”

“My father died a few years after I finished secondary school,” I said quietly. “I couldn’t afford the fees. I had to work. So I stopped school and started bricklaying.”

He was silent for a moment, just studying me with those sharp eyes. Then he muttered, almost to himself, “You remind me of someone I knew.” His face tightened. Then he cleared his throat and went on.

He opened a file and skimmed through it quickly. “Let’s go over what you told me at the party. This has your statement… and others. If you remember anything else — anything at all — now is the time to say it. I’m all ears.”

My chest tightened. Chuka’s warning echoed in my head — saying the Circle wouldn’t spare me if I give this man any information about what happened at the event of Mrs Adeoye. Also that the assassin would stop at nothing, and the next coffin in my family would have my name on it. That thought rang in my mind like an alarm. I swallowed hard and forced a smile. I had no choice but to lie.

I took the calmest breath I could and said, “Errm, sir… everything I said that night were just words of a drunk man. I was wasted. I don’t even remember much. I swear.”

The room went silent. The kind of silence that presses on your skin, heavy and cold. The only sound was the clock on the wall, each tick stabbing the air like a knife. My throat dried up, and I could hear my own heartbeat, thumping too loud inside my chest. Detective Kalu just stared at me, his eyes sharp, searching, like he was peeling away the layers of my lie.

I forced myself not to look away. My palms were sweating, my lips almost trembling, but I kept them still. The silence stretched longer, tighter, like a rope pulling around my neck. For a moment, I thought he could hear the fear screaming in my head. Then, slowly, a small smile crawled across his face.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my face as blank as the broken screen of an old phone. “I was drunk. I don’t remember what happened. It was only when I got home that my friends told me all I had said. I’m sorry if I troubled you with my immature behavior. I’m deeply sorry.”

The words left my mouth, but they didn’t feel like mine. Each one felt heavy, like swallowing stones. My stomach twisted, my chest burned. I felt small, like a child caught in a lie but still refusing to confess. My whole body screamed for me to stand up and run, yet my legs were glued to the chair.

But even with all that boiling inside me, I forced myself into calm. My voice stayed steady, my face showed nothing. I sat there like a man with nothing to hide, wearing a mask so perfect that even Detective Kalu couldn’t see the storm tearing me apart on the inside.

He turned his head to the window, looked outside for a long moment. Then his eyes dropped to my wrist. The Rolex watch on my wrist. His gaze lingered, then came back to my face. He wrote something in the file.

“You came here this morning with a car, right?” he asked suddenly.

“Ye…es,” I stuttered.

He stood up, walked to the window, pulled the blinds, and scanned the row of cars outside. Then he looked back at me, nodded like he had figured something out, and sat down again.

“You drove a G-Wagon here?”

“Errrm… yes. Is that against the law?”

“Nooo. Not at all. Is it yours?” His tone carried a hidden smile.

“Nooo. Where will I see that kind of money? I rented it for the party on Saturday.”

“How much?” he asked, straight-faced.

“Four hundred K,” I said.

“And you’re a bricklayer?”

Silence. My stomach turned. That was the moment I knew I had walked into my own trap. I could already hear the ringtone of Prison itself calling my name.

Right there, the biggest mistake I’d made that day slapped me across the face: coming to a police station in a G-Wagon. What sane bricklayer from a poor home drives that kind of machine and wears a Rolex on his wrist? What was I thinking? Even if I want to lie to him that I borrowed the money, how do I explain to this smart detective that I borrowed money just to show off at a party? Will he believe me at all?

I felt like a goat that had walked into a lion’s den, carrying pepper soup ingredients on its own head. My mouth was dry. My throat locked up. I could see his eyes studying me, weighing me, like he already knew the answer but was waiting for me to hang myself with my own tongue.

“Alright.* He said suddenly , cutting across my thoughts. "But if I later find out you lied, or you’re hiding something that could lead us to the killer, I will not be kind to you. This is your chance, Darous. Tell me everything you know now.”

“I told you,” I said quickly. “I was drunk. Or is it now a crime to drink in this country?” I faked annoyance.

A sly smile crossed his face. Then he bent over the file and started writing. His pen scratched the paper for minutes before he stopped.

I sat there expecting him to slam the desk or bark at me or worst get me arrested..But he didn’t.
"Thank God." I muttered to myself with a very big feeling of relief.

But this was just half of why I came. The real job was the files. I needed to know how much they had on this dead man’s case.

Finally, he looked up and said, “In this line of work, I’ve seen plenty. Innocent lives destroyed because someone had to choose between truth and lie. Some chose truth and it set them free. Some chose lie and it buried them alive. But one thing is certain… the truth always comes out. Always.”

I couldn’t tell if it was a threat or advice. But either way, he wasn’t acting how I expected.

He stood up suddenly. “I need to grab some papers from the next office. I want you to write a fresh statement about what you just told me. Wait here.”

The door clicked behind him.

My heart jumped for joy. This was it — a golden opportunity, like the referee handing my team a last-minute penalty in a must-win match we were drawing.

The file sat there, witness notes stacked on top. Names visible on the edges. Time stamps. Short lines.

I moved slowly, pretending to adjust the desk, and let my eyes drop to the file. My fingers hovered above the paper. My brain screamed hurry. My chest screamed no. The wall clock ticked louder than ever.

Then as I was about to open the file, the door handle turned.
I froze.

To be continued.

dawno2008:
@tbm e sweet me die say barca loose,cos all the noise last season be say barca for beat psg for final ,anyways man u still dey do me chometin Sorry for Una defeat

Seems this circle guys dey craze for head,na everywhere dem dey chook nose, so Darous no fit cough or mess in peace say him join confra ni
Walahi I love the night with Tiffany,so romantic,u know say kpeshi(sex) wey person nor expect na him dey sweet pass ,and that toyosi babe be like who get hot pant,I see in future say she go straff darous
Abeg Mr writer,I know say writers are killers,abeg no kpai Darous say cos your over hyped club lose ooo
You're always the best entertaining writer on this forum thanks so much for this update TBM baba🤗one luv♥️💯

😂😂 My guy, you too dey burst brain with your comments o! Na true you talk—sometimes me sef dey laugh when I dey write those crazy circle moves. As for Darous, no fear, I no go kpai am because Barca lose, writing no be football pitch 🤣.

Big respect for always following and vibing with the story 🙌. Na readers like you dey ginger me to keep dropping updates steady. One love always ❤️💯

Damilgodwin:
Please someone needs to put this yamal in order oo. Make that guy no go mess up.

what yamal

As a die hard Barcelona fan. No update tonight o. The match pain me die. I should have finished the next episode before watching the match but I only wanted to use the ginger to write incase we won. Now my plan has backfired. Darous might die in the next episode... Ahswear....

Abdulreheem:
Getting more hotter

in baba t's voice.. he dey burn like kerosene 😂😂😂😂😂

edydeyemi:
Ghengen... game on.

😂😂

Continuation of episode 12


By the time we all gathered at the big dining table downstairs, the smell alone was enough to fill the belly.
No fried eggs, no Agege bread, no akara or moinmoin. Instead, bowls of Greek yogurt with honey sat neatly beside fresh berries that looked like they were wearing diamond chains, tiny bowls of almonds, and croissants that looked like they booked first-class flight from Paris.

We all sat around the table.
Mrs. Adeoye at the head of the table like the queen of the castle, me on her right, Tiffany quietly beside me, then Baba T with his big frame. Across from us sat Kenny, already restless. Jude chilled in the far corner, cool as ever, while Toyosi sat beside him, looking elegant like she owned the whole table.

Kenny sat down first, scanned the table like invigilator. He picked one almond, chewed slowly, then hissed loud enough for everybody.
“Na wa o. Mummy...please ma, abeg, where is the real food? Something like Yam? Beans? Even if it's small indomie ah no mind. This one dey remind me of art class for secondary school. Everything wey dey here look like watercolour and crayon for my eyes.”

The table exploded with laughter.

Mrs. Adeoye only smiled softly. “Just try and eat this, Kenny. It’s good for you.”

Baba T didn’t care about anyone. He had already grabbed two croissants, tore them apart like gala, and let the crumbs scatter all over his beard.
“Food na food abeg. Na fuel I dey chop,” he said.

Jude shook his head. “Fuel wey go purge you later. No be all fuel dey power generator o.”

Kenny raised his spoon, pointing at the yogurt like someone presenting evidence in court.
“Abeg, which human being dey chop white pap with honey in the morning? This na punishment breakfast o. Mummy ma, if I faint after eating this thing, just know say na you do me o.”

The table laughed again.

Toyosi picked her croissant with queenly fingers. “Eat, Kenny. Stop complaining. Small civilization won’t kill you.”

“Civilization? For breakfast? Toyosi, you no get conscience. Person dey find akara, you dey bring croissant wey look like baby face... Ehn? .”

We all laughed so hard my stomach hurt.

Mrs. Adeoye passed a plate to me. “Darous, aren’t you hungry? Don’t be shy. Take a bite. You’ll like it.”

I nodded, taking a croissant, trying not to laugh at Kenny who was still side-eyeing the yogurt like it was poison.

Mischief suddenly flashed in Kenny's eyes as he leaned forward.
“So… Toyosi, you enjoy your night with Jude, abi?”

The table went dead quiet for a moment. Jude smirked like he already knew drama was coming.

Toyosi adjusted her cup, smiled faintly, then dropped it in perfect British accent:
“Oh, I had a wonderful sleep. It was extremely… educational.”

The room exploded again. Baba T almost choked on his almond, banging his chest like generator wey no start.

“Educational?! Na bedroom or classroom una enter?!” Baba T shouted, slapping the table so hard one croissant nearly jumped off.

Jude only leaned back, smirking like a man that just won presidential election.

Toyosi sipped her juice slowly. “Yes. Very educational. I learned about patience… observation… and how to manage certain… challenges.”

Kenny froze, spoon still in the air. “Challenges? Jesu! Toyosi abeg no use grammar finish me this early morning o.”

Baba T burst out laughing so hard crumbs sprayed across the table. “See Kenny. She don turn you to student already!”

Kenny shook his head dramatically. “No wahala. I go chop my food jeje. Na small small I go understand this civilization breakfast. But if I collapse, abeg carry me back to Agege bread and ewa agoyin.”

Mrs. Adeoye laughed gently. “You people are too funny. Just take it easy. Don’t rush yourselves.”

Toyosi leaned back with that sly smile, like a chess master. “Don’t waste the food. I can already see some of you struggling with self-control.”

More laughter filled the room. Jude smirked quietly. Baba T kept grinning with crumbs in his beard. Kenny was still side-eyeing Toyosi like she was FBI.

Me? I just focused on my plate, chewing slowly. But I noticed Tiffany—quiet all through, sipping her juice, eyes bouncing between me and Mrs. Adeoye like she was decoding hidden messages.


After breakfast, we all moved into the large space where the event had taken place the previous day. The chandeliers above us glowed soft and golden, and the long dining table was still littered with plates and glasses. The smell of expensive food and perfume hung in the air, but the mood felt like it was balancing between celebration and tension.

Mrs. Adeoye walked over to me, her gown flowing like water, and held my hands.
“Thank you for honouring my invitation, Darous,” she said softly. “I know you had better places to be.”

Before I could answer, Kenny’s voice cut through like a blade.
“Ah, madam, no vex o,” he said with that mischievous grin of his. “Na only this kind place person fit chop free food wey dey enter belle well-well. Na why we come o. We no get better place to be at all…”

Everybody burst out laughing, even Mrs. Adeoye, who shook her head at him with a smile.

Toyosi came next. She hugged each of us tightly, her perfume lingering after every embrace. When she got to me she gave me a quick one.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “we’ll all hang out again soon. This isn’t goodbye.”

Before I could respond, Tiffany stepped forward. She didn’t care who was looking. She wrapped her arms around me, pressing her warm body against mine. Then, right there in front of everyone — she kissed me. Not a quick peck. A deep, lingering kiss that tasted like a promise and a warning at the same time.

When she finally pulled away, Toyosi and Tiffany walked to their black GLE parked outside, glanced back at me once, then slipped in and drove off. Their taillights disappeared through the gate like a closing chapter.

I dropped Kenny, Jude, and Baba T at their homes one by one. By the time I parked the rented car under the big tree in front of my compound, my body felt like a dead wood. I switched on the generator and threw myself on the bed, trying to grab a few minutes of sleep.

But just as my eyes started to close, my phone rang. Chuka.

I picked. His voice came cold, like someone who had been waiting to strike.
“Darous, you’ve made a mistake,” he said. “The man who carried out the assassination last night was one of us. A Circle agent.”

I sat up. “What?”

“He was working under orders. The man he killed had crossed the Circle in a very dangerous way. That was why he had to go. You don’t point fingers at people like that. Even if the Circle lets it go, that guy won’t. He will never allow you to stay alive unless you fix this problem. Do you understand?”

My throat went dry. “What do you mean fix it?”

“You talked to Detective Kalu. You told him about the incident. You shouldn’t have said a single word. The rules of the Circle says you must never talk to the police under no matter what. So tomorrow morning, you’ll go back to the station. You’ll tell Kalu everything you said was a lie. That you were drunk. That nothing you said was true. Or you won’t see another sunrise. Do you understand me?”

I couldn’t speak. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would rip through my chest. My mind raced — how the hell did they even know I spoke to a detective, not to talk of knowing his name? These people were not ordinary. The Circle saw everything.

“One more thing,” Chuka’s voice cut through my thoughts, his tone was cold and sharp. “Your next mission link will soon drop in the group. Be ready.”

Minutes later, my phone buzzed. A WhatsApp notification blinked on the screen. A link — identical to the one I’d received for my first mission. My hands trembled as I tapped it.

The page loaded slowly, almost mocking me, until the words appeared.

"You must take a peep into Detective Kalu’s investigation file on last night’s incident. Everything you see inside, you must report back in detail. Failure to do so will be… detrimental."

I dropped the phone and sank my head into the pillow. A scream tore from my throat — not from physical pain but from the weight pressing down on my soul.

To be continued.

Happy independence day celebration to you all.



Episode 12 — Between Teasing and Truth



The guest room Mrs. Adeoye gave me and Tiffany was one of those fancy spaces that whispered class without shouting. Cream-colored walls, soft golden lights, and a king-size bed with spotless white sheets that looked freshly ironed by angels. A fluffy rug sat in the center, soft enough to make you want to walk barefoot forever. Even the curtains looked rich—heavy and silky, swaying gently with the night breeze sneaking through the half-open windows.

“Wow,” I muttered as I dropped my shoes in the corner. “This one room fine pass any hotel wey I don enter before.”

Tiffany giggled, tossing her bag on the bed like she owned the place. “Exactly why I’m taking my shower first. Ladies first.”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “No wahala. Just don’t finish all the hot water.”

She winked at me before slipping into the bathroom. I could hear the water running almost immediately, splashing against the tiles. She spent more than twenty minutes inside, long enough for me to start wondering if she had fallen asleep in the shower. Just when I was about to knock, the door creaked open.

Tiffany stepped out, steam curling around her, her skin glistening with droplets. A towel was wrapped across her chest, barely holding on, her hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. The fragrance of her soap and body wash filled the room, sweet and fresh, mixing with the steam.

I froze. My mouth went dry. I couldn’t even begin to describe how aroused I was, just watching her like that.

But Tiffany pretended not to notice. She hummed softly, walked over to her bag, and pulled out a silky nightgown she had packed earlier. As she slipped it on with practiced ease, I couldn’t help asking, half-teasing, half-curious, “Wait… you come with nightwear? So you don already plan say you go sleep over?”

She shot me a sly smile without answering, only adjusting the strap of her gown. That silence alone was an answer. Even Toyosi had slipped in with her own bag before going into Jude’s room. Clearly, they all came prepared.

I swallowed hard, trying not to stare too much, but it was impossible. Tiffany’s curves filled the gown like it was designed only for her, and the scent of her freshly washed skin floated across the room, making me salivate.

I grabbed my own towel and rushed into the bathroom before my thoughts betrayed me.

The bathroom itself was another world entirely. No wonder Tiffany had taken her sweet time inside. Marble tiles shone under soft recessed lights, with a giant mirror so clear it made me look like I belonged on a magazine cover. The shower sprayed out warm water in a smooth, steady rain, washing over me in waves. The first touch made me groan with relief—it was like heaven pressing the reset button on my tired body. Steam curled around me, lifting away the dust, sweat, and tension of the long day.

By the time I finally stepped out, towel wrapped around my waist, I felt new—refreshed, alive, and ready for whatever the night decided to throw at me.

Tiffany was already stretched across the entire king-size bed, limbs everywhere, duvet tucked under her like she was claiming territory.

I dropped my towel on the chair and pointed. “Ehn-ehn! Madam, what’s the meaning of this?”

She flipped her hair dramatically, pretending to scroll through her phone. “Meaning? The bed has chosen its rightful owner. Floor is calling your name, my dear.”

“Floor ke? For this sweet bed?” I clutched my chest like a heartbroken man. “Tiffany, fear God na. I be person pikin, I get feelings too.” I sang the last line in Zinoleesky’s voice.

She burst out laughing, hugging the pillow. “Boundaries, sir. Gentlemen like you should respect them. Abi you wan chop cane?”

I raised both hands like a surrendering soldier. “Consent is my middle name o. But at least pity me with pillow.”

She pointed to a tiny throw pillow on the chair. “Take that one. Manage it.”

I picked it up, sighed dramatically, and looked like a homeless man in a rich neighborhood. “Fine. But just know, I’m taking the duvet. Non-negotiable.”

Her eyes widened. “What?! You can’t—”

Before she could finish her sentence, I yanked the duvet off her, rolled myself on the floor, and wrapped it tightly around my body like a giant shawarma. “Goodnight,” I announced with pride, grinning. “May your bedbugs bite you in peace.”


Tiffany laughed so hard. “You’re crazy this guy...”


I had barely closed my eyes when her voice came down the hall of the bed, soft and almost trembling.

“Darous…”

“Hm?” I murmured, still half-lost in sleep.

She let out a quiet, heavy sigh. “Do you know why I play hard to get sometimes?”

I shook my head slightly, though she couldn’t see me.

“It’s… not because I don’t like you. It’s… everything else.” Her voice broke, and for a moment, I could hear the weight of a lifetime behind it. “My uncle… he was supposed to protect me, guide me after my father passed. But he… he betrayed me in ways I’m still figuring out. And my father—he trusted people, people he thought were loyal… and they sent him to prison. I watched him break, Darous. I watched a man I loved more than anything crumble because of betrayal from those closest to him. And I… I learned to be afraid. Afraid to let anyone in, afraid to believe in people, because I’ve seen what trust can do when it’s shattered.”

Her voice softened, almost a whisper now.

“And then… there was him. My ex. It was as if he was sent by the devil himself to come and add to the misery. Because I trusted this guy. I let him see all the pieces of me I never show anyone… and he broke them anyway. Made me feel like I was nothing, like I wasn’t enough. I’ve carried that pain… and it made me think, maybe I’m not made for love. Maybe opening up only ends in heartbreak.”

She paused, as if afraid I might run at the sound of her truth. “So sometimes I hold back. Not because I don’t want… not because I don’t care… but because I’m scared. Scared that if I give too much… I’ll lose myself again.”

I stayed quiet, letting the stillness of the night wrap around her words. Her usual sarcasm, her teasing bravado—it had all melted away, leaving something raw, fragile, and achingly human.

“I understand,” I said finally, my voice low and steady. “Take your time. No rushing at all. I’m not here to force anything. Just… heal at your own pace. Okay?.”

A long silence. Then a soft, fragile chuckle, like the faintest flicker of light in a dark room.

“You always know what to say this guy...”

“I no sabi talk,” I mumbled from under the duvet. “Na wisdom from my ancestors I dey use.”

She laughed again, quieter, warmer, almost like she was letting herself hope—just a little.

Sometime past midnight, I woke up to a weird feeling—like someone was stealing my duvet. I opened one eye and saw her… Tiffany, curled up on the floor, dragging half of the blanket with her. Her bare skin was touching mine under the duvet since I was also completely naked under it.

“Ah ah! Wetin be this? Wetin be this? Wetin be this.? Jesus jesus jeeeesuuuus” I repeated in that popular meme sound.

She shivered. “It’s cold up there. Your floor… your floor is warmer.”

“You should have thought of that before sending me to sleep on the floor,” I teased. “First time I dey hear say prison warder enter prison cell because the outside is too cold.”

“Come on… don’t be selfish. The floor is big enough,” she protested.

I raised an eyebrow. “So the same madam wey dey always talk say I must respect boundaries… na she carry body come invade my space by midnight?”

She giggled softly, and I could feel her warmth through the duvet.

“Shut up jare,” she muttered, pulling the duvet tighter. “Just shift small.”

I grinned in the dark. “No wahala. But make sure you no roll reach my side o, cos I'll not be held responsible for whatever happens as a result..”

She laughed into the pillow, her shoulder brushing mine.
“Idiot boy....”

By the time we spent like five minutes in that position, my d1ck was already hard.

Tiffany turned towards me, seeing my hard di1ck protruding through the duvet, she smiled, “Wow, is this really me doing this to you?”

I just nodded, trying hard to keep my cool. But then, out of nowhere, courage rose inside me. Before I knew it, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. Tiffany didn’t pull back — she melted into me, her body warm against mine.

The duvet slipped away, leaving nothing between us. Skin to skin, our breaths tangled, the heat of her chest rising against mine. The cold floor no longer mattered; all I felt was her softness, the taste of her lips, the way her fingers traced slowly along my back as if she didn’t want to let go.

She hungrily embraced me like someone possessed while my one hand was cupping one of her firm t1ts, and her own hand finding my c0ck-enveloping it, tugging softly up and down.

Again, our passion burned hotter, swallowing the moment whole. Just as I was about to lift her and carry us to the bed, Tiffany pressed her palms against my chest and gently pushed me back.
My c0ck now felt as if it was going to explode from its skin, but I wanted this moment to last.

Tiffany lay down on the floor and I seamlessly followed right on top of her. Our lips connected, her hard nipples pushing against mine, the head of my c0ck beginning to part her vaginal lips releasing our combined juices from the portal of heaven.

Every nerve in my body screamed to sink my c0ck into her warmth pvssy, to claim every part of her right there on the floor. But my mind whispered restraint—I had to slow down, to savor her, to explore every curve and secret of this goddess laid before me.

Breaking our embrace, I trailed my lips down, surveying every millimeter of Tiffany’s warm skin along her neck before reaching her t1ts. I took gentle mouthfuls of her soft breast flesh, then moved to her areola, tasting and teasing before capturing it fully between my lips. My tongue circled and flicked her nipple, and I felt it stiffen, hard and extended against my tongue. Tiffany gripped the back of my head tightly, her breathing growing deeper, heavier, as small shivers ran through her body.
She gently pressed on the back of my head, guiding me downward, breaking my hold on her breast. I trailed kisses across her flat stomach, tracing circles around her belly button before moving lower, teasing the rise just above her pubic bone. My lips nibbled and tasted as I went, until my tongue finally reached the very edge—the confluence of her soft, wet vaginal lips, waiting for me.
Tiffany pushed on the back of my head, “Yes, yes, Oh my god, yes!” she blurted as I freed the knob, sucking her cl1t into my mouth.

Her hips began to move, humping in synchronization with my mouth tugging on her extended cl1t using my teeth to gently clasp on it.

Her movements became more erratic, as she pushed my head harder into her crotch, popping her cl1t from my mouth.
My tongue naturally explored the folds of each side of her pvssy lips, then found its way into her opening.

She bucked wildly at the same time she drove my tongue into her now drenched pvssy.
The smell and taste were like a drug to me—I couldn't get enough of them, even though Tiffany kept pouring out more liquid. The smell filled my nose every time I breathed in. It was amazing.
I sucked in what felt like a mouthful of her juices and went back to her cl1t.

Tiffany screamed, “Oh, oh, my god, I am cummming!” as she drove her hips upwards.
My hands were on her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers and thumbs.

Her body went limp, the nipples in my fingers went flaccid, she made a purring sound and gently brought my head up.

“That was the best orgasm I ever had.” she cooed as my head was brought up to her breast.

Within minutes Tiffany was asleep.

I rolled over to the other side and dropped a satisfactory grin.

And just like that, the room went quiet again—two bodies sharing one duvet, no rush, no pressure. Just warmth and bliss.

Tiffany’s shoulder brushed mine under the duvet, and her steady breathing soon dragged me into sleep.


*****


A heavy knock nearly shook the door off its hinges.
“Darous! Wake up! Time don go o!” Kenny’s voice boomed through the wood.

I groaned, struggling to free myself from the duvet wrapped around me like handcuffs. Tiffany was still curled up like a lazy cat, her hair scattered across her face.

“Guy, abeg, if you no open this door now, I go call police o. You get mind leave me with that Gee Pee tank while you dey here dey enjoy AC and romance!” Kenny added, his voice dripping with mischief.

I dragged myself up, got into my underwear, and opened the door just a little. Kenny’s eyes immediately scanned the room like CCTV. The moment he spotted Tiffany, wrapped in duvet on the floor, he froze.

“Ehen!” He clapped his hands and grinned. “So this is why you abandoned me? You dey here dey flex life while I dey suffer!”

Before I could even defend myself, I slammed the door behind me and joined him and Jude in the lobby.

Jude was already waiting, eyes sharp with gist. He leaned closer, whispering like a thief planning a robbery.
“Guy, talk true… you and Tiffany… una knack?”

I scratched my head slowly, refusing to fall into their trap. “And you expect me to answer that? Abeg o, I no dey kiss and tell.”

Jude laughed, shaking his head. “Na so you go dey dodge question? No wahala. Me and Toyosi… my guy, omo! The girl na machine. Back to back performance!”

I raised my brow, pretending to be shocked. “Really? And Cynthia? You no dey reason how she go feel if she hear this?”

Jude waved his hand carelessly. “Forget Cynthia, jare. Old cargo. Toyosi na the real deal. Omo, see skin like caramel… fresh die!” He said it with so much joy, you’d think he just won a jackpot.

Kenny almost fell on the chair laughing. “Caramel skin ke! Jude, you no go ever serious.”

Me? I just smiled faintly, keeping my mouth shut. Their noise no shake me one bit. My own joy was still fresh — the laughter, the warmth, the peace Tiffany gave me that night… plus the “you know.” That single memory was enough to carry me through the whole day.

Damilgodwin:
Boss you are so good with words, well arranged and crackfill 😁

I appreciate the kind words

SmartestPopQUEEN:
we happy to have you back dear... 🥰

and I'm equally happy to be back

SmartestPopQUEEN:
If there's one thing I've learned from following your stories since all these years, it's never to assume anything. Because with you, anything is possible and possible is anything 😂... Ride on. But my own suspicion is also that Darous and the detective will team up. Though the tragic background of that detective made me feel sorry for the circle in advance for what he's gonna do to them once he eventually caught up with them... A great story you got here dear... We rooting for you

Guessing is part of the game madam.... 😂😂 I feed on your guesses to even make the story better.... 😂

Abdulreheem:
Keep it flowing me Darous

🙏🙏🙏

drewbar:
That's the most obvious thing but I know TBM wants us to think that way and he will do the unexpected. I feel they will work together for their mutual benefit. The Circle will want him to work with Kalu so they can control the narrative but he will end up betraying them. Anyway TBM. Was I close in my assertions.

Time will tell my bro

xaviercasmir:
I bet the detective and Darious will team up together.
Nice one boss

you bet? 😄 Let's put a stake on it man....

drewbar:
I wasn't expecting this twist. So many twists and turns. Nice one bro.

We await the next episode patiently.

Brace yourself bro... 😂😂

Abdulreheem:
When ever I read ur new episode I always forget myself in it but at least I will be disappointed when it end .
Ur kind of story isn't not the kind that my curiosity will like to wait for .
Please keep it flowing for us before u hear curiosity kill the reader 😄😄😄.
Thanks for the update man

I'm humbled boss. Thanks for staying tuned

Episode 11 — Shadows of the Past, Patterns of the Present


Detective Kalu was a man shaped by pain and shadows. At forty-six, he carried himself with a quiet weight that demanded attention—not through noise or fury, but through the aura of someone who had survived everything the world could throw at him. His hair was streaked with silver, his eyes sharp and piercing, and the faint lines on his forehead spoke of decades spent chasing monsters hidden behind polite faces.

His story began in the early 1990s. Kalu’s parents had died in a very tragic accident that claimed the lives of more than thirty-five people on their way home from a friend's naming ceremony. Kalu was very young when the unfortunate incident happened, leaving him, his older brother Thomas, and their only sister Naomi to fend for themselves. Thomas became both father and brother, the protector of the household. Naomi, the second-born, was their light and joy. She was full of life.

But tragedy struck in 1992. Naomi, just twelve years old, was hurrying home from an errand in the heavy rain when the son of a wealthy man laid eyes on her from the balcony of his father's mansion.

Arrogant, cruel, and entitled, he decided she would be nothing more than his plaything. He brutally assaulted her and left her broken. The violence threw her into a coma that lasted more than three months. They spent all the money and possessions their late parents had left for them on her, until they were left with nothing.

Every day, Thomas and Kalu sat by her hospital bed, praying for a miracle that never came. Naomi eventually succumbed to the cold hands of death, leaving the two brothers shattered, their lives forever fractured.

Thomas’ grief rolled into a quiet fury. He began noticing things most people would overlook—subtle lies in the hospital reports, the way witnesses suddenly contradicted themselves, the invisible hand that made Naomi’s case vanish from police records.

Behind it all, Thomas discovered whispers of a secretive, powerful network—the Circle. They had protected the boy’s family, silenced the hospital, and buried the truth. Worse still, they had already begun watching Thomas, studying his every move.

One evening, a man in a sleek ash-colored Peugeot 505 parked outside Thomas’ small apartment. Thomas had just come back from a construction site, where he had toiled all day as a laborer, just to put food on the table for his younger brother.

“Thomas,” the man said, voice cold and measured, “you know who killed your sister. We want you to let it go... And what you get in exchange for that is power, money, influence—everything you’ve been dreaming of can be yours.”

Thomas, barely in his twenties, spat on the floor. “You want me to become like you? To sell my soul and betray my brother?”

The agent’s gaze didn’t change. “If you refuse, your brother—the only family you have left—will pay with his life. Think carefully. Nothing in this world is more important than keeping him safe. Refuse us and we will take him. You don't have a choice in this situation.”

Thomas felt something break inside him. Rage burned hot, but under it sat a cold, hollow fear. Running wasn’t an option; the Circle’s reach touched every corner—police, courts, even neighbors. There was nowhere to hide.

When the pressure became unbearable, Thomas found a third way—the one the Circle never imagined.

It was the ultimate sacrifice.

Two nights later, Kalu returned home to find his world broken beyond repair. Thomas had hanged himself in their small living room. On the table was a note addressed to Kalu, written in his brother’s steady hand.

In the letter, Thomas begged Kalu to live, not to be consumed by vengeance, but to dedicate his life to protecting the innocent. “Do not fight the Circle head-on,” the note warned. “They are too powerful to face recklessly. Learn their ways. Study shadows. Become the kind of man they cannot bend or buy. And above all, never forget—you carry my love and Naomi’s light in you. That must be enough to keep you standing.”

Kalu was only fifteen when he buried his brother. From that moment, he became a man with one mission: justice. Not the kind found in courts or headlines, but the kind that hunts in silence, the kind that brings fear to predators who believe they are untouchable.

His early years in the police force were brutal. He was mocked for being poor, for refusing bribes, for chasing cases that “didn’t matter.” But he remembered Thomas’ words. Each insult only sharpened him. Each failure taught him patience. Kalu built himself into a weapon, a detective who saw patterns others ignored, who followed whispers others dismissed.

Yet the Circle never disappeared. They remained in the shadows—watching, testing, sometimes even sending false leads to lure him astray. A few times, they tried to recruit him the way they had Thomas, dangling money and influence. He refused each time, quietly but firmly, knowing too well the cost of saying yes.

To the world, Detective Kalu was a policeman with unusual stubbornness, a man who couldn’t be bought. But deep inside, every case he solved, every criminal he brought down, was an unspoken tribute to Thomas and Naomi. And though he rarely said it aloud, he knew the truth: his war with the Circle was not over. It had only just begun.


********

When Detective Kalu told me to repeat what I had just said, I froze. My eyes caught the police badge on his chest pocket, shining under the light, and my stomach sank. Right there I knew—anything I said could be twisted against me. In this system, they don’t even need proof; they only needed someone to blame. Accessory to murder? Reason why Onana failed at Manchester United? Why Arsenal haven't won UCL up till 2025? They could pin it all on me easily.

My tongue felt heavy, my hands sweaty. The jokes I had been sharing with my friends moments ago suddenly seemed foolish. As I looked at Kalu’s tall figure and those sharp eyes drilling into me, it felt like the ground beneath my feet wasn’t steady anymore.

“Repeat what you just told your friends,” he said quietly, his voice firm but measured.

Tiffany urged me softly, “Go ahead, tell him everything.”

“My name is Detective Kalu, from the state headquarters. Feel free to talk to me. Whatever you say will be valued, I promise. Trust me… you’re safe.”

It felt like he had just read my thoughts. Somehow, his words sank into me. Maybe it was the calm way he spoke, or the steady look in his eyes that seemed to see straight through me. I couldn’t explain it. But I found the courage to open my mouth and tell him everything I had seen and heard.

We followed him to a quieter corner of the big house. Everyone—my friends, Tiffany, Toyosi—sat on low sofas, while Kalu leaned against the wall, sharp eyes observing every movement.

“A glass tipped somewhere behind us,” I said carefully. “Then came a faint metallic scrape… and a muffled pop. The lights flickered, the chandelier swayed even though nobody touched it. A burnt smell slipped through the perfumes in the hall. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

Kalu nodded quietly, letting me finish before asking, “And your name is?”

“Darous,” I answered quickly. Tiffany’s palm was still on my shoulder, warm and steady, reminding me I wasn’t alone in that room.

Kalu leaned forward, his pen scratching slowly. “You noticed before the crowd. Did anyone else catch it too?”

I thought hard. “Most people were still feeling the vibe of the party at the time. But one waiter—he froze mid-step, tray shaking. And at the far corner, a woman clutched her husband’s arm so tight, like she already sensed danger. Their fear came seconds before the scream.”

Kalu’s eyes narrowed, tapping the table softly. “Good. Now, the man who collapsed. The path he took—anything off? Floor, carpet, tiles?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. The floor there is smooth. I renovated that wall myself—brand new tiles. He didn’t fall because of the ground. Something else hit him.”

Kalu stopped writing for a moment, studying me. “Then tell me about the people near him. Body language. Any suspicious moves?”

I swallowed and pictured it. “When he went down, panic spread slow, but a few people were… different. That same waiter dropped his tray and vanished into the crowd. And the woman at the corner—she wasn’t looking at the body. Her eyes were locked on the far wall, like she knew where the danger came from.”

Silence filled the space except for Kalu’s pen pressing harder on the paper.

“You’re sure?” he asked. “The pop? The smell?.”

“Yes,” I answered firmly. “It was a gun. Silencer. Nothing else fits.”

Kalu’s gaze lingered, sharp and heavy. Finally, he said, almost to himself, “You have a gift. A rare one. You remind me of my brother—he too could see the cracks, the small signs others ignore. You carry the same eye.”


Toyosi, leaning slightly forward, whispered to Tiffany, “Omo, how is he explaining everything so calmly…? I can’t even follow half of it!”

Baba T muttered, “Na our boy sef… nobody dey notice things like this, my guy na Robocop...”

Even Tiffany’s eyes sparkled, a mix of admiration and curiosity, as she observed me. Jude and Kenny were silent, but I could feel the weight of their awe.

Kalu leaned back, folding his arms. “Darous… I want you at the station Monday morning. I need a detailed reconstruction of every movement, sound, and shift in the environment. You’ll be essential in understanding what really happened tonight.”

I nodded, feeling the tension settle in my chest.

After Detective Kalu dismissed us with his final instructions, the party was already down. Guests whispered in corners, some sneaking out quietly, the police men had already put a tape on the crime scene.


As we made our way to Mrs. Adeoye to bid her goodnight, she looked at me in a way that made me remember how my ex-girlfriend used to look at me. Her eyes lingered just a little too long, her smile softer than usual.

“Darous,” she said warmly, “the police said you were really helpful to them. Thank you.”

Her hand brushed my arm lightly, almost like she didn’t want to pull away. Tiffany shifted beside me, her brows raising slightly, but she said nothing.

Then Mrs. Adeoye’s tone changed to something more protective.
“With all that has happened tonight, I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you or your friends on the road. Please, you must sleep here. There are three spare rooms left. I’ve already given the others to some of my close friends.”

Before I could even answer, Tiffany’s voice came sharp and quick:
“Me and Darous will share a room together,” she said, looping her arm through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.



“Ehn-ehn,” Mrs. Adeoye chuckled, clearly amused, “that’s settled then. Tiffany and Darous in one room, Toyosi in another, and your three friends together in the last one.”

“Wait first!” Kenny suddenly burst out, throwing his hands in the air. “How Toyosi go dey enjoy one big room all to herself, and me? I go dey squeeze with Baba T and Jude? Na who plan this wicked arrangement?”

Baba T adjusted his belt over his round belly and grinned.
“Kenny, calm down. Na because you no get pot belly na why. If you get my own stature, dem for don dash you master bedroom.”

Everybody laughed. Jude shook his head, already tired of the drama.
“Kenny, abeg no disturb me this night. I don tire. Na sleep remain for me.”

Kenny pointed at him furiously.
“Sleep? Sleep wey dey sound like train station? Jude, you dey snore like I pass my neighbour generator wey no wan off. If dem carry me go police station tomorrow, na because I kill you inside sleep!”

Toyosi covered her mouth, giggling hard. “But Kenny, see the bright side—you get two free heaters beside you. One with pot belly, one with snoring. You go sleep warm!”

“God forbid!” Kenny snapped. “See as you dey shine teeth. Na you suppose share that big room with me. Abi you dey fear me? I no dey bite o. I fit even sing you lullaby.”

Tiffany burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Kenny, you this guy, you no get shame. Leave Toyosi alone abeg. Carry your wahala go that room with your brothers.”

Kenny folded his arms dramatically.
“No wahala. Make una no beg me when I faint tomorrow morning. If Baba T roll on top me with that belle, na finish be that.”

“Dey play,” Baba T said, patting his belly proudly. “This one dey soft, e dey friendly. You go even enjoy am.”

Everybody laughed until tears rolled. Even Mrs. Adeoye chuckled softly, though her eyes still lingered on me like she was thinking more than she was saying.

Just when it seemed like Kenny was going to sulk all the way to their room, Toyosi leaned back in her chair, sipping her drink with a mischievous grin.

“Okay, wait,” she said, raising her glass. “I don’t want to be wicked. Instead of me locking a whole room to myself, one of you can share with me.”

Kenny’s eyes lit up instantly. “Yes! I volunteer my self as the sacrificial lamb!”

“Calm down, ogbeni,” Jude muttered.

But Toyosi wasn’t done. “However… the person has to earn it. You have to prove you’re worthy of my company.”

“How?” Baba T asked, suspicious. "You need our Waec results? Cos if na that one, you better pick Jude right now..no waste your time..."

Toyosi smiled, her eyes glittering with mischief. “Simple. The three of you will play a game called Lemon Lemon.”

“Lemon wetin?” Baba T frowned, rubbing his belly. “Is it food? Because if na food competition, I go win.”

Everybody burst out laughing. Tiffany nearly choked on her drink.

“No,” Toyosi said, laughing. “Not food. It’s a smart game. Since it's only three of you that will play it, each of you will pick a number—Lemon one, Lemon two, Lemon three. The rule is: when it’s your turn, you must first call your own lemon number before calling another person’s lemon number. The lemon number you call must be within the other two people in the game. If you forget, or stammer, or mess it up, you lose and take a shot. Simple. Who ever doesn't get drunk in this game gets to share the room with me.”

Kenny rubbed his palms together, grinning. “Ehen, na my type of game. Easy win. Baba T and Jude, i wish you guys a blissful moment on your matrimonial bed this night... ”

"You think say na by mouth?" Jude fired back.

“Pick your numbers jare...you talk too much... ,” Toyosi said.

“I be Lemon 1!” Kenny shouted proudly.

“I go be Lemon 2,” Jude said calmly.

Baba T scratched his head. “Okay, na me be Lemon 3. But wait o, no cheating. If someone cheats nko? …”

“You drink a shot ni!” Toyosi and Tiffany chorused while laughing.



Then the game began with Kenny chanting the Lemon Lemon slang very loud.

Kenny puffed his chest. “Lemon 1… Lemon 2!”

Jude didn’t even blink. “Lemon 2… Lemon 3!” He responded very fast.

Baba T froze. His eyes darted left and right. “Ehm… ehm… Lemon 3… err—Lemon 4!”

The whole room exploded in laughter.

“Lemon 4?! Where you see Lemon 4 from?!” Kenny screamed, holding his belly.

Even Toyosi was wiping tears. “Baba T! Ah! Drink your shot jare!”

They poured him a strong glass of champagne, and he downed it, coughing. “Kai! This thing dey burn like kerosene!”



Round two.

Jude started. “Lemon 2… Lemon 3.”

Baba T snapped back fast this time around. “Lemon 3… Lemon 1!”

Kenny slammed the table. “Lemon 1… Lemon—ah mogbe—Lemon 1!”

Everybody collapsed with laughter again.

“You call your own lemon twice!” Jude shook his head.

“That one no count! I no hear myself!” Kenny protested.

“Shot! Shot! Shot!” they all shouted, and Toyosi poured him a shot.


By the eighteenth round, Kenny was already tipsy, slurring his words.

“Lemon oneee… Lemon… ehm… Lemon—Toyosi!”

“Wetin?!” Toyosi burst out laughing. “You just call my own name inside game? Kenny, drink!”

“Ah! This girl wan finish me!” Kenny groaned, downing his glass. “But no wahala, I go win next round.”

He didn’t. He lost three more times in a row.

Meanwhile, Jude kept his cool. Sharp, quick, never missing a beat.
“Lemon 2… Lemon 1.”
“Lemon 2… Lemon 3.”
“Lemon 2… Lemon 1 again.”

He played like a pro, steady and unfazed.

At last, Toyosi clapped her hands. “Enough! Enough! I can’t laugh anymore, my stomach hurts. Baba T, and Kenny… you two are officially drunk. Look at you!”

Baba T was swaying in his chair, grinning foolishly. “Na lie. I still dey win…”

Kenny hiccupped loudly. “Toyosi, forget Jude. I… I sabi knack pass am. Gimme your key.”

“Go and hug your pot belly roommate,” Toyosi laughed.

She turned to Jude, her smile softer now. “You… you’re the only one who held your ground. I like a man who can handle alcohol and games. You win.”

Jude tried to hide his smile, but the redness in his cheeks betrayed him. Kenny nearly fell off his chair in protest.

“Cheat! Na cheat! Rematch tomorrow!” he slurred, pointing at everyone.

“Carry am go bed,” Tiffany said, still laughing as she hooked her arm into mine.

And just like that, the rooms were settled—Tiffany and I in one, Toyosi and Jude in another, while Kenny and Baba T stumbled their way into their matrimonial room, still arguing who lost more rounds.


To be continued

TemiGURL:
Just like what the other readers said, you are indeed a blessed man with the pen. You are the only reason I come to nairaland this days. Ride on. Just imagine the entrance of Tiffany and her friend. TBM you know how to make one feel jealous 😂😂😂 for a moment there, I wish you were describing me and my friends.... 😂😂😂. That's why I love your work. Ride on my guy... 💯

Hmmm. My lady, I appreciate. Thanks... 🙏🙏🙏

dawno2008:
You can say that again, he's called TBM for a reason ,bros I duff my hat ,see film abeg,it was so smooth to read,I actually visualize the all scenes,TBM baba,you too much,
This one na Sunday tonic,see me smiling to Tiffany's entrance and feeling the vibes,either you stay hia or move to kutuegin just give me link to follow, stay blessed baba tbm

see as my head dey swell like Julian Alvarez own.... 😂😂😂😂 Stay blessed my boss

drewbar:
I have edited all my typos ooh...lol

I noticed