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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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EPISODE 93 – A Lead At Last

Toyosi sat behind the wheel of her GLE Benz, eyes fixed on the road, hands gripping it like her life depended on it.

Traffic crawled, as it always did in Lagos. Everything outside the car felt distant, almost like she wasn’t fully there at all.

Her mind had been running nonstop since the call she received that early morning.

Darous had told her Tiffany was kidnapped. The words wouldn’t leave her head. They hung there, sharp, unfinished, cutting into every other thought she tried to form.

She had called a lot of people—friends, contacts, anyone who owed her favors. People who usually had answers to situations like this. Every call ended the same way: vague promises of “I will call you back.”

By noon, she stopped expecting any call from the phone.

So she called one of her trusted IT guys, Usang. She sent him Tiffany’s number with a simple instruction: stay on it and tell me when you get something.

For hours, they got nothing. No calls. No messages. No data. No network activity at all on Tiffany’s line.

By late afternoon, Toyosi accepted that it was a dead end. Whoever took Tiffany knew exactly what they were doing.

She was on her way to the last person she thought might have answers when her phone rang.

Usang.

She answered immediately.
“Yes? Usang.”

“Ma, I got something,” his calm voice said.

Her foot eased off the accelerator.
“Talk, Usang.”

“We just saw activity on Tiffany’s line.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“It was a short call,” he continued. “About forty seconds. It connected to the nearest cell tower and then dropped. Probably switched off manually.”

“Usang!” she screamed. “Do we have a location or not?”


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EPISODE 92 - Frenemies.

The rifle man stepped away from Kenny, pulling all his boys with him.
They moved a short distance from the house — toward the bush, toward the endless darkness — talking in low tones.

That left Kenny standing alone with Tiffany.

For a moment, neither spoke a word.

Tiffany’s hands shook. Her lips were swollen, blood stains all over her chin. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, like she was holding herself together by force.

She looked straight at Kenny.
He couldn’t return the look. His eyes shifted to the ground, then to the bags of money nearby. Anywhere but her face.

“Kenny,” Tiffany called softly.
No answer.

She swallowed and pressed on.
“What did I do to you, Kenny?”

Silence.

Her heart beat increased, but she didn’t stop.
“What did your friend do to you? Tell me. Do you have issues?”

Still nothing.

Tiffany stepped forward, ignoring the ache in her body, ignoring his ignoring.
“You and him had issues, fine. But involving me?”

She touched her chest with trembling fingers, trying to remind him of her relevance.
“What did I do to deserve this? Kenny”

Kenny swallowed hard. His shiny head reflected the moonlight, sweat glistening. His eyes blinked, but he stayed mute.

“I've always treated you like family,” Tiffany continued, still avoiding his avoidance. “I even helped arrange the burial of your friend. Baba T. Is this what I get in return?”

At the mention of Baba T, Kenny shot her a hard glare — sharp, angry, resentful — then quickly looked away.

“You can’t even look me in the eye, Kenny.” Tiffany said, her voice rising. “Kenny!”

For a second, it looked like he might answer.
Instead, he turned and walked toward the group.

As Kenny reached them, their conversation stopped.
Immediately.

Before he could speak, two men grabbed him from both sides.

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EPISODE 91 - Compromised.

Tiffany sat frozen for almost thirty minutes, her body shaking uncontrollably as the dead body of the kidnappers’ boss lay across her lap.

His head was twisted to one side.
His eyes were still open — wide, empty, locked in the shock of realizing who had pulled the trigger.

Her breathing came in short, shallow bursts.

Slowly, painfully, she began to gather herself.
"Tiffany… you can do this," she told herself.
"You are still alive."

With effort, she pushed the dead man off her lap and rolled him onto his back, his face now staring blankly at the ceiling.

That was when she saw it.
Her phone.

It was tucked inside the breast pocket of his shirt.

Her heart jumped. She reached for it with trembling fingers — but froze when hurried footsteps echoed outside the room.

Panicking, she yanked the phone out quickly and shoved it under the thin mattress just seconds before the door burst open.

Two men she had never seen since her abduction stormed in. Without a word, they grabbed the dead body and dragged it out.

Then they left.

Tiffany pressed her ear against the door, listening.
When she was sure no one was nearby, she rushed back to the mattress, pulled out the phone, and switched it on.

Up next

EPISODE 90 – Hunting Season.

I drove like a madman, with anger pressing the accelerator harder than my foot ever could.

For over one hour, Oshodi felt like it was deliberately moving away from me — like it had joined the observable universe in expanding farther and farther out of reach.

Every traffic light turned red the moment I approached.
Every slow driver became my personal enemy.

“Are you blind?!” I shouted at a man who couldn’t hear me through his closed windows.

“Oloriburuku omo werey!” another driver cursed back, winding down his glass.

“Iyalaya e…” I returned it with interest.

By the time I got to Oshodi bridge, my head was pounding and my shirt was sticking to my back like a snail shell.

I didn’t wait for the Arabian guys Mrs. Adeoye sent.
They were still stuck somewhere in traffic, calling to tell me to wait once I got to the bridge.

Slow down ke? When the love of my life still dey with those greedy suya boys?

I parked the Prado by the roadside and stepped out.

I started asking questions immediately, stopping anyone who passed.

“I’m looking for four guys. They’re always together. One skinny guy among them never wears anything except singlet.”

People looked at me like I was mad — as if to say, look around, half of Oshodi fits that description.

My next stop was the woman selling alcohol. The same one they bought drinks from the night I picked them up.

“Mummy,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, “those four boys wey buy gin from you that night… you know where them dey stay?”

She looked at me like I had asked for her ATM pin.
“I no know wetin you dey talk,” she snapped. “Which boys?”

“Mama, I’m talking about the guys wey buy plenty gin for your hand two nights ago,” I pressed. “One tall, one short, one fat, one skinny wey no dey wear shirt.”

Her face tightened.
“I no sabi them. Abeg leave my front.”

I stood there for a second, staring at her.
My anger wanted to crawl out and start breaking bottles.
Instead, I did the coded thing.

“Madam, give me drinks,” I said.

Her eyes softened immediately.
I bought five thousand naira worth of alcohol I didn’t need.

She packed everything with a smile that didn’t exist two minutes earlier.

“So… the boys,” I tried again.

Her face returned to factory settings.
“I swear, I no know them,” she said, already arranging her bottles.

I stepped back, walked to my car, leaned against it, and exhaled hard.

Then the god of thunder whispered an idea into my ear.

If anyone knew these boys, it had to be the Mallam selling suya opposite her.

I crossed the road.
It was already getting dark.
The suya smoke hung in the air like a bad omen.

“Mallam,” I greeted. “Good evening.”

“Evening, oga,” he replied without looking up, flipping meat like it was sacred duty.

“I dey find some boys,” I started. “Four of them. With one skinny guy wey dey always wear singlet.”

The Mallam paused, looked up slowly.
“You wan buy suya abi you wan buy human being?” he asked with a frown, holding his knife up like a warning sign.

“No,” I replied sharply.

“Oga, if you no wan buy, abeg no disturb me. I just open market.”

I sighed.
“Aboki, I know say dem dey buy suya for your hand,” I added. “Abeg, I really need you to tell me if you sabi where dem fit dey.”

The Mallam chuckled.
“Every area boy for Oshodi dey buy suya for my hand,” he said.

I tried again.
"I'm talking about a tall. Short. Fat. Skinny people like this. Always together. Always looking for trouble. "

The Mallam shook his head slowly.
“I no know anybody like that,” he said. “Na different boys dey pass here everyday.”

I stared at him.
He stared back.

Then I tried the same trick I used with the alcohol woman.
“Okay. Give me suya, five thousand. I kuku never chop since morning.”

He smiled and handed me the suya after I gave him money.

But when I asked again, he didn’t even look at me. He turned to other customers already gathering around him.

As I walked back to my car with hot meat, my phone buzzed.

The Arabian men had arrived.

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EPISODE 89 – This Is Now.


Tiffany sat still on the mattress, her heart beating very fast.

Outside her window, the two men finished talking. Their footsteps started to fade away.

She waited a little longer. Then an idea struck her mind.

She groaned loudly.
“Ahhh… my belle… I no well…”

There was no answer.

She groaned again, louder this time.
“Help! My stomach dey hot!”

Minutes passed. Her throat was starting to hurt before footsteps finally approached— heavy and angry.

The door opened hard. Not the boss. It was one of the kidnappers she had reported earlier to the boss.

He carried a plate of bread and moin moin, dropped it on the floor roughly.

“Chop your food,” he said in Pidgin.

Tiffany held her chest.
“I no well. My belle dey pain me. Call your boss. I wan see am.”

The young man got angry.
“You wey tell oga say we dey press your breast? Now you wan see am again? To talk wetin?”

“Abeg, help me call am…”

“For wetin? Na him you wan fvck abi? We no be human being.”

She looked at him straight.
“You no well… mumu.”

“Your papa na mumu,” the man fired back, anger boiling in his face.

“Wetin you wan do? You wan slap me? Eh?” She moved closer to him with a daring tone. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Slap me make I see. Coward…”

His face changed. He raised his hand fast and slapped her hard across the face.

Her cheek burned but she didn’t cry. She screamed loud instead.
“Help! He wan rape me! Help me!”

Seconds later, the door opened again. The boss rushed in. The rifle man followed, gun ready.

“Talk,” the boss said after a few seconds of silence.

Tiffany pointed at the guy that just slapped her, tears running down her face.
“This man! He said he would rape me on the road before you drop me! He said he will punish me for telling you he pressed my breast.”

The accused man shouted.
“Liar! I no talk dat tin! Boss na lie!”

The boss raised his hand.
“All of you, get out. Now.”

They left fast. The door closed. The lock clicked.

The boss crouched in front of Tiffany.
“What happened? I want the truth. Because that boy is not even on the team that will take you to the city. So how can he tell you he’ll rape you unless you are trying to turn us against each other?”

Tiffany looked at him sharp. Eyes scanning above his shoulder.

“Talk…” he barked. “Don’t play games with me. What really happened? Talk fast.”

Tiffany leaned forward and whispered fast.
“I heard something I thought you should know, that’s why I did it.”

The boss squinted. “And what did you hear?”

“Outside this window.” She pointed to the small window. “Your new guy. And the man with the rifle. They want to kill you.”



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EPISODE 88 - Untraceable.

By the time I got to the bridge, Lagos had fully woken up.

Cars rushed past like people late for promises they never intended to keep.

Nobody cared that my whole world was sitting on the back seat of my car, zipped inside black bags.

I parked by the side, stepped out, and leaned against the rail of the bridge.

Below me, the water moved quietly.
My phone felt heavier in my hand than it ever had.

Ten minutes passed.
Each second stretched.
My eyes kept scanning the road — every car looked suspicious, every passerby suddenly too curious. I avoided eye contact with anyone staring too much.

Then my phone rang.
Same unknown number.
I picked it immediately.

“Get the first bag handy and stand by,” the voice said. I quickly did as instructed.

“In ten seconds,” the voice continued.

I counted in my head.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.

“Drop the bag when I say now,” he continued. “Do not look back. Get into your car and leave immediately.”

“Inside the water?” I asked quickly.

“Yes… drop it now.”

I lifted the first bag, swung it once like a heavy sin, and let it go.

It disappeared into the water without a sound.

I turned, walked fast, entered my car, and drove off like nothing had happened.

In my side mirror, normalcy continued.
Cars sped by.
Some people were even laughing.

Nobody knew twenty million naira had just drowned behind them.

Then I saw it.
A long, narrow boat cut through the water where I had dropped the bag — fast and precise. It slowed for just a second, grabbed the floating bag, and vanished like it was never there.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“These guys are good,” I muttered inwardly.

My phone buzzed with instructions for location Two.

This one was different.
An unfinished building. No fence. Just concrete bones and silence. I parked a distance away, walked in carrying the next bag like refuse I was too eager to dump before anyone saw me.

This time, the instruction was simple.
“Drop it inside the pit at the center. Walk away slowly. Don’t run.”

The pit smelled damp. I didn’t wait to confirm anything. I dropped the bag and walked out slowly, my heart beating against my ribs like it wanted out.

Behind me, footsteps echoed briefly.
I didn’t turn.

Back in the car, my phone buzzed again with instructions for location Three.

It was a very busy market road.
Hawkers shouting. Bikes weaving through traffic, nearly hitting pedestrians.

This one scared me the most.

The instruction came fast.
“Walk past the fruit stall. Count five steps. Drop the bag beside the gutter. Keep moving.”

I did exactly that.
Five steps.
Bag down.
No waiting. No turning around.

I blended into the crowd like a coward with a purpose.
When I got back into the car, my shirt was soaked with sweat.

Instructions for the fourth location came immediately after.

A fuel station that looked too normal.
“Leave the bag in the boot of the abandoned car beside the generator house,” the text instructed.

I found the car. Old. Forgotten. The boot already open.

I dropped the bag and closed it gently.

The last drop was the worst.
An empty stretch of road near a canal. No houses. No noise. Just wind and mosquitoes.

This time, they stayed on the line.
“Count to three. Throw it.”
“One… two… three.”

The bag disappeared into the darkness.

I stood there for a moment, frozen.
My hands were shaking, not from fear alone, but from the weight of waiting too long for bad news.

Then my phone rang again.
I picked it instantly.

“Ogbeni Darous,” the voice said calmly, almost politely. “You must answer one question honestly before I return your girlfriend to you.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“What? I don’t understand—”

“Calm down,” he cut in. “It’s simple. Just tell me who you believe is the greater legend… Fela or Wizkid.”

For a second, my brain stalled.
I swallowed hard. When did music debate enter kidnapping negotiations? And why did his tone suddenly sound… serious?

“Answer me,” he pressed. There was urgency now in his voice.

I didn’t have any chance to think. I couldn’t afford to.

“Fela. Fela,” I blurted out quickly, praying this man wasn’t one of those die-hard Wizkid soldiers that take insults personally.

There was silence.

“Hmmm.”
Finally, his voice returned—lighter, almost amused.
“Be at the old bus terminal near the abandoned toll gate in one hour. Park and wait. Your girlfriend will join you there.”

Relief tried to rise inside me, but he crushed it immediately.

“If you try anything stupid,” he added, his voice suddenly cold, “you won’t like the ending.”

The line went dead.
I stared at my phone.
For the first time since this nightmare started, I heaved a sigh of relief.

I started the engine and drove off from the canal area.

Every traffic light felt personal. Every delay on the road felt like divine punishment for all the sins I've committed since I was born.

My heart was racing ahead of the car, already at the terminal, already imagining Tiffany stepping out — possibly weak but breathing.

I got to the location some minutes ahead of time.

I parked where they said I should.
I got out.
And waited.

My hands were shaking.
My eyes were searching.
And my mind was praying that after five drops, these people would keep their word and return my girlfriend alive.

******

The house sat far away from anything that felt like life.

Bushes surrounded it from every direction — thick, wild, uncared for. The kind that swallowed sound and hid secrets easily.

No neighbours. No streetlights. No road noise. Just insects, wind, and the constant fear that nobody would hear you scream even if you tried.

Tiffany sat on the thin mattress in the small room at the back of the house.

Calling it a room was trying to be generous.

Bare walls. One small window with rusted bars. A single bulb hanging weakly from the ceiling, flickering like it didn’t want to stay alive. The air smelled of dampness and old sweat.

Her body ached.
Her eyes were swollen from crying too much.

But her heart had calmed — just a little.
She had heard Darous’ voice.
That alone gave her strength.

She replayed the call in her head again and again.

He’s coming for me, she told herself.

Yet another thought refused to leave her mind.
Naomi.

Her chest beat faster.
The child’s face flashed before her eyes — pale, fragile, always trying to be brave.

Tiffany didn’t know if Naomi was still breathing.
Didn’t know if the poison had taken her.
Didn’t know if she had died quietly in her sleep while Tiffany was trapped here, counting insects on the wall.

She sobbed harder when she remembered the last thing Naomi had told her before she left the house.
Now the girl would die thinking — believing — that Tiffany too had abandoned her, just like her biological mother.

The thought alone was torture.

The door creaked open.
The boss of the kidnappers stepped in.

He smiled.
His accent rolled strangely when he spoke — rough, foreign. Niger Republic, she guessed.

“Your boyfriend,” he said slowly, enjoying the moment, “he really loves you.”

Tiffany’s heart jumped.

“He has paid for your release,” the man continued, smiling wider. “All the money.”

Her breath caught.

“Soon,” he added casually, “you will go home.”

Relief crashed into her so hard her legs almost gave way.
She pressed her hands to her chest, tears spilling freely now.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you… thank you…”

Then she remembered Naomi.

“Please,” Tiffany said quickly, stepping closer. “Please, help me. I just need to know if my daughter is okay. I don’t even need to talk long. Just one call.”

The man tilted his head, amused.

“I’ve been begging your boys all night,” she continued, her voice breaking. “They beat me every time I ask. They slap me here—” she touched her chest briefly, flinching at the memory. “I don’t care what you do to me. I just need to hear her voice.”

The man reached into his pocket.
Her heart leapt.

He brought out her phone.

“My men touched your breast?” the man asked, frowning.

“Yes… but it doesn’t matter. I don’t care,” she said quickly.

“No.” The man thundered. “They must answer for that. I always tell them — no mixing business with pleasure.”

His voice was angry now.

Tiffany dropped to her knees instantly.
“Thank you,” she sobbed. “God will bless you. Please just give me the phone—”

“I’ll punish my men for that,” the man said suddenly, a smile creeping onto his face.
A short, dry smile.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m a fool,” he added.

Her smile froze.

He waved the phone once in front of her face… then slipped it back into his pocket.

“Sit down and behave,” he said.

He turned and walked out.
The door slammed.
The lock clicked.

Tiffany collapsed onto the mattress, shaking.

Outside, voices rose.

The boss and one man stood near the front of the house.

“The money has been paid,” the boss said firmly. “The split as agreed on is sixty–forty. I will release her now.”

The other man scoffed.
“Release her? Just like that?”

“Yes,” the boss replied. “A deal is a deal. They paid, and now it’s our turn to honour terms.”

The other man laughed softly.
“Wait, let me ask you. Have you ever seen anyone pay one hundred million naira in cash in less than twenty-four hours?”

The boss folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t say a word, trying to see where this was heading.

“These people will pay another one hundred million without blinking if we ask them,” the second man continued. “This woman is important to them. This is our chance to make it big. How long before I finish forty million naira?”

The boss listened carefully, then said, “This is my organisation. We keep our word. That’s why we’re still alive. We release victims when payment is made. I told you this when you brought me this job. Ask the person that introduced you to me — I don’t go back on my words. I always release them once payment is made. No more talk.”

“And you want to waste this opportunity just like that?” the second man asked.

“Another will come,” the boss answered flatly. “I’ve made my decision. I’m releasing her within the hour. Your cash will be brought to you soon.”

The second man shook his head slowly.
“You’re thinking small.”

“I’m thinking alive,” the boss said. “Don’t push your luck with me.”

The second man stared at him for a long moment… then nodded.
“Fine,” he said quietly.

He turned and walked away.
Toward the back of the house.

He sat down, drinking one can of Black Bullet.
Close to Tiffany’s window.

A few minutes later, another man with a rifle across his chest walked up to him with two bags filled with money.

He crouched beside the drinking man and dropped the money in front of him.
“That’s your cut,” he said.

“Thank you,” the drinking man replied.

“I heard everything you discussed with my boss,” the man with the rifle said calmly.

The drinking man paused, his hand freezing midair with the can of Black Bullet.

“I like your idea,” the rifle man continued. “I like people that think big.”

The drinking man raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… is that so? Then we are very much alike. But your boss na werey. He won’t go for it.”

“We can work together,” the rifle man said softly. “But for it to work… the boss has to go.”

The drinking man smiled.
They shook hands.

Inside the room, Tiffany sat frozen.
Her breath caught in her throat.

She knew that voice.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“Oh my God…” she whispered with eyes wide. “That’s Kenny.
Darous’ friend.”

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Episode 87 – Five Drops.


I can’t even begin to explain how my body felt after that call from the kidnappers.
The guilt of taking my first human life was still taunting me, and now this?

How did it even happen?
How did they get their hands on her?

I asked the maid how Tiffany left the house. She said Tiffany walked out without taking any of the cars in the compound that belonged to Mrs. Adeoye.

I asked the guards if they noticed anything strange that evening, any clue at all. They said everything went normal around here.

“Everywhere good.” That was their exact response.

I went back upstairs.
Time dragged itself across the floor like a wounded animal — slow, stubborn, refusing to die.

I didn’t sleep. Or let me say, I couldn’t sleep.
Sleep didn’t even come close to me at all.

I lay on the bed with Naomi curled tightly against my chest, her small fingers gripping my shirt like I might disappear if she let go. Her body was warm, trembling softly. Every few minutes, she stirred.

“Mother…” she whispered in her sleep.
Sometimes she said it clearly. Sometimes it came out broken. Sometimes she cried.

Each time, I woke her gently, pulling her closer, whispering lies into her ears.
“She’s coming back.”
“She’s fine.”
“She just got caught up in hold‑up.”

I don’t know which hurt more — lying to her or not knowing if those lies would ever become truth.

At some point, she woke up fully, eyes swollen, voice hoarse.
“Daddy,” she asked weakly, “why is everybody always leaving?”

That question nearly finished me.
I held her tighter. “Nobody is leaving you,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort. “Not me. Not your mother. Never.”

She sniffed and nodded like she wanted to believe me.

Eventually, exhaustion won the battle against her body. She slept again, her breathing uneven, her face damp with tears.

I, on the other hand, stayed awake.
Staring at the ceiling. Listening to the quiet hum of the house. Every sound felt louder than it should.

Around 00:40 a.m., I gently eased Naomi off my chest, tucked her properly under the duvet, and stepped out of the room.

I walked into the hallway and dialed Toyosi’s number.
She picked up after the third ring.

“Darous?” she said, her voice thick with sleep.

“You told me your father will not touch us again,” I said flatly.

“What?” she breathed.

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know anything about this.”

“What are you talking about? Come clean, please.”

“I got home only to find out Tiffany’s been kidnapped.”

“Jesus!” she lamented from the other end.

I ignored her and continued.
“They want one hundred million naira. You hear that? Why is your father this wicked? Can’t he just leave us alone?”

“Oh my God…” she muttered. “Darous, I swear to you, this isn’t my father.”

“Save it,” I snapped. “If anything happens to my Tiffany, I swear to God, Toyosi, I will burn everything your father has built. I’ll expose him to the whole world.”

She went quiet. Then her voice came back, steady but strained.
“I swear on everything I have,” she said slowly, “my father didn’t do this.”

I didn’t respond.

“But I’ll ask, just to be clear,” she continued. “Let me confirm.”

“Get back to me ASAP before thunder fire you and that your useless papa,” I said and hung up.

I paced the house like a madman.
From the living room to the kitchen. From the kitchen to the stairs. Back again.
I checked my phone every few seconds like the screen might suddenly pop up with Toyosi’s call.

Then my brain thought of something else. I placed a call to Cynthia.

She didn’t pick, but she sent a message that I should type instead.

I hurriedly sent her a voice note on WhatsApp about everything going on because my hands were trembling too much to type straight.

Her response came almost immediately.
She told me this wasn’t the doing of Aristotle. That he had already called off the guys he sent after Tiffany.

I was about to ask her to help me ask around when Toyosi’s call came back.

“I asked one of my father’s men,” she said immediately. “Someone who has never lied to me in his life. He swore to me that my father called off the hit on you and Tiffany before they even got to her location.”

I closed my eyes.
“And you believe him,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied firmly. “Because I know how my father works. And this… this doesn’t look like him.”

She was right about that though.

One hundred million naira?
That wasn’t Aristotle’s style.
He doesn’t kidnap to negotiate. He doesn’t beg with deadlines. He doesn’t roll like that. If he wanted her dead, she’d be dead without asking for ransom.

“What can I do to help?” she asked from the other end.

But I ended the call without saying anything else.

By 5 a.m., my legs were aching from pacing. My head was pounding. My thoughts were turning dark.
I was already replaying faces in my mind. Names of people with old grudges.

Then it hit me.
The Suya gangs.
Yaba.

The humiliation I gave them and the warning they gave me that I ignored.

What if they had followed me home? What if this was payback?
The thought sat heavy in my chest.

I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, staring into nothing.
By six a.m., I was already on my feet, moving with a plan burning in my head. A plan meant for the suya gangs. I was done playing calm.


Threatening me with petrol and fire was one thing.
But kidnapping the love of my life and demanding one hundred million naira?

For what? Suya? Eba?

No… that was crossing a line.

Even sef, where would I see that kind of money?
All I had in total assets was twenty‑five million.

Twenty million cash Aristotle handed to me.
Five million sitting quietly in my account.
Even Tiffany herself didn’t have anywhere close to a hundred million naira.

As I got to my car and reached for the ignition button, the gate suddenly swung open.

Two convoys glided in — silent, heavy, commanding.
Matching black Mercedes‑Benz Maybach S‑Class sedans. The kind that don’t rush. The kind that announce authority without saying a word.

I paused, confused, but waited.
Whoever had just arrived carried serious weight — enough for the guards to open the gates without a single question.

Two men stepped out of the first car.
Dark suits. Dark shades. Calm but alert.
Their eyes swept across the compound like trained machines, scanning every corner with quiet precision.

They didn’t look Nigerian.
Their skin tone, posture, and the quiet confidence in their movements spoke of the Middle East.

Then, from the second car, a woman emerged.
Beautiful. Dressed in the same sharp uniform of power.
She moved with elegance, yet every step carried purpose.

Without hesitation, she glided to the back door and opened it — not hurriedly, but with a practiced gentleness that spoke of discipline and respect.

Before I could finish processing the sudden situation, two women stepped out from the back seat.

One looked to be in her early fifties. The other, just a little above twenty-three.

And if I didn’t have the gift of seeing clearly, no one would believe that the older woman was Mrs. Adeoye.
She looked… renewed.

The soft gold of the early morning sun wrapped around her like it had been waiting for her to step out of the car. Her skin glowed against the calm blue light of six a.m., flawless and expensive. Her hair sat perfectly in place, her presence filling the entire space without effort.

This wasn’t the same Mrs. Adeoye I saw few months ago inside this same mansion during that event.

This version of her looked… elevated.
I remembered clearly—she said she would be back on Thursday.
But today was Friday.

The younger woman beside her carried the same face. Same eyes. Same quiet confidence. Like a reflection only touched by youth. More beautiful if I may add.

I stepped forward quickly to meet her, but the Arabian men moved in front of me at once, hands raised politely but firmly, forming a barrier.

Mrs. Adeoye smiled.
“Gentlemen,” she said lightly, with that smooth authority that didn’t need shouting, “it’s quite alright. He’s my boy.”

They stepped aside immediately.
She walked toward me and pulled me into a warm embrace, her perfume settling around me like something calm and powerful.

She smelled different. Looked different. Moved different. Everything about her carried a quiet glow.

Her daughter studied us carefully.

“Mummy,” she asked in a clean British accent, eyes flicking between us, “who is he?”

Mrs. Adeoye smiled.
“My engineer.”

The girl’s eyes widened slightly. Her brows lifted. Her mouth parted just a bit—clearly misunderstanding what she heard.

Mrs. Adeoye laughed softly.
“Oh, don’t start with that look,” she said, amused. “Not that kind of engineer, silly girl.”

The daughter rolled her eyes, embarrassed, then laughed it off.

All the while, my head stayed bowed.
None of this mattered to me.
I just wanted to greet her and leave. The suya gangs were waiting.
I turned slightly, ready to walk away.

“Where is Tiffany?” she asked.
froze.
She noticed instantly.
Her eyes narrowed — not in anger, but in concern.

“Walk with me,” she said gently.

She turned and headed straight toward her private wing of the house.

I followed, my heart heavy, my mind already unraveling.

Thirty minutes later, after I’d finished briefing her about the whole situation, Mrs. Adeoye was pacing the length of her private sitting room like a storm that couldn’t find where to break.

Her anger wasn’t loud at first. It was tight. Controlled.

“All this was happening and you didn’t bother to tell me?” she snapped suddenly, turning on me.

Her voice cut through the room.
I tried to speak but nothing came out.

“Do you have any idea,” she continued, her hands shaking now, “how extremely important that girl’s father is to my life?”

She swept her hand around the room.
“This house, you are standing in,” she said sharply, pointing to the walls, the ceiling, the glass, everything magnificent around us, “every single stone you see here — every penny in my account ?Tiffany’s father made it possible.”

My head dropped.

“If anything happens to that girl,” she said, her voice breaking through restraint now, “there will be hell.”

Her daughter stood quietly beside her, watching.

“He entrusted her to me,” Mrs. Adeoye went on, eyes burning, “before he even drank that poison. To take care of her.”
She exhaled hard.
“And I traveled because I was gathering information. Enough information to fight that half‑brother properly. That was the whole reason I left the country.”

She shook her head in disbelief.
“Now I return to find out we’ve lost the ledger… and worse, Tiffany has been kidnapped.”

Her eyes locked on mine.
“And you kept quiet. Didn’t even tell me anything. Better pray nothing happens to her, because that will be your end also.”

Those words broke me completely.
I didn’t even realize it until tears were already falling.
I sank into the cushion, my shoulders shaking, wailing softly like someone who had run out of strength.

Mrs. Adeoye stared at me, breathing hard.
“I cannot understand how you young people think. You were about to go after the supposed suspects with no clear plan — what, simply ask them nicely to hand her over? You are even more foolish than I imagined.”

Her daughter stepped forward.
“Mummy,” she said gently, her British accent calm and steady, “please.”
She placed a hand on her mother’s arm.
“This isn’t helping. You’re upset, and rightly so — but shouting won’t solve the situation.”

“Your very presence disgusts me.”
Mrs. Adeoye spat the words, pulled away sharply, then turned and stormed out of the sitting room.

The room went quiet.
Her daughter came and sat beside me. She placed a hand on my shoulder and began to rub it gently, slow and steady.

“It’s alright,” she said softly.
“Breathe. You’re overwhelmed right now, and that’s understandable. You’re doing the best you can with the weight you’re carrying. This isn’t your fault alone. You don’t have to punish yourself like this.”

Her voice was calm. Grounded. Reassuring.
“Try to focus on what you can control,” she added.
“One step at a time.”

Her words steadied my breathing and dulled the pain.

After some minutes, I wiped my face and stood up.

“I’m leaving,” I said quietly.
She held my wrist gently.

“Please don’t do anything rash yet. Wait for my mother.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied, shaking my head. “She already hates me. All I can do now is bring Tiffany back. And I’ll do it the only way I know.”

She tried to speak again, but I was already determined to leave.

That was when Mrs. Adeoye walked back in.
She looked calmer now. Still firm. But the fire had settled.

She sat on the opposite cushion.
“I’ve spoken to my accountant,” she said. “We’ll get the money in cash within the next two hours.”

I looked up, stunned.

“We’ll make the trade,” she continued. “Since the kidnappers said no police involvement.”

I didn’t know what to say.
Part of me felt grateful.
Another part of me felt angry.

Because I knew those suya boys would just use that money to eat suya and brag for the rest of their useless lives.

And I still believed…
I should have been allowed to handle them myself.

During that time of waiting for the accountant, the Arabian men pressed me for details about everything the kidnappers had said on the phone. I gave them the full conversation, word for word.

Then they asked if I had any suspects in mind. I told them about the Suya guys.
They asked how sure I was. I explained that those were the only people who had threatened me just days ago, after I refused to give them the one hundred and ninety thousand naira they demanded. To them, kidnapping my girlfriend must have felt like the best revenge.

The Arabians asked if I thought they knew Tiffany was my girlfriend. I said I couldn’t be certain, but the world is full of our information. Anyone could have seen it on my Facebook profile or TikTok handle — pictures of Tiffany and me, loved‑up couples for everyone to see.

That was all I could give them while we waited for the accountant to bring the money.

At exactly a few minutes past nine a.m., the gate opened.

A black SUV rolled in, slow and heavy. A middle‑aged man stepped out, dressed simply, carrying a dark, bulky travel bag.

It was the accountant.
He walked straight into the sitting room and dropped the bag on the centre Turkish rug.

It landed with a dull thud.
Mrs. Adeoye nodded. One of the Arabian men unzipped it.

I froze.

Neatly stacked bundles of cash stared back at me. Fresh notes. Tight bands. Layer upon layer.

One hundred million naira.
Cash.

My throat went dry.
I had never seen that kind of money in real life before. Only in movies like Fast & Furious or Money Heist.

The accountant exchanged a few quiet banking details with Mrs. Adeoye, gave a respectful nod, and left the same way he came.

The Arabian men took over immediately.
They sat me down, calm but firm, and walked me through everything I needed to say — and what not to say — on the call.

I had to stay calm. Flow with whatever they said. Most importantly, I must never reveal that I knew who they were. That could make them kill the hostage and close business.

They told Mrs. Adeoye I was ready.

When Mrs. Adeoye finally spoke, her voice was steady.
“Make the call.”

I dialed with shaky hands.

They picked up immediately.
“Is the money ready?” the voice asked instantly.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s ready.”

There was a pause.

“That was fast,” he said, almost amused.

“That’s to show you I really love my girl,” I said. “And I’m not here to play games with her life.”

He laughed softly.
“Good. Then listen carefully to the following instructions. Split the money into five parts. Twenty million naira each. You’ll get five different locations. You’ll drop one at each point. Make no mistakes. I’ll send you the locations after we successfully pick each one up.”

He paused.
“You feel me?”

I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Yes. But before we go any further, I need proof of life. Or you can forget about the money.”

“Okay. Fair enough,” he said.

There was silence.
Then a slapping sound.
Then soft crying.

My heart jumped.
“Hello?” I said quickly.

Her voice came through, broken and shaking.
“Baby…”

“Tiffany, Tiffany, is that you? Are you okay?” I said sharply.

“Yes… yesss…” she answered weakly.

“Before I believe this is you, tell me where we first met.”

She cried harder for a moment.
Then she spoke.
“At the resort,” she said between sobs.

My knees almost gave way.
She tried to speak again.
“How’s Naomi—”

“That’s the proof you need,” the man cut in. “You’ll get the first location immediately.”

His voice hardened.
“Remember, if we smell a single police or anything off, you’ll pick your girlfriend’s body from a dump site.”

The call ended.
The room stayed silent.

One of the Arabian men nodded.
“You did well,” he said.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.

A message.
A pinned location.
Instructions followed:
Stand at the top of the bridge at exactly 11 a.m. You’ll get further instructions once you get there.

The Arabian men moved fast. They split the money into five identical bags, each packed tight and sealed.

They handed me the bags.
“Go,” one of them said.

Outside, the morning had fully woken up.

I opened my car, placed the money bags on the back seat, closed the door gently, and sat behind the wheel.
My hands trembled as I started the engine.

Five drops.
One chance.
And no room for mistakes.

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