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Episode 111- Not A Straight Road.

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

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

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

But inside the house, careful movements had begun.

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

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

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

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

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

The words never changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t promise that.”

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

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

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

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

“Then find a way,” she said simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued.

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Episode 110 - Smiles and Scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simple in theory but realistically dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

Kalu’s smile faded instantly. He looked up.

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

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How time flies

Episode 109— The Quiet Risk.

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

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

“What sound?” she asked back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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Episode 108 - Tests And Tremors.


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

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

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

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

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

Patience. That word again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? How?” I asked, shocked.

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

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

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

“That sounds… convenient,” I said quietly.

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

There was a short pause before I spoke again.

“And what was the result?” I asked.

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

“Okay…” I said finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes…” I answered.

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

“Okay… but for what?” I asked.

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

I sighed, understanding clearly.

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

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

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

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

“The Ninth Father Zugzwang,” I answered.

"Spell that Zugzwang."

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

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

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

“Hopefully, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand,” I said finally.

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

“Alright.”

“Stay focused, Darous.”

The call ended.

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

Grief and strategy living in the same body.



*******




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

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

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

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

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

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

She cleaned her eyes with a handkerchief, then sniffed.

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

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

Kalu’s jaw tightened.

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

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

She broke down again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were becoming comfortable.
And comfortable men make mistakes.

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

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

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

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

Only then could he move without hesitation.

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

“Ma’am,” he said softly.

She looked at him through the tears.

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

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






To be continued.

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Episode 107 - Held By The Sky.

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

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

Tiffany looked peaceful and that was the hardest part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now she lay there, silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can hear you, sir…”

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

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

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Episode 106 - Three Minutes To Eleven.

One hour later, I was in the hospital corridor.

The drive to the hospital was nothing short of fast and furious.
I remember ignoring all the red traffic lights.
The horns blaring behind me.
And the way my hands were shaking on the steering wheel.

The guest house manager had thrown a shirt and joggers at me. I didn’t ask whose clothes they were. I didn’t care. My own clothes were nowhere to be found.

Maybe someone bundled them away, I didn't know.
Another man pushed my car keys into my hand.
In short, I managed to drive us to the hospital in one piece.

Now I was pacing in front of the emergency theatre.
The smell of antiseptic was sharp, lodged in my nose, refusing to leave like a sinus infection. The white lights above were too bright. The tiles reflected my shadow as I moved back and forth like a restless ghost that owes palmpay before its death.

My throat still hurt from where Toyosi had grabbed me. Each swallow reminded me of her fingers.

Inside the theatre, they were working on Tiffany.
And it was kind of weird remembering how we got here.

One minute I was raising glasses with Toyosi.
The next, collapsing.
Then waking up naked.
Then the stabbing and the blood.

I stopped pacing and pressed my palms against my head.

How did Tiffany even find me?
That was the first question that refused to leave my brain.

I never told her the guest house name. I never shared the location. I had been careful with that piece of information.

Yet she didn’t just find the building.
She had access to the room.

Clean access.

Guest houses don’t hand out spare keys to random visitors. Someone must have let her in. Or someone told her exactly where to go.

Then I thought about the drink.
The strange lady that brought it.
Her smile.
Her confidence.
The way she said “on the house.”

I replayed her face in my mind, slowly, carefully.
Her voice.
Her posture and the way she disappeared.

Nobody gives free premium wine in a VIP bar without reason.

It was clear we were drugged.
That part I was sure of now.

But drugged by who?
And sent by who? For what purpose?

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Episode 105 – The Angle Of The Blade

Tiffany did not wait for Mrs. Adeoye to recover from the shock of her barging into the room unannounced.

“Put the travel plans on hold,” she said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere unless Darous is going with me.”

Mrs. Adeoye stared at her from the sofa in her private sitting room.
“What? That is not how this was planned,” she replied, her tone heavy with frustration.

“I don’t care how it was planned.”

“Tiffany,” Mrs. Adeoye said as she slipped on her flip-flops, “you are allowing emotions to control you.”

“This is not about emotions. It was my decision from the start, when you first told me.”

Mrs. Adeoye rose slowly to her feet.
“Come and sit down. Let’s talk about this properly.”

“There is nothing to talk about. I’ve made my decision.”

“Tiffany,” Mrs. Adeoye called again.

But Tiffany was already walking to the door.

“Tiffany, come back here.”

She did not look back.
She stepped out of Mrs. Adeoye’s wing and crossed the long corridor of the mansion.

Mrs. Adeoye called her name again.
It did not matter.
Tiffany entered her own wing and shut the door behind her.

That day, she refused to open her bedroom door.

Naomi stayed in the sitting room, watching cartoons and Power Rangers. The volume was loud. The child laughed at the screen, switching channels, unaware that her mother had not eaten or moved from the bed for hours.

Tiffany lay staring at the ceiling.

Darous’ words replayed in her mind again and again.

The relationship is not working.

It was all a lie from the start.
We forced something that was never real.

Each sentence felt wrong.
It did not sound like the man she knew.

The man who once said he would never leave her in the dark.
The man who stood in front of her during troubled times like a shield.
The man who held her face and promised her it was eternity or nothing.

The same man who borrowed the slogan of the Original families in The Originals—Forever and Always—and repeated it to her, just to prove he meant every word.

Something inside her kept whispering that this wasn’t right.
People don’t change overnight.

Someone was definitely pulling his strings.

She did not sleep that night.
She turned on the bed. Sat up. Lay down again. Checked her phone. No calls.
She read old messages. Scrolled up months back. Replayed all their voice notes.

The following morning, with swollen eyes and a dry throat, Tiffany dressed Naomi for school.

She tied her shoelaces tightly. Packed her lunch herself. Brushed her hair with scattered focus.

The drive to school was unusually quiet.

Naomi looked at her mother from the passenger seat, her little brain unable to figure out what could be wrong.
“Mummy,” she said softly, “your eyes look red. Did you cry?”

Tiffany kept her gaze on the road.
“No, baby. I’m fine.”

Naomi frowned.
“But you don’t sound fine. You didn’t laugh this morning. You didn’t even sing when you were brushing my hair.”

Tiffany forced a smile, though her eyes were wet.
“Sometimes grown-ups get tired, that’s all. But I promise you, I’m okay.”

Naomi leaned closer.
“Are you sad because of me? Because I scored 9 over 10 in maths?”

Tiffany’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“No, never because of you,” she whispered. “You are the best thing in my life. Don’t ever think that.”

Naomi nodded slowly, but her small voice carried worry.
“Then why are you crying, mummy?”

Tiffany blinked hard, swallowing her tears.
“Because sometimes life is heavy. But as long as I have you, I’ll be strong.”

She reached out and held Naomi’s hand.
“I love you, Naomi,”

Naomi squeezed her mother’s fingers.
“I love you too, mummy. More than anything.”

Tiffany sniffled, trying to lighten the mood.
“Even more than Power Rangers?” she asked with a small smile.

Naomi giggled.
“Power Rangers can fight monsters, but you fight my sadness. So yes… more than Power Rangers.”

And Tiffany’s heart melted right there.

After dropping her off, she returned before most of the mansion woke up. Only the maids were sweeping and arranging flowers.

She locked herself inside her room again.

After about two hours, Layla came to her door and began to knock. For over ten minutes she knocked. But Tiffany wasn’t going to open that door for anyone who was not Darous.

She had called him that morning after dropping Naomi off at school.
But he didn’t pick.

She called again and again.
Still nothing.

Throughout that day she was restless.

She paced the room.
Sat down.
Stood up again.
Checked her phone every few minutes.

Later that evening, Toyosi sent a message via WhatsApp, telling her Darous had come to her supermarket.

Tiffany read it.
She didn’t even bother to respond.

Forgiving Toyosi didn’t mean they were back to being friends. And she wasn’t ready to involve that Aristotle daughter in her private life anymore.

The next day was worse.

Because heartbreak is not just about the tears.
It is the pressure in your chest that refuses to go.
It is losing appetite but feeling nauseous from hunger.
It is staring at the ceiling and imagining him smiling with someone else.
It is defending him in your mind while hating him at the same time.
It is checking if he is online and his last seen.
It is blocking him and unblocking him after two minutes.
It is typing long messages and deleting them.
It is remembering the first time he said “I love you” and wondering which part of it was fake.

She hated Darous for making her go through this kind of pain again—the same pain she had endured before, the one that nearly drove her mad when her first relationship ended.

"Why are men always doing this to me?" she asked herself, her voice trembling inside her own head.

By evening of the following day, her phone vibrated.

A notification from an unknown number.

She opened it.

A pinned location.
Below it, a short video.

She pressed play.

There he was.
Darous.
At a VIP bar.
Leaning close to a blurred woman.

They were laughing.
Comfortable.
Relaxed.

The video had no sound.
But she watched it twice.
Then a third time.

Her breathing changed.

She called him immediately.
The line was unreachable.
She called again.
Still nothing.

Her mind raced.
Questions collided inside her head.

Was this why he ignored me? Was this why he said the relationship was not working? Was this the reason for the break up?
Because he wanted to be with another woman?

Her heart screamed for an explanation that wasn’t coming.

And in that storm of thoughts, she stood up without thinking.
Walked to the kitchen.
Opened the drawer.
Picked a butter knife.

She slipped it into her hand bag.
Walked out of the mansion.

She took one of Mrs Adeoye’s exotic cars and drove out of the gate.

The road to the guest house was smooth and fast.

When she arrived, she went straight to the bar.

Only one girl was there. Her face was lit with frustration, probably because of the missing money in her account book. She kept pressing the calculator over and over until Tiffany walked up to her.

Tiffany showed the lady a picture of Darous.
“My sister, please, have you seen this man?”

The lady looked closely.
“No…” she replied, suspicion written all over her face.

Tiffany noticed the skepticism. She knew ladies like this had seen too many women barging in, searching for their men and end up causing big trouble.

If she wanted the truth, she had to change her approach.

She leaned on the counter, her eyes catching the open account book. A figure was circled in red ink — ₦30,000 missing. Tiffany smiled faintly.
“Looks like thirty thousand is giving you headache,” she said.

The lady stiffened.
“What do you mean?”

“Give me your account number,” Tiffany said calmly.

The lady hesitated, then scribbled it down. Tiffany made the transfer right there. The phone buzzed in the lady’s hand. Her eyes widened. Her earlier suspicion melted into relief.

"So back to my question.. Have —"

“Yes,” the lady cut in sharply. “He has been staying here for three days.”

"Three days?" She asked, just to be sure she heard right.

The lady nodded sharply.

“Room number?”

The lady quickly wrote it down.

Tiffany thanked her, tucked the note into her hand, and walked toward the stairs.

The hallway upstairs was quiet.

Every door looked the same.
Polished wood. Silver handle.

She found the number she was searching for.

She stood in front of it.
Her heart was beating steadily now.

She stepped closer.
Placed her ear against the door.

Then rested her forehead gently on it.

She held her breath.
Listening.
Waiting for any sound from inside....

She listened at the door for almost a minute. Her ear still pressed firmly against the wood. Waiting for even the smallest movement from inside.

There was nothing.
No laughter.
No shifting on the bed.
No low voices.
Only the steady hum of the air conditioner bleeding faintly through the door.

She brought out her phone with stiff fingers and dialed Darous’ number.
It began to ring.

And then she heard it.
His ringtone.
From inside the room.

Her stomach twisted violently.
But she maintained her cool.
The phone kept ringing.

He did not pick.
The ringing stopped.

The silence that followed was worse than the ringtone that just ended.

A memory forced its way into her mind.

She remembered how he used to lick her pvssy clean whenever he was about to fvck her good. How he would grin shamelessly and say, “Your pvssy tastes like heaven.”

How he would pull her back to the bed afterward. How he would then fvck the sh1t out of her. Giving her the best orgarsm she could ever wish for.

Jealousy rose in her like heat under her skin.

What if he was doing that same thing right now to the lady inside?

Her fingers tightened around the knob.

She turned it slowly.
The door gave way without any form of resistance.

It opened gently. Quietly.
Like it had been unlocked the whole time.

She stepped inside.
The room was cool.

The curtains were partly drawn, allowing thin lines of fence solar lights to fall across the bed.

That was when she saw them.

Darous and Toyosi.
Both naked.
Lying on the same bed.

Skin against skin.
Asleep.

For a moment, her brain refused to understand what her eyes were seeing. She blinked once. Twice. The image did not change.

It was not a mistake.
Not a bad angle.

Her boyfriend and her own cousin.

The same cousin she had forgiven just a little over a week ago.

Her knees gave way beneath her without her permission. She dropped to the floor. The pain in her chest spread outward like something tearing from inside. Her ears began to ring. Her vision blurred. She pressed her palm against the tile to steady herself.

Memories rushed back — the night Darous carried Toyosi to her bedroom, the seriousness in his eyes, the drunken kiss Toyosi planted on him in front of her. She had dismissed it then, thinking Toyosi was too drunk to know better.

But now?

How long has this been going on?
Was the breakup planned between them?
Was I the only fool who did not see it?
Was every apology a strategy?

She processed each thought slowly. One by one. Like sorting broken glass with her bare hands.

Her gaze lifted back to the bed. Their bodies were still relaxed. At peace.

That peace hurt her more than the nudity.

There was no guilt on their faces.

Tears began to fall down her cheeks without making a sound. They dropped to the tile one after the other.

Then a switch in her brain flipped. She contemplated what to do.

If she screamed now, they would wake up confused.
If she attacked them now, she might not be able to handle both of them.
If she cried loudly, she would lose control.

No.

She wanted them to wake up and see her.
To understand that she had seen everything.
To feel that moment of fear before she said anything.

She stood up slowly.
There was a chair near the curtain, close enough to the bed.

She walked to it quietly.
She took the butter knife out of her bag and held it in her hand.

Tears continued to fall silently down her face as she watched them sleep.

*******

The door opened without a knock.
Mary stepped in hurriedly, her slippers slapping against the marble floor. She was holding her phone in one hand, her face filled with urgency.

She stopped mid-step.
Her eyes widened.

Mrs. Adeleke and Kalu were standing too close. His hands still at her waist. Her blouse slightly shifted. Their faces inches apart.

For a few seconds, Mary could not speak.
The room froze.

Mrs. Adeleke straightened immediately, adjusting her blouse with steady hands. Kalu stepped back, clearing his throat, forcing his expression into something neutral.

“Why did you barge in without knocking?” Mrs. Adeleke snapped.

Mary swallowed. Her eyes moved between them, still shocked, but the urgency on her face returned.
“Ma… I… I didn’t mean to—” she stammered.

“Talk, Ode,” Mrs. Adeleke said, already irritated.

Mary quickly lifted the phone toward her.
“See this, ma.”

Mrs. Adeleke frowned but took the phone.

On the screen was a live TikTok stream.
The caption at the top read:
“Girlfriend catches boyfriend with her cousin naked in a hotel.”

Her fingers tightened around the device.

The video showed a room inside a guest house.

Toyosi—her daughter.
Naked.
Locked in a struggle with another girl.

And the other girl—
Mrs. Adeleke’s breath stopped.

Tiffany.
Her husband’s niece.

The camera shook violently as whoever was filming tried to get a better angle. The sound was chaotic—voices shouting, someone crying, someone gasping.

Then she saw it.
The knife twisting between their hands.

A flash of metal.
A sudden movement.

The blade sinking into one of them.
The angle was not clear.
It did not show who took it.

But the sound—
That small, dull sound of resistance.

Mrs. Adeleke felt her knees weaken.
The phone slipped slightly in her grip as horror spread across her face. Her breathing grew shallow.

“No…” she whispered.

The phone fell from her hand.
It hit the floor, the live stream still playing.

She dropped to her knees beside it, her hands hovering in the air like she did not know what to do with them.

Kalu moved quickly.
He picked up the phone and steadied the screen.

His face changed.
The softness from moments ago disappeared. His detective eyes sharpened, focused.

He replayed the last few seconds of the video, watching carefully. Slowing the motion with his fingers.

Studying the angle.
He noticed the position of the wrists.
The direction of the blade.
The way the bodies shifted at the exact second the knife went in.

His heart skipped a beat.

He did not speak immediately.

Mrs. Adeleke looked up at him from the floor, fear all over her face.
“Tell me,” she said quietly. “Tell me my daughter is not dead.”

Kalu’s eyes remained on the screen.
“There is trouble,” he said at last.

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Episode 104 - After The Toast.

I swallowed slowly and looked at her.
“Toyosi… do you notice anything strange in this drink?”

She lifted her glass and studied it like a professional.
“Strange how?”

“I don’t know. The taste.”

She took another small sip, rolled it in her mouth like a wine taster, then nodded with confidence.
“I know this wine very well,” she said. “This is Château Margaux. 2015.”

I leaned back, squinting.
“Hmm. Big liar… this is Zobo 101.” I said with sarcasm, but she thought I was serious.

“You can confirm it,” she shot back.

“And if you’re wrong?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll shave one of my eyebrows.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

I blinked.
“You’ll use snail shell to shave it,” I teased.

She smirked.
“Please. I may look unserious, but I don’t play with good wine.”

I scratched my head.
“See, me I don’t know all these big names. The only wine I truly understand is Four Cousins. If it’s not that, then it’s all these local gins—K1, Blackwood, Action Bitters—or mixing Eagle Gin with Lacasera. Anything outside those, I’m just guessing.”

She laughed.

“In fact,” I continued, “one of the reasons I’m ready to protest against banning sachet alcohol in Nigeria is because that thing saved my life many times than I can count.”

She burst out laughing.
“You are mad.”

“I’m serious. Sachet alcohol is a national heritage. NAFDAC should protect it.”

She wiped her eyes.
“So because you drink gutter combinations, now Château Margaux is suspicious?”

“I’m just saying,” I replied. “Even if I don’t know wine, my tongue knows when something is off.”

She waved it off.
“Relax. Nobody is trying to assassinate you in a VIP bar. Drink and calm down, Mr. Protest Leader.”

I wanted to argue again, but suddenly my head felt… light.
Not light like being tipsy.
Light like something was pulling me upward—like being stretched into a black hole.

I blinked hard.
“Toyosi…” I said slowly. “You sure you’re okay?”

She leaned back slightly.
“Why are you talking like that?”

Her voice sounded distant. Or maybe my ears were the problem.

I tried to stand up.
The moment I got on my feet, my legs didn’t feel like mine.
It was like I was floating.

My balance was the first to log out of my body.
And quickly after, my strength followed.

The room tilted sideways.
I reached for the table, but my hand moved slower than my mind.

Toyosi leaned her head back against the chair.
“Darous…” she muttered. “Why is the ceiling moving? Are we in a spaceship?”

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Episode 103- Collateral Blood.

The sitting room seemed crowded, not with people, but with unspoken thoughts hanging in the air.

Even the clock seemed to be ticking carefully, like it didn’t want to interrupt anything.

Kalu stood near the window.
“Madam,” he said, “there’s something I need to say to you.”

Mrs. Adeleke looked at him.
“What is it?”

“It’s about your daughter. Toyosi,”

“What about her?” she asked, squinting slightly as she dropped her phone on the table and leaned back in her chair.

“I don’t think she will like this,” he said. He paused, then turned fully to face her. “Me being here with you. Especially now that she talks to me like a friend.”

She nodded slowly, like she had already thought about it.
“You don’t have to worry about her.”

“But she’s your daughter.”

“Yes,” she said calmly. “And when she’s around, she hardly visits me. You know that.”

He shifted uneasily.
“What if she goes to the cellar? What if she looks for me and I’m not there?”

Mrs. Adeleke stood up.
“I’ve already instructed the guards,” she said.
“Anytime my husband is around. Or Toyosi. They must inform me first.”

“And what if they don’t?” Kalu asked. “Like their mind just skips it.”

“They will,” she replied firmly. “Don’t worry yourself about it.”

Kalu released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.
“Alright, ma… thank you.”

He sat down and turned his attention to the TV. The Vampire Diaries was playing, but his mind wasn’t following the story.

“Kalu,” Mrs. Adeleke said suddenly, “you once asked why I never left my husband.”

He turned to her.
“Errrm… yes. And you didn’t say much about it.”

She walked closer and sat on the chair beside him, slowly, like she was on borrowed strength.
“I did not marry my husband out of my will,” she said. “I was traded.”

Kalu frowned.
“Traded? How?”

She stayed quiet for a while before speaking again.
“My parents owed Ayodele,” she said. “They were drowning in debt. There was no way out.”

Her voice remained calm, but something underneath it was cracking.
“He said he would forgive my father's debt… if my father allowed him to have sex with me." She paused on purpose to drop the last part " In his presence.”

Kalu’s fists clenched.
“What?” he blurted out. “He said he would have sex with you right in your father's presence? He really said that?”

She nodded, turning her eyes away.

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Episode 102 — Margin Of Error.

I left the restaurant immediately after reading the message again, just to be sure I got it right.

“What the hell does she mean by I didn’t do it properly? How else do you fake‑breakup with someone you love other than the way I did it?”

I clutched my phone in my hand and hurried out.
Around 90 tried to ask what was going on, but I waved him off. Told him it was a personal issue.

Inside the Prado, I locked the doors, sat for a second, then dialed Mrs. Adeoye. She picked immediately, like she had been waiting for my call.

I didn’t greet her.

“What exactly do you mean by I failed to do it properly?” I asked. My voice was calm, but my head was burning.

“Tiffany came to my room,” she said. “After she spoke to you. Please tell me you didn’t tell her I had a hand in this…”

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
“No… I didn’t.”

“Good. She said she’s not travelling anywhere. Not to America. Not anywhere. Not without you.”

I said nothing.

“She told me she knows you’re acting out of fear. Guilt. Or because you’re hiding something.”

I squeezed my lips. I stared at the road ahead. Still didn't say a word.

“She made it very clear to me,” Mrs. Adeoye added. “That unless you look her in the eyes and convince her—completely—that you no longer want her, she is not going anywhere.”

I exhaled slowly. Releasing a breath I didn't know I was even holding.

“So how is that my problem? I did what you asked."

I asked her, because at that point it felt like trying to explain how a yam festival in Benue could possibly affect Donald Trump.

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Episode 101— Necessary Cruelty.

For two days after Mrs. Adeoye dropped that bomb inside the Hiroshima of my body, nothing inside me recovered.

It was like standing in a city freshly bombed—no sound, no life, just smoke and ruins. Radiation everywhere: sleepless nights, scattered thoughts, waking up tired and going to bed feeling worse. Food tasting in my mouth like Old trafford under Ruben Amorim.

I avoided Tiffany like my spirit was already rehearsing life without her.
The first day, I slept in a hotel. Lied to her that I went to see my parents. She believed me. The next day, she asked me to give the phone to my mum so she could greet her. I told her I was already on my way back.

My time away gave me enough space to think.

The truth is—part of what Mrs. Adeoye said made sense.

Once we start coming for Aristotle, there’s no predicting how he would fight back. Men like him don’t lose quietly. They hate losing alone. They will make sure they drag everyone you love into the fire with them.

And the more I thought, the clearer it became—letting Tiffany go was the safest option. Maybe after everything is over, after the dust settles, we can find our way back to each other. Then I can explain everything to her. How and why I had to force the break up.

It was a foolish plan.
Like playing fifty games on SportyBet with fifty naira and already picturing fifty million naira.

This was the exact moment I needed Jude. He would have said something stupid, sarcastic, but somehow useful. Weird how everything started falling apart the moment he exited my life.

Now there’s even a possibility that his ex‑girlfriend might be carrying my child. The chances were slim, judging by what she said about her inability to conceive. But still—she has sex with the son of thunder. So anything can happen.

I tried Jude’s line several times. It was dead.
I missed that guy. Make we no lie.

I got home from the hotel, and barely an hour later, Tiffany walked in smiling.

That smile.
The one that always meant trouble—or good news dressed like trouble.

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Episode 100 — Human Again.

Kalu followed the maid slowly. Every step he took was heavy with doubt.

The chains on his wrists clinked softly, the sound echoing too loudly in his head. His ankles ached as the cold iron scraped against the tiled floor.

Weeks—longer than weeks—since he had last stepped into the main building. That was when Aristotle ordered Darous to shoot him. Luckily, the gun was empty.

His mind warned him with every breath.
This was a bad idea.
If Aristotle found out, only God knows what would be the consequences. Even Toyosi—who had suddenly started speaking to him like a friend—might not welcome this idea.

Seeing this woman was crossing an invisible line he didn’t understand.

The maid walked at a steady pace, glancing back once to make sure he was still following.

They passed wide hallways, framed portraits, polished floors that reflected his image back at him. He barely recognized himself.

His hair was overgrown and uneven, curling in places it never used to. His beard had spread wild across his jaw and cheeks. His clothes hung loosely on his body, stained and faded. His lips were pale, cracked at the edges. His skin looked dull, almost grey, as though the cellar had slowly drained the life out of him.

The maid stopped in front of a door and opened it.
“This is Madam’s private sitting room,” she said softly.

Inside, the room was quiet and warm. Thick curtains filtered the sunlight. The furniture was simple but expensive, arranged with care. It smelled faintly of flowers and something clean—soap, maybe. The kind of smell that reminded him how long it had been since he felt human.

“Please sit here sir.” the maid added.

He hesitated.
Then he sat, carefully, chains and all, on the edge of a cushioned chair. He didn’t lean back. He didn’t relax. His body stayed alert, tense and ready to jump at the slight sense of trouble.

The maid left him there.
Time passed slowly.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second stretching longer than the last. His throat felt dry. His stomach twisted, half with hunger, half with fear. He kept listening for footsteps, for a shout, for any sign that this was about to go wrong.

Thirty minutes felt like hours.
Then a door opened somewhere behind him.

He stood up immediately, then stopped, unsure if that was the right thing to do.

Mrs. Adeleke stepped into the room.
She was dressed differently now. Gone was the light silk from earlier. This outfit was simple, modest, yet elegant. Her hair was neatly styled. She looked composed, rested—like someone who belonged fully to this space.

Her eyes went to him at once.
She took him in slowly. The chains. The state of his clothes. His face. The way he stood when she entered.

She turned to the maid.
“Did you give our guest anything since he arrived?” she asked.

“No, madam,” the maid replied quickly. “I was waiting for your instruction.”

Mrs. Adeleke sighed.
“Mary, that is not how we treat people in my own house,” she said calmly. “Guest or not, you don’t leave someone sitting for that long without refreshments. Please go and bring something for him.”

“Yes, madam,” Mary said and hurried away.

Mrs. Adeleke looked back at Kalu.
“You may sit,” she said.

He did.
For a moment, she said nothing. She took a seat across from him, her posture straight, her hands resting lightly on her lap.

Up close, her presence felt heavier—not threatening, but serious. Controlled. Like a woman used to carrying authority without raising her voice.

“You don’t look too well,” she said quietly.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, as if his silence answered her.

Mary, returned with a glass of juice. Cold. Fresh. Tiny droplets of water clung to the glass.
She placed it gently on the small fancy table beside him and stepped away.

Kalu stared at it.

Juice.

Something so ordinary, yet so distant it almost hurt. His throat tightened. His mouth watered against his will.

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Episode 99 – Orders And Chains.


I stood up instantly the moment her words landed in the room.

“Break up with who? Tiffany? Am I mad? Why would I do such a thing?” I threw it all at her at once.

She looked at me like she was expecting that kind of reaction—like she had already prepared herself for that kind of outburst.

When I saw that she wasn’t moved by my utterances, I calmed down a bit and tried to lower my voice.

“With all due respect, ma,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to keep it steady, “what do you mean by break up with Tiffany?”

The words continued to sound unreal even to my own ears the more I repeated them.

We were talking about the woman I loved with everything in me. The woman I had stayed faithful to since the day we started. The one I had fought for. Protected and nearly lost.

She just kept mute, staring at me like every word I spoke was nonsense. Like my pain, my protest, didn’t even register at all.

Her silence triggered a chain of reaction inside me. My emotions turned into a stubborn chef — anger was bought fresh from the market and thrown straight into boiling oil.

“And if I may ask…” I added, my tone rising despite the blank look she was giving me, “how does that even affect what we are about to do?”

Mrs Adeoye maintained her blank stare at me.
It was the kind of look a mother gives a stubborn child — the kind that tells you the punishment has already been decided, and talking will only waste your breath.

“Calm down,” she said evenly. “Do not allow your emotions to block your ability to understand what I am trying to explain to you.”

She paused, then stood up and walked toward me slowly. She placed both hands on my shoulders. Our faces were close.

“I understand that you love her,” she said quietly. “I truly do. But love does not erase the situation before us. We both know this environment is no longer safe for her. We are about to engage in a battle with a very, very wicked and manipulative human being on earth… who knows what he might do once the heat starts getting to him?”

She tightened her grip slightly.

“Once we take the Circle's power from Aristotle,” she continued, “we cannot predict how he will respond. Men like him do not forgive losses. They respond strategically. Quietly. And very thoroughly. And besides that, I made a promise to her father to keep her safe. I intend to keep that promise. That man influenced my life in ways you may never fully understand.”

She exhaled slowly.

“This girl has lost everything. Her father. Her mother. Every single person that mattered to her life.”

“And now you want her to lose me too?” I cut in.
“Tiffany means everything to me. She’s the reason I can still look at myself in the mirror after all that has happened to me… after everything that monstrous human being did to my life… and now you want to take her away?” I shook my head slowly.

Tears were starting to knock on the door of my eyes, the only thing stopping me from letting them in was that little ruggedity of ‘men do not cry.’

“Tiffany is my life. Telling me to break up with her is like… like you are asking me to live without breath. No one can take her away from me. Not Aristotle, not Kenny, not anyone.”

I turned my head sideways so she wouldn’t see how desperately I was fighting against the tears that wanted to invade the country of my eyes.

“Listen to me carefully,” she said calmly. “Do you think I don’t know how it feels to lose someone? Believe me, I’ve had my share of heartbreaks, and trust me, I know exactly how it feels.”

Her eyes flickered with something—pain, memory, maybe even regret—but her voice remained steady.

“You see, apart from Aristotle, this your friend Kenny is not someone we can afford to overlook. The damage he has already set in motion does not simply disappear.”

“But, I assured you he’s no longer going to be a problem,” I said.

She stepped back. A questioning look flashed across her face.

“And when I asked you to explain the basis of that assurance,” she replied, “you suddenly had nothing to say. You went quiet.”

She tilted her head slightly.




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Episode 98 - The Quiet War.



A week had passed since Kenny’s death.

The first thing I did was make sure the security man—Uche, as I later learned his name—and Around 90 kept their mouths shut, ensuring the truth about his death remained buried forever.

Life inside Mrs. Adeoye’s house slowly returned to a rhythm that felt almost normal.

First of all, we stopped mentioning anything about the Circle. Even the mighty Aristotle’s name faded into the background.

Tiffany’s kidnapping became a topic we no longer spoke of—like a wound that had sealed but was still tender underneath.

Mrs Adeoye’s daughter, Layla, handled the rest.
She was a therapist. In fact, a proper one. She had a calm way of speaking. Not to mention her well measured words.

She took us through post-traumatic sessions like she had done this all her life. And she did wonders, no doubt about that.

Her sessions with me often ended the same way—me listening, nodding and pretending to understand what she was saying, but my eyes were constantly drifting to her breasts more than her face.

Trust me, it wasn’t intentional. Just like her name—Layla was a night beauty, elegant and classy.

Her British accent carried weight, the kind that makes you slow down and pay attention.

I couldn’t tell what helped me heal faster—her words or her breasts.

So criticize me all you want if you must. Either way, I got through the trauma of killing Kenny and Chuka. That was what mattered. And you know what’s even funny? I don’t know how she did it, but she somehow knew I killed Kenny myself—and that it wasn’t the first time I had killed someone.

She assured me that what we discussed would stay between us, protected by client–therapist privilege.

The following week, Hakimi, the first Arab guy, came to meet me at the gym inside the house.

He said Mrs Adeoye wanted to see me.

At the time, the house was half empty. Tiffany, Naomi, Layla, Aisha—the Arab lady—and Achraf—the second Arab guy—had gone out shopping.

The next day was Naomi's birthday, so they were preparing for it—clothes, locations, photo plans.

I dressed up and headed to Mrs. Adeoye’s wing.

She was in the sitting room, dressed like a woman who refused to believe she was approaching the twilight of her existence on this blue planet.

She wore soft silk lounge trousers, cream-colored, paired with a loose cashmere top that rested gently on her shoulders. Simple gold jewelry. Hair neatly packed. Still profoundly beautiful. It's easy to see where Layla got her beauty from.

She pointed to the chair.

I sat.

She studied me first, like she was checking for cracks I might not know were on my face.

“You look better,” she said finally.

I nodded.

The silence after that was heavy. The kind that tells you this meeting wasn’t about progress reports or polite concerns. Whatever she wanted to say had been waiting for this very moment.


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Episode 97 - The Point Of No Return.


“Get out of the boat,” the security man said.

Kenny, hesitated, turning around briskly at the vast water behind him.

"He wan run o." One of the suya guys said. All the guns were ready for fire.

“Don't even think about it." The security man warned. His gun still aimed at Kenny. " Step away from the boat. Now!”

"Leave am make he jump na...he no fit swim this big water." One of the suya guys said. "Na shark go chop him gorimapa head ."

"I hear say shark dey like twins blood well well...If you no believe me, try am.." Around 90 chipped in.

Kenny raised both hands slowly, breathing hard.

“Darous,” he said, voice shaking. “Please, let me go. I swear. I’ll vanish. You’ll never hear from me again. I'll never bother you again. Please.”

I didn’t answer. I just kept a hard stare on him. The only face running at the front of my mind was that of my girlfriend I had seen just minutes ago—the bruises, the dried blood on her lips, and the fact that this bastard had even wanted her dead.

“I’ll leave everything,” he added quickly. “Eben the money. Just let me take this boat and leave quietly. I'll never bother you again. I swear.”

“No,” I said defiantly.

His face turned to a surprised frown when he heard that.

"Please na...abeg you..." He pleaded as his hands remained raised.

"I said no...!" I declared.

“But come on....You helped Cynthia that night na...” he said. “After she kill Baba T. You helped her escape. And now you won’t do the same for me? Your own friend?”

“Cynthia's case was an accident,” I said. “You know that yourself. You were there you idiot.”

He shook his head weakly. “Still, dead is dead. She killed our friend ,Darous.”

“You are right,” I said. “ But the difference is that, you planned this just to get back at me. You planned to kidnap my girlfriend and use the money to help yourself. To make it even worse, you wanted her dead. After collecting hundred million naira, you still want my girlfriend dead, you bastard....”

“I didn’t plan for her to die...but she saw my face—”

And somehow, that should justify you wanting her dead,” I cut in. “Does that justify all the people you killed tonight too? Seven. Maybe eight.” I pointed around at the suya guys. “You even made me accuse innocent people.”

He bowed his head, then looked straight at us—at all the guns raised at his bald head.
“I know… I’m not trying to justify what I did,” he said in a weak voice. “My mother can’t afford to lose me too after losing Taiwo… please, I beg you…”

The security man stepped forward. “And my men that you killed—are they not fathers and sons of some people too?” he said. “All three of them. How do I tell their families that their sons are no more?”

Kenny swallowed hard as the reality of his situation set in fully.

“Step out of that boat and go on your knees,” the security man said. “Now! I won’t repeat myself.”

Kenny hesitated, glanced at the dark water behind him, then slowly began to bend as if to step out of the boat.

As he lowered himself, his hand dropped instinctively and rested on the switch board near the engine. His fingers brushing the controls.

“One of the suya guys shouted, “He wan start the boat!”

The gun went off from the security man in that instance.

The shot tore into Kenny’s belly.

He screamed and collapsed into the shallow water by the boat’s edge. Blood spread quickly, dark against the waves.

We rushed in. I grabbed him before he went fully under the water. His hands clutched my shirt, slippery and desperate.

“Help me,” he gasped. Blood coming out of his mouth. “Darous… abeg. Don't let me die. Please.”

The security man checked him quickly. “The bullet went through. He can still make it,” he said. “If we move now.”

I looked at Kenny's eyes.

It reminded me of Baba T on the floor, how I grabbed him the night he died.

How that night changed Kenny forever. His rage that night was something terrifyingly dangerous.

I remembered when Saipon and Cobra beat me because Kenny wanted Cynthia dead that night too.

Then my mind drifted to the situation he put Tiffany through.

My brain doesn’t forget things easily like that. I couldn’t push away the trauma he made me and my girlfriend go through.
And what would have become of my life if Tiffany had died because of Kenny.

Apart from the psychological trauma I would suffer, I just can’t begin to imagine what Mrs. Adeoye would have done to me.

The security man and Around 90 were already putting pressure on the bullet wound.

Kenny’s breathing was growing weaker, each gasp shorter than the last.

"Let's take him to the hospital..." The security man said quickly. "You," He pointed to the tall suya guy. " Try and see if you can start this boat....It's our best option. I'll drive..."

I made up my mind very fast, arriving at the only decision someone who has killed before could make. I yanked Around 90’s hand off the wound.

“No....we are not taking him to the hospital,” I said flatly.

The security man looked at me. “What are you talking about?”

“If he lives,” I said, “he will come back for me. He’s not the type that lets things go easily.”

“This is murder,” the security man said.

“No… this is the end,” I replied, sobbing gently. “I need to protect my life and loved ones too. From you, Kenny… from you…”

Kenny started crying. “Please… I beg you… don’t do this…”

“Kenny, Don't fucking beg me!. I can’t let you spoil my life finish. You did this to yourself…”

The security man stepped back after seeing my determination. So did Around 90.

"Ah… please…” His pale face lit up in horror as their hands left his body.

I didn’t let him say another word.
I pushed him straight into the water.

The water took him in seconds.

He struggled, coughing, begging, reaching out as the tide pulled him back. His voice grew weak. Then smaller. Then gone.
The ocean closed over him.

No more cries, no more sound.
Just water moving like it didn't just swallow a human being.

I thought I would feel sad or guilty at that moment, the way I did with Chuka’s death just a day ago. But instead, I felt nothing at all.

And for the first time that night, it was truly quiet.

******

I got home at around 4 a.m. the following morning after making sure no one said anything about what happened to anyone.

I gave Around 90 and the suya guys the promised ₦50 million, for their silence and effort.

The security man took the rest of the money, to give to the families of the men he lost and to himself too.

When Mrs. Adeoye asked me what happened to the money and Kenny, I said we didn’t find him. So Kenny is gone and the money too.

The lie was so convincing that she feared Kenny might return one day for vengeance, now that he had over a hundred million naira to make anything happen.

But I assured her that Kenny could not come back again.

I thought she believed me, until the following week, when she came home and dropped the news:

You want to hear the news? Well, let me rest first. Meet you in the next chapter.



To be continued.

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Episode 96 - The Split Trail.


We were still standing there, trying to make sense of the empty house, when one of the Arabian men hurried back from the surrounding bush.

“There’s a track,” he said quietly. “It’s still fresh. Very fresh.”

“Where?” I asked curiously.

He pointed at the adjacent path ahead of us.

Instantly, our phone flashlights came on together.

We moved as one unit, following the tracks on th soil. Whoever passed through here didn’t bother to hide it. And one thing was clear—it wasn’t just one person.

About twenty minutes into the new trail, it happened.

We heard two rapid gunshots.

We dropped instantly to the ground.

My heart was beating so hard it hurt. In my head, it felt like I opened Google and typed some key words: Is Tiffany still alive?.

The search ran… and came back with the worst answer: “Not Found.”

I pressed my face into the soil, breathing slow, forcing myself not to move. I listened for screaming. For more shots. For anything. Anything at all.

The silence that followed that moment was even worse.

We stayed down. Long enough for my elbows to start hurting. Long enough for my mind to begin imagining the worst.

Then one of the Arabian guys raised a hand signal for us to move.

We began to move again.

Three minutes later, the flashlights from our phones caught shapes that didn’t make sense to me at first.

Shapes of bodies.

Up to seven men. Their weapons lying beside them.

And right in the middle of all the unmoving bodies—
I saw them.

Up next

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Episode 94 – The Back Room.

Tuwo readjusted his rifle and stepped closer to Tiffany.

Kenny made a broken sound in his throat as Tuwo bent and pulled Tiffany up by the arm. That was the last thing she heard of him before Tuwo began to drag her slowly out of the room.

Her feet scraped the floor as Tuwo pulled her into the other room—the one she had been kept in before.

The thin mattress was still there. The bloodstains from the body of the dead boss were still on the floor.

He shoved her forward. She stumbled and fell against the mattress.

Tiffany twisted on the floor, breathing hard, panic burning through her chest.

“Please,” she said quickly. “Please don’t do this.”

Tuwo stood over her, licking his lips as his eyes lingered on her.

“There is no enjoyment in this,” she continued, her voice shaking now.
“There is no fun in forcing yourself on me. It won’t give you anything. It won’t make you feel better.”

She swallowed, tears spilling freely.
“Please. I beg you. Don’t do this. Don’t do this…”

Tuwo stared at her moderately-sized breast for a moment, licked his lips, then laughed quietly.

“Enjoyment?” he said flatly.
“Seeing you like this alone na big enjoyment.”

He stepped closer.

“I don dey imagine how I go handle you since you enter here yesterday,” he added calmly.

Tiffany’s face was covered in fear and tears at that moment.

“You be fine lady. Your boyfriend sef dey enjoy o. No wonder he paid your hundred million very fast.”

Tiffany shook her head slowly, backing away as much as the small room allowed.

“Please,” she shouted louder this time. “Please don’t do this to me… I’m begging you…”

"You wicked ooo. This girl. " He chuckled. "I tell my boss make he commot 5million from my money, because I wan fvck you, you come dey tell me make I no do this..."

"If it's money, I can pay you times two of that. Please...." She sobbed profusely.

Tuwo didn’t respond. His hands moved to his belt and unbuckled it.

"Blood of Jesus!" She screamed as her eyes settled on Tuwo's raging 9inches boner.

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