₦airaland Forum

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?”


Join the telegram channel for the continuation

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.

Join our telegram channel for the continuation.

#adigunwrites #friendsfrenemiesandfoes

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.

Join our telegram channel for the complete part.

#adigunwrites

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.”



Join the telegram channel for more

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.”

Join our telegram channel for the full story... This is a thriller

#adigunwrites Wizkid Fela Kuti Seun Anikulapo Kuti

We are here now

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.

Up next...

EPISODE 86 - Still Breathing.

They walked me out of the cellar like they were escorting a problem they hadn’t decided what to do with yet.

The floodlights hit me hard when I stepped outside. It felt wrong — like the lights hadn’t gotten the memo that I’d just spent the last couple of hours inside the cellar. But why am I even complaining? I endured worse inside the Pit at Kirikiri.

Cynthia walked towards us and handed me my phone.
I stared at it for a second before taking it.
It felt heavier than before.
I looked at Cynthia. What she told me earlier rang in my head, but before I could even decide whether to press her on it or let it go, she turned around and vanished into the mansion.

The men behind me nudged me forward. I walked on. Straight toward where the cars were parked.

The Dogs paced around as usual, but they didn’t even mind my presence.

Toyosi stood beside the Prado. The same car I drove in earlier, thinking I would just hand over the ledger, collect the antidote, and get the hell out — never to come back again.
Not knowing I’d end up killing a human being instead.

For a moment, I just stood there.

Toyosi nodded at the car.
“Get in.”

I got in.
The door shut with a dull thud that sounded louder in my head than it should have.

She walked around, got into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

We drove out of the premises in silence.
The gates closed behind us like a chapter snapping shut.

She didn’t say anything until we were far enough that the mansion was meters between us.

Then she glanced at me briefly.
“How are you feeling?”

The question felt misplaced.
Almost offensive.

I didn’t answer.

She tried again.
“I know today wasn’t easy.”

Still nothing from me.

She took out a small bottle containing some liquid from her bag and placed it carefully on the glove box.
“Here’s the antidote. But like I said, the girl will be fine without it.”

I think she expected me to be happy with that information or react one way or another, but when she got nothing, she looked back at me briefly and spoke again.
“You can call your girl to confirm what I just said.”

I didn’t pay her any attention. I was just trying my best to keep my anger buried before I did something I’d regret.

“What’s wrong with you?” she suddenly lashed out, frustration creeping into her voice.
“I’m trying to have a conversation here. Do you even know what I had to pass through before my father allowed you to walk out of there? Eh?” She paused again, waiting for a reaction.
“Okay, if you don’t want to talk, let’s leave it that way.”

Then silence.
Only the soft purr of the car gliding seamlessly through the quiet road that led back to the mansion.

We were like that for two minutes before she blurted out again.
“I know what you’re going through. Just take it easy, okay? Don’t be too hard on yourself… Keep your head low and things will be fine. You hear me, Darous?”

I didn’t answer.

“Darous…did you hear me?” she asked again.

“That we’re in the same car doesn’t mean we need to talk. Just drive.”
That was the only response she got from me.

She shrugged and continued driving. Then, after another few minutes, she spoke again.
“It’s strange though,” she said, eyes still on the road, “I lost two men in my life within one month. And somehow you were involved in their deaths.”

My fingers curled slowly as the anger I had buried deep inside ordered a tractor from Temu and started breaking its way to the top.
Each of her words was like sand, covering the calm and freeing the anger I was trying to keep buried.

“First, my ex-boyfriend… and now Chuka.”

That was it.
The tractor broke through.
There was nothing left to hold the anger down.

“Toyosi, stop the car.”

She frowned. “What?—”

“I said stop the fucking car!”

She hit the brakes.
The Prado pulled over by the roadside, trees lining both sides like silent witnesses.

Join the telegram channel for the complete part...

💯#adigunwrites

Up next on FFF

EPISODE 85 - No Safe Detour

After Aristotle ordered Darous to be taken to the cellar, Toyosi’s heart began to race. Every second from that moment mattered.

She hadn’t planned for this. Not for Chuka to end up dead. Not for anyone to die today. But Chuka was gone. And despite all he had done, Toyosi still felt the weight of responsibility pressing on her.

She had wanted power so badly that she poisoned her father’s mind, made him see Chuka as a threat. Now this was the result.

But she couldn’t stay in that feeling. Darous wouldn’t last a night in the cellar.
She knew her father too well. Darous’ life was over the moment he handed the ledger to him.

She knew this wasn’t just about Darous. There was the chief boss herself waiting at home for her boy to come back.
Tiffany.

If Darous didn’t get home on time, Tiffany would worry. Her worry would turn into anger — the kind of anger that never thinks straight.

Toyosi knew this after six years of living with her. And if Tiffany’s anger ever reached her father, Aristotle, the outcome would be dangerous.

Toyosi couldn’t bear the thought of Tiffany dying. This was her chance to fix something — not for herself, not for power, but to protect Tiffany. She loved her cousin like a sister, even if Tiffany didn’t see it that way. At least not yet. Who could blame her?

Toyosi swallowed hard, forcing down her hatred for her father. She despised him, but she had to act loyal. She had to make him believe she still loved him, or at least give him no reason to doubt her loyalty.

The mansion was cold and silent. She moved quietly across the polished floors toward the sitting room in her father’s wing.

The sitting room door stood ahead. Inside, Aristotle was talking with his men.

Toyosi stepped forward and coughed once — sharp and controlled, just enough to announce herself.

Aristotle’s eyes turned to her.
He raised his hand slowly. The men stiffened.
“Leave us,” he said evenly.

The men obeyed, slipping out like shadows, leaving Toyosi alone with her father.

Her stomach twisted. Her heart pounded. But she lifted her shoulders and stood firm. She had to make him listen, no matter what.

She stepped fully into the room, meeting Aristotle’s gaze. Steady. Controlled.

This was no longer about power. It was about life and death. And Toyosi was the only one who could change the outcome.

Toyosi cleared her throat.
For the first time since she was a child, she didn’t know how to speak to her father without rehearsing every word in her head first.

“Daddy,” she said softly.
“What do you intend to do with Darous?”

Aristotle didn’t answer immediately.
He walked to the bar, poured himself a drink, and took a slow sip — unhurried, deliberate — as if the question didn’t matter.

Toyosi watched him from behind.
She had seen this posture before.
The calm that always came before blood.

Join our telegram channel for the continuation...

#adigunwrites

Episode 84 – After The Push.

My hands were still on Chuka’s chest when reality dawned on me.

My fingers shook as I pressed harder against his neck, hoping pressure alone could bring him back.
Nothing happened.

It's official. I, Darousmart Emmanuel, the so‑called son of thunder, had just killed a man.

My stomach twisted. Bile burned the back of my throat as the weight of those words sank in.
I crawled backward, my palms scraping against the wet tiles, staring at Chuka’s face as if it might suddenly blink and curse me for panicking in the first place.
But his eyes only stayed open and empty.

My chest started to shake before I realized I was crying.
Not sobbing.
Just these broken, animal sounds tearing out of me as my brain tried — and failed — to understand what it meant to take a life.

The irony is,I had imagined killing Chuka a thousand times before today.

In my head, it was always perfect. Always justified. Always clean like a whistle.

But seeing his dead body now? Like this?
It was ugly.

I didn’t mean to kill him…
I just pushed him aside to avoid his body colliding on me after all the beatings I'd taken from him earlier…

Every excuse I tried to form died before it fully formed inside my head.

And for the first time in my life, I understood something terrifying — once life leaves a body, however sorry you are totally becomes irrelevant.

Around us, no one moved.
Not a single word or gasps

Just grown men holding their breath, waiting for permission from the boss to react.

I slowly lifted my head.
Aristotle was watching.
He didn't look alarmed.
Just… observing.
His face was calm, unreadable — like he was watching rain fall, and still deciding whether it was an inconvenience or a blessing.

Join our telegram channel for the complete part...

#adigunwrites #friendsfrenemiesandfoes

Episode 83 – When Luck Picks A Side.


“…This child?”
The words left my mouth before my brain could catch up.

Cynthia stopped walking after hearing me repeat the last part of what she just said.

She just… paused. Like someone who realized they’d stepped on a landmine and was waiting to see if it would explode.

I stared at her back.
“What did you just say? Cynthia.” I asked. Slowly. Like my ears weren’t sure they heard right.

“Nothing. You’re hearing things.”

I frowned. The laughter in my head was still echoing, but that sentence had sliced through it like cold water.
“You said this child,” I pressed. “Repeat what you said.”

She waved her hand dismissively and started walking again.
“I was joking. Don’t mind me.”

I grabbed her wrist hard.
“Tell me, Cynthia… what do you mean by that?”

She shot me a sharp look.
“See as that weed is already making you misbehave. I said it’s nothing. Leave me alone, jare.”

She yanked her hand free from my grip, her voice rising.
“You’re hurting me.”

I followed her, my mind trying to rewind the last ten seconds on low battery.

Something about her tone didn’t sound like a joke. It sounded like regret. Like someone who said something when they didn't mean to say it yet.

Before I could press her again—


Join our telegram channel for the continuation...

Text me on WhatsApp to learn how.

Episode 82 – Smoke And Mirrors.

The moment Aristotle’s voice cut through the air, I froze. Not like the type you see in movies. I wasn't shaking, I wasn't screaming. I just… stopped.

My hands clutched the ledger like it could protect me from what was coming.

I looked up at the balcony. He was still there—calm, relaxed, leaning on the railing. His eyes followed me like I was the show he had been waiting for all morning. Suddenly, I felt small. Very small.

"I’ll set the dogs on you if you don’t tell me where you’re going right now," Aristotle said. His voice was calm but carried a threat that made me shake all over.

“I… I just need to go to the toilet,” I said in almost whispers.

“Guards’ toilet is over there...why are you moving towards the car?” he said, pointing lazily toward the far end of the fence.

Join our telegram channel for the continuation...
#adigunwrites

EPISODE 81 – Dogs And Gods

I woke up to the soft tap of Tiffany’s hand on my lap.
I opened my eyes slowly.

Her face was calm, but I knew her well enough to see what she was hiding — the tight jaw, the way she avoided my eyes for half a second longer than normal.

Her anger mode was already running at full capacity. No verbal confirmation required — the algorithm had already processed the data.

She had called me the night before. More than five times. I hadn’t picked up any of them.

Memories of the previous night rushed back into my mind: my encounter with the Suya gang, Chuka planning to dump me into the ocean, Aristotle stepping in to save the day, and finally, the assignment he gave me — that I should bring Chuka’s punishment along with the ledger.
My shoulders dropped as the weight of those words settled on me again.

I checked the time.
12:27 p.m. Past noon.
I hadn’t even realized I had slept that long.

“Morning, beautiful lady,” I said, forcing a weak smile but her face remained hard.
“Why are you looking at me like they just told you I impregnated someone.”

I reached for her hand with another smile, trying to lighten the mood.

She didn’t smile back.
Instead, she reached behind her and dropped a thick folder onto my lap.

The weight of it surprised me.
I looked down at it, then back at her.

“What’s this?”

“The ledger,” she said. Her voice was flat.

Join our telegram channel for the continuation...

#adigunwrites
#storytelling #writer

Episode 81

Episode 80 – Leverage.

Toyosi’s finger tightened around the gun, ready to pull the trigger — when she heard her name.

“Omotoyosi.”

The voice cut through the air like a blade.
Her mother’s voice was low, steady and careful.

Toyosi froze.
The gun stayed raised, pointed at her father’s head, but her breath faltered, breaking into uneven gasps.

Her mother stepped into the doorway, her presence filling the room without force, without threat — only the weight of love and fear.

“Omotoyosi,” she said again, softer this time, almost pleading, like someone approaching a wounded animal they loved too much to startle.

The sound of her name, spoken in that tone, was enough to slice through the rage boiling inside her. Enough to make her finger hesitate on the trigger.

Tears were already running down her face, even before she realized she was crying.

“Don’t,” her mother said softly. “Please don’t do this.”

Toyosi swallowed hard, her throat burning.
“He has to die,” she said, her voice shaking despite how badly she tried to keep it firm. “Mother… he has to pay. For everything.”

Her mother stepped fully into the room now. She stopped a few feet away — close enough to reach her if she needed to, far enough not to push her over the edge.

“For all the people he made me destroy,” Toyosi continued, the words tumbling out of her. “For everything he turned me into. I did things for him — terrible things — because I thought I was earning my place. Because I thought one day he would hand everything over to me.”

Her chest rose and fell sharply.
“I just found out I was never even in the conversation.”

Her mother closed her eyes briefly, like someone absorbing a blow she had been expecting for years.

“Omotoyosi, I know it hurts,” she said.

Toyosi turned on her sharply.
“You have no idea, mother.” Her voice cracked.
“You don’t have the faintest idea of what I’m going through right now…”

Her mother stepped a foot closer. Her own eyes were red, almost watery too.
“Omotoyosi, believe me, I do. I know how it feels…”

“You do?” Toyosi spat.

“Yes…” her mother’s voice cracked.

“How then did you stay? How did you continue staying with him knowing all this?”
She gestured angrily at the bed.
“At this?” Toyosi hissed, pointing at the two naked women sleeping beside her father. “You wake up every day and see this rubbish and you’re just… okay? Doesn’t it make you sick?”

Her mother looked at the bed. Looked at Aristotle. Then back at her daughter.

“I made my choice a long time ago,” she said calmly. “Not because I liked it. Not because it didn’t hurt me... But because leaving wasn’t an option. Your father made sure of that.”

Toyosi laughed bitterly through her tears.
“So you just accepted it?”

“I don’t see any choice,” her mother replied. “But you have a choice now, my daughter. Don’t ruin your life for this bastard. He’s not worth it, Omotoyosi…”

Toyosi shook her head violently.
“It’s too late. Look at me. Look at what he turned me into.”

Her voice broke into a muffled scream.

Aristotle only snored on, deep in sleep, his chest rising and falling with the heavy rhythm of a man lost in dreams. The two naked women beside him didn’t stir. One shifted slightly, curling deeper into the sheets; the other lay sprawled, her arm draped across his waist. Neither of them reacted to the sobbing sounds that filled the room.

Toyosi’s cries echoed against the walls, raw and jagged, but to them it was nothing. They remained wrapped in their drunken sleep, blind to the storm unraveling just a few feet away.

Toyosi slammed her free hand against her chest, then against the wall, as if trying to tear the pain out of herself. Her whole body trembled, sweat mixing with tears.

"Please don't do this...I'm begging you..." The mother said as she stood close, watching her daughter collapse under the weight of betrayal, while Aristotle and his companions slept on — untouched, unaware, and unbothered.

Toyosi looked at her father again with contempt, swallowed hard and continued.
“I am already ruined! He made me a monster, mother. I'm a monster mother....monsters don’t get choices!”

Her mother stepped closer now and gently placed her hand over the gun. She didn’t grab it. She didn’t force it. She just rested her hand there — steady, warm and unshaking.

“If you pull this trigger, Omotoyosi” she said quietly, “you won’t be punishing only him. You’ll be handing your life over to him for the final time.”

Toyosi’s grip weakened.
“He doesn’t deserve to live,” She whispered.

“And he doesn’t deserve your future either,” her mother said softly. “Don’t throw your life away for a man who was never worth it from the beginning.”

Toyosi’s shoulders collapsed.
The gun slipped from her fingers.

Her mother caught it immediately and pulled it away, holding Toyosi as her legs gave out. Toyosi cried openly now — deep, ugly sobs that came from somewhere far inside her chest.

Her mother held her tightly, stroking her hair.
“It’s over,” she murmured. “You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

Toyosi shook her head against her mother’s shoulder, her voice breaking between sobs.
“Mother… I should have listened to you. From the very beginning. You warned me. You told me what he was, but I thought I knew better. I thought I was strong enough to handle him.”

Her words spilled out, heavy and trembling.
“I nearly ruined Tiffany’s life. I betrayed my own friend… ah… aiye mi ti bajẹ.” Her voice cracked as she bit her lips hard, the shame cutting deeper than the words themselves.

Her mother didn’t reach for her. She knew Toyosi needed to pour it all out, to feel the full weight of her mistakes.

“I even drugged a little girl. I’ve destroyed every meaningful relationship I ever had. I thought I was earning my place, proving myself… but all I did was break myself instead.”

"Don't be too hard on yourself..."

Toyosi pulled back slightly, her face wet with tears, her eyes searching her mother’s.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. I should have trusted you. I should have believed you.”

Her mother cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears.
“My daughter,” she said, her own voice trembling, “you were blinded by love and ambition. It's not your fault ....the fault lies with us your parents for not protecting you...But you are not beyond saving. You are not beyond redemption. What matters now is that you see the truth. And that you choose different path from now on.”

Toyosi sobbed harder, clinging to her mother like a child.
“I regret everything,” she cried. “Every single thing I did for him. I regret not listening to you. Mother.”

Her mother held her tighter, her own tears falling now.
“Then let this regret be the beginning of your freedom,” she whispered. “Don't let it be the end of you.”

She guided Toyosi out of the room without waking anyone. Down the hallway. Into her own bedroom.

They lay on the same bed, mother and daughter, Toyosi curled into her like she used to as a child. Her tears didn’t stop for a long time. Her mother kept on assuring her that everything would be fine.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed her mother.
But Toyosi stayed awake. Sleep was doing a terrible job of carrying her to dreamland.

An hour passed.
Her chest still ached. Her mind refused to rest.

Every time she closed her eyes, the video replayed itself. Her father’s voice. His smile. His betrayal. The words cut deeper each time, like knives twisting inside her.

Toyosi turned on her side, staring into the dark. The silence of the house pressed down on her, but inside her head it was chaos — memories, regrets, and the echo of her mother’s warning.

Carefully, she slipped out of bed.

Toyosi moved quietly through the house, barefoot, every step was well measured.
The guards at the cellar stiffened when they saw her.

Even at this hour, even with sleep still clinging to their eyes, her presence carried weight.

“Open the door please,” she said casually.

They exchanged looks, then moved. Keys clinked. Metal complained. The heavy door eventually groaned and was opened.

She stepped inside.

Kalu lay on the bare floor, one arm bent awkwardly under his body, chains biting into his wrists and ankles. His breathing was shallow but steady. Sleep had taken him the way exhaustion takes a man — without permission.

Toyosi stood there longer than she meant to.

Her chest tightened.
The revelation she just got had finally opened her eyes to the cruelty of her father. She finally saw how Kalu was suffering.

She had a hand in how this man lost his wife, and how she still used his daughter in a cruel way just to help her father.

This was just… wrong.
She crouched beside Kalu slowly, like someone approaching a fragile thing that might break if touched the wrong way.

“Kalu,” she whispered.
No response.

She slipped off her jacket and carefully folded it, then placed it under his head to lift it slightly off the cold floor.

His brow creased faintly, but he didn’t wake.
She adjusted his position, as gently as the chains allowed, easing his shoulder, straightening his leg.

Her hands trembled.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know it doesn’t change anything… but I’m sorry.”

Her eyes burned again.
She reached for the water bottle she had brought and tipped a little onto her palm, wiping the dried blood from his temple, slow and careful, like she was afraid of hurting him more.

This wasn’t mercy.
It was guilt trying to breathe.

She stepped back into the corridor and closed the cellar door behind her.

The guards straightened immediately when they saw her again. Confusion flickered across their faces.

“I need the keys to his chains,” Toyosi said straight.

One of them frowned. “Madam… your father—”

“I know what my father said,” she cut in, not raising her voice. “Now I'm telling you I need the keys to the damn chains.”

They hesitated. Looking at her like she had lost her mind.

“Just give me the keys…” she continued, calmer now.

“He can barely stand. I just want him more comfortable. He's not going anywhere.”

“That man is dangerous,” the second guard said carefully.

Toyosi met his eyes. Held them. Her voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, but heavy enough to sting.
“How do you live with yourselves every day, keeping a man under lock and chain? A human being. Do you even think about that?”

The guards shifted uneasily.

“I’m not releasing him,” she added quickly. “I only want to take the chains off his body. You can put them back on whenever you want — when you take him out for sunlight, or whatever. But right now, he doesn’t need to be treated like an animal.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, the first guard reached into his belt and brought out the keys. The metal clinked softly as he placed them in her palm.

“Thank you,” she said.

She turned and walked back down into the cellar.

Kalu stirred when the chains loosened around his sore wrists. His eyes opening sharply, body tensing out of instinct.

“Easy,” Toyosi said quickly. “It’s me.”

His breathing slowed — the internal scanner in his head blinked awake, processed the face, and spat out the result: Identity confirmed. Toyosi. The one person he least expected to see at that hour.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.
"Are you releasing me?"

She knelt and unlocked the final restraint on his legs, the sound of metal releasing echoing in the room.

“No...” she said. “I can’t free you completely. But you don’t deserve to be chained like an animal.”

He sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists, testing his limbs.

“You shouldn’t be doing this. What if your father finds out?,” he said quietly.

She let out a hollow breath.
“He won't find out.”

They sat in silence for a moment — two people standing in the ruins of a system that had crushed them both.

Then the words started spilling out of her mouth. She told him all that had happened from the street altercation with Chuka, how it all played out the way Kalu had predicted. And how Chuka had made her seen the perfect picture of what her father had in mind for her. She told him everything.

"All the things I did… every person I destroyed… every line I crossed… I was just playing a role written for me.”
She laughed once. Short. Empty.
“A pawn,” she said. “A well-trained pawn.”

Kalu listened without interrupting.

“You know I nearly killed him,” she added. “My father. I almost pulled the trigger.”

He looked up at her sharply.
“But you didn’t,” he said curiously.

“No. My mother stopped me.”

“That was the smartest thing you’ve done tonight.”

She frowned. “You think he doesn't deserve it?”

“No..but I think killing him immediately would’ve been a mistake,” Kalu replied. “Men like your father don’t sit on that much power without contingency plans.
As he is, he definitely has loyal soldiers. Instructions that only activate if he dies in a mysterious unexplained way.”

Her stomach tightened.

“If he goes down wrong,” he continued, “everything could burn. And not just him. You. Me. People you don’t even know yet.”

Toyosi looked away and thought about it briefly.

“I hate that you’re right,” she said.

“I know.”

She stood up slowly. "Well, I'm going to bed. I need to sleep. My head is heavy right now."

She patted him on the shoulder.

“There’s something else,” Kalu said quickly. “You need to warn Darous and Tiffany.”

She turned back. “About what?”

“The ledger,” he said. “He can't have the ledger— you can't let him have it. That book is the only leverage keeping those guys alive, trust me. Once he has it, we all lose whatever little control we have left.”

She nodded immediately. No hesitation.
“Again...I hate that you are right..." She sighed. "I’ll tell them,” she said. “I'll make sure of it.”

“Good.”

She picked up the jacket again and adjusted it around him, more deliberately this time.

“I don’t know how this ends,” she said quietly. “But I know I’m done being a pawn.”

Kalu looked at her for a long moment.

“Welcome to the family,” he said with a dry smile.

She turned and walked out, locking the door behind her.

The moment she left, Kalu rose to his feet.
He walked slowly around the cellar — the first time in weeks he had moved freely without chains.

His mind was sharp, his resolve unbroken. With the way his plans were unfolding now, he knew it was only a matter of time before Aristotle paid for all the pain he had inflicted on his life.

All Kalu needed was patience.
The right moment to strike.


Join our telegram channel for the continuation

Join our telegram channel

Episode 79- Fault Lines.

The guards’ quarters sat behind the main building — a low block of rooms built only for use, not comfort.

Inside, two guards sat facing each other, boots off, rifles resting against the wall.

An android phone lay silent on the table, the match already long over — but the disappointment still heavy in the room.

“Guy… I still can’t believe am,” one of them said, shaking his head slowly.

“AFCON semi-final… we try small.”

The other guard sighed deeply.
“Four–two. Imagine. Once it reached penalties, I already knew we are going to lose.”

“Chukwueze messed up make we no lie.,” the first guard added bitterly. “As in clean miss. No confidence at all.”

“What of that Bruno own,” the second replied. “That one pained me the most. Keeper didn’t even struggle.”

They both went quiet for a moment.

“Penalties are wicked mehn,” the first guard muttered. “Na mind game. Once your head is gone, it’s over.”

“True,” the other nodded.

That was when the door opened.

Toyosi stepped in.
Their eyes lifted immediately.

She smiled.
She let her blouse fall just enough for their eyes to rest on her cleavage in the dim light — not because she enjoyed it, but because distraction was easier than applying force.

Both men straightened without realizing it.

“Gentlemen,” she said softly, lifting the basket. “This is for tonight. You did well keeping things under control.”

Their eyes stayed exactly where she wanted them — on her cleavage.

“Thank you, madam,” they managed to chorus.

She glanced at the table, then back at them.

“So… what was the scores?” she asked lightly.

One of them scoffed.
“Ah madam, dem wound us o. That match broke my heart. Na penalty dem use comot us.”

Toyosi shook her head slowly, pretending sympathy.

“Penalties are cruel,” she said. “You do everything right for one-twenty minutes, then one kick decides your fate.”

The second guard nodded.
“Exactly. One mistake and that’s the end.”

She reached into the basket and broke the seal on the bottle. The soft click pulled their attention back to her hands — and then back to her chest as she leaned slightly forward to pour.

She poured vodka into three glasses.
“Let’s drink to forgetting bad penalties,” she said calmly.

They laughed.
She handed them their glasses. They drank quickly. The liquor warmed them. Their shoulders dropped. Their tension faded. Their laughter came too easily.

Toyosi took small, careful sips from her own glass, watching with calculation.

“Madam, you sabi football o,” one of them said, already loose.
She smiled.

“Well, you learn a lot when you watch people miss their chances.” She said with a smile.

When she was sure they had drunk enough to forget their duty, she placed her empty glass back into the basket.

Join our telegram channel..

Episode 78 – The Next Move

All eyes turned to me as Aristotle turned me to a sudden judge in the ongoing situation.

Chuka, was quiet, but one could see the fear in his scarred face.

"Boss, abeg... please, this is a big misunderstanding..." Chuka pleaded, sweating hard.

Aristotle didn’t even look at him. He only raised his hand and before anyone could blink, one of the guards kicked Chuka hard on the legs and he fell to the floor.

He tried to get back up, but Aristotle signalled for the guard to press his head down. The guard obeyed instantly, boot grinding Chuka’s face into the ground.

Aristotle then cocked his head in a questioning way at me. Meaning I should respond.

Honestly, my mind was blank.

Punishment? For the same man who had been nothing but a thorn in my life since the day I knew him?

Memories began to rush in. The night he kidnapped Jude. How he tortured him, used him, and forced me into the Circle.

The first time I met Aristotle, Chuka was the one kicking my legs each time I failed to answer or dared to lie. And now tonight, he was already planning to drop me inside the ocean—if not for the devil himself stepping in.

I stood there torn. What punishment could fit him perfectly? To tell Aristotle to give him that twisted sex‑game punishment? To send him to rot in the pit in Kirikiri for three years? Or to kill him outright?

One thing was certain: if I let him go free, my life would never remain the same. He would hunt me down, especially now that I had corroborated Toyosi’s allegations against him.

Aristotle’s mask tilted toward me again. His voice was calm, but it carried weight like the announcement of Alonso’s sacking from Real Madrid.
“Darous… tell me the perfect punishment.”

I cleared my throat, ready to speak, when Toyosi stepped closer to her father. She leaned in and whispered something into his ear.

Join the telegram for the continuation

Episode 77 – The Arrival


The moment he appeared, everything else in that environment turned into the background.

Nobody was expecting him to show up in that type of environment.

Behind him came two men — and even before one could notice the guns in their hands, you already knew these ones were not here to play.
They were built like problems that you could never solve peacefully no matter how hard you tried.

One wore a plain dark shirt and trousers, sleeves hugging arms that looked like they'd broken people's necks before and never bothered to apologize.

His gun rested easy in his hand — like an extension of his body.

The other guard had a jacket on, eyes moving slowly but thoroughly, counting faces, counting exits, counting how many people were standing around.
His gun was already up.

And then there was Toyosi herself. She walked in behind them like someone who had already known how the night would unfold.

Black top. Dark jeans. Simple flat shoes — sensibly quiet.

Her hair was packed neatly behind her back. She looked relaxed.
Her eyes moved fast, scanning faces, weapons, positions — and then they found mine.

She didn't smile at me. She just looked at me like: you see where your stubbornness has brought you.

Then the boss himself, Aristotle, walked forward slowly — like a landlord inspecting his property. His mask, as always, concealed his face, turning him into a shadow more than a man.

The suya gang, unfortunately, didn't know who he was.
The skinny one among them in a singlet stepped forward, suya oil still shining proudly on his fingers.

"Hey! Who be this lagbaja?” he barked, lifting his hand like a traffic warden trying to stop a speeding truck.

But before anyone could explain to him that the truck he was trying to stop had no brakes, one of Aristotle’s men moved fast. He grabbed the skinny guy by the neck with one hand, lifted him clean off the ground, and landed a heavy slap straight across his chest.

The sound cracked through the night air like a plank hitting wet concrete.

The singlet guy flew back, staggered, bent double, and started coughing like his lungs had just resigned from their duty.

Everything he had been eating for the past few hours came out of him — suya, pepper, onions, oil — all pouring onto the ground like sacrifice.

He tried to speak again but only pepper and water came out.
The rest of the suya gang panicked. Their hands flew into their pockets.

Petrol bottles came out like party souvenirs.That was when Aristotle's guards raised their guns fully at them.
"Drop it," one of them said calmly.



You know the rest of the episode is available on my telegram channel.
Join now.

Episode 76 – The Suya Gang

Chuka and I stood there, facing each other like two men who had already agreed that someone wouldn’t survive the night — we just hadn’t decided who it was going to be.

“Give me the antidote,” I said again, still looking straight into his eyes.
“And I will give you every copy of that video. Every single one. I swear.”

He looked at me calmly, then let out a short scoff.
“Your words don’t move mountains here, boy. You should watch your tongue — you might lose it one day.”

“I’m just telling you…” I said.
“I have a little girl suffering at home, and the only thing standing between her and recovery is sitting in your pocket.”
I paused.
“So pardon me if I don’t feel like waiting around any longer.”

Chuka took a slow step closer.
“You forget who you’re talking to, boy. No one runs mouth at me and walks away freely… I’m the boss.”

I shook my head.
“Any man who must say I’m the boss is no true boss.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“Mind you, the first day you introduced me to Aristotle, you called him the boss.”
I tilted my head slightly.
“So how exactly are you now the boss?”

His eyes hardened, but his voice stayed flat.
“There are things you know, and there are things you don’t even know you don’t know…” he quoted his usual verse.
“Aristotle owns the throne. But I’m the blade right under it. If you step on it anyhow — you will bleed out slowly.”

I nodded calmly.
“Well, Mr. Blade, I got my shoes with me…you can bring it on. I’ve got enough leverage to make the boss toss your ass down the river.”

He chuckled. “You mean that video?”

I leaned in just a little.
“Look, C.K., I don’t want any problem at all. Just give me the antidote, and I’ll delete the video. You’ll never hear from me again.”

“Is that all you got to say?”

I respond with a nod.

Then he spoke again, still calm and composed.
“Tell me Darous, what’s stopping me from just taking your phone right now and putting a bullet into your skull?”

I let out a small, dry chuckle.
“You really want to do that?”

He shrugged. “Yes… I don’t see any reason why I should allow you to keep giving me headaches. Just because the boss wants something from you doesn't mean I have to put up with your crap.”

I stepped closer to him.
“Killing me will be the biggest mistake you ever make in your entire life.”

His eyes flew wide.

I pressed on.
“Let me tell you — the moment anything happens to me, those videos are going straight to the public.”

His eyes flicked — just once.

“I already have them scheduled for automatic release on multiple platforms. The time is locked.”
I stepped even closer, until our eyes were inches apart.
“And I’m the only one who can stop it.”
I lowered my voice.
“And I can only cancel it when I’m home safe — exactly when I know the antidote has worked.”

Chuka nodded slowly, licking his lips.
“So, that cute story is your strategy abi?”

“It’s not a story… it’s a statement of fact.”

“No..no... listen… it’s a cute story. Every street dog thinks he can bite until the top dog show his fangs. You really need to learn how to roll with the top dogs...” That sounded more like a warning.

“You don watch too many animal documentaries, for you to think you can use those lines to intimidate me. No… that one na Darous of the past.”

“I can see that. I won’t lie — you’ve really changed in the few weeks you spent in prison. I heard you even won some fights in the yard…” He paused. “Maybe that’s why you suddenly think you can take me on and challenge my position.”

“Look, C.K…” I tapped his shoulder gently. He gave me an audacious look, like he was contemplating slapping my face. I didn’t care.
“Wait till Sunday before you preach. Right now, I don’t have time. As I’m talking to you, that little girl must have suffered another breakdown. She doesn’t have much time. So just give me the antidote and let me go.”

He sighed, straightened his shirt, and licked his lips briefly.
“Let’s cut the crap talk then. Let’s get to business…”

I released a smile straight from my brain’s factory the moment he said that.

He leaned back on the car then snapped his fingers.

A few seconds later, someone stepped out of the shadows.
Clean leather suit with calm steps.

It was Cynthia.

She walked toward us like this was a normal business meeting, and the situation was just another file waiting to be processed.

“Cynthia?” I smiled
at Chuka. “Of course. Like I said earlier, I know people like you never travel light.”

I looked straight at Cynthia. Her eyes stayed unblinking, unreadable.
Whatever these people were making her do, it was really affecting her. She didn’t even look like her former self anymore. She looked pale, almost whitish.

Chuka coughed gently. He didn’t look at me. He placed a hand on Cynthia’s shoulder.
“You see this your friend? I don’t think you know what she’s capable of doing with computers and gadgets. Once I take that phone from you, she will unlock it — whether you give her the password or not. It doesn’t matter.” He smiled.

I knew he wasn’t bluffing. I’d seen her do something even harder — the day Kalu invaded Aristotle’s former mansion, she turned a locked system into an open diary.

“Now you see,” Chuka continued. “You’ve got a big liver. But this is a very stupid move.”

Cynthia’s eyes locked onto mine. Cold. Focused. Probably calculating how long it would take to break me digitally. But I was sure of one thing: she would never allow them to kill me… not unless her own life was hanging in the balance.

I remembered how she had once tried to make me lose the sex-game we played with Aristotle. She had called it nothing personal — just survival.

Without placing all my hopes on her saving me, I played my last card. The only card I had left.

“If you think I came here empty-handed like a goat… then you’re dumber than you think.”

Chuka laughed hard at that.

“My guys are around the corner,” I continued.
“If you touch me, they will move in on you.”
I paused.
“All they are waiting for is just my signal to come and burn your ugly ass alive.”

"Really?" He chuckled with an unusual composure.

"Trust me, you don't want to find out." I answered firmly.

Chuka stared at me for a second.
He reached into his pocket and drew out his gun smoothly, resting it in his other palm.

Fear slammed into my chest when I saw the gun.
The way he was holding it shows he was ready to shoot me dead unless I acted fast.

No time to waste again. It's time to call on my hired guards. The Suya Gang.

“Dawno 8! Dawno 8!” I shouted in quick succession.

“Present, sir!” came the response that filled the air.

From the other side of the road, the Suya gang appeared.
But they weren’t running towards us like I expected.

Instead, they walked in carrying plates of suya, oil shining on their fingers, their mouths still busy.

Behind them, three unfamiliar men appeared — guns in hand, eyes cold and steady.

I didn’t know who these extra guys were, but a part of me felt oddly relieved. At least the suya gang still thought ahead enough to bring in new muscles with guns. It only meant one thing: I’d have to add small change to their balance later.

I was expecting a nervous reaction from Chuka as my guys showed themselves, but instead, Chuka laughed as they got closer to us.

“These guys are your backup plans?”

Chuka glanced at their plates filled with suya as they stopped beside him.
He dipped his hand into one of the plates, picked out a piece of meat, and put it in his mouth.
He began to chew.

That action alone got me wondering what was really going on — until Chuka spoke again.

"Dude, see, all it took to scatter your whole backup plan was just suya… and a better offer for these guys.”

He burst out laughing once more.
“Checkmate, brother.”

My brain was still struggling to comprehend what was going on, even as his words dropped hints of the situation.

Chuka looked at my confused face and exhaled slowly.
“While you were busy playing chess, I was already breaking boards for breakfast.”

Those words landed heavy in my chest.
I looked at the suya gang members one by one.
They looked back at me without saying a word.

I stood there, still hoping this was some kind of misunderstanding or some form of prank.

“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Why are you standing with them?”

Nobody answered immediately.
They just kept chewing.
One of them sucked suya oil off his fingers before finally looking at me.

“Alaye… no hard feelings o.”

That sentence alone slapped me hard on the chest.

From “Oga,” to “Chairman”… now suddenly reduced to just “Alaye”?
The downgrade was so fast it felt like my title got demoted in real time — like watching my respect collapse from CEO to street tout in one breath.

But I swallowed it, managed to hide the shock, and kept my face calm.

“No hard feelings?” I repeated.
“Are you joking right now?”

Another one chipped in, mouth still full with meat.
“Alaye, forget that one... this thing na business.”

“Business?”
I laughed once.
“So this is how you people do business? Standing behind the man that wants me dead?”

The first guy shrugged.
“This odogwu no talk say im wan kill you. Im just say make we stand with am.” Then he smiled.
“And wetin im give us make sense pass your own sef.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

That was when the third one spoke — the quiet one.
“Ogbeni,” he said, almost with a venom,
“that ₦10k advance wey you struggle to give us…”
He paused and lifted his suya.
“…na times two of that money this odogwu take buy dis suya for us.”

For a second, I thought he was joking.
Then he added cheerfully,
“The aboki still add jaara sef.”

The others laughed.

“And no be only that one o,” another guy added.

“He still promise say im go give us ₦800k,” the first one said. “Cool cash.”

I blinked.
“Wow...₦800k?” I repeated.

“Yes now,” he said.
“You wey talk say na ₦200k you go give us. Stingy modafvcker.”

Another one clapped softly.
“Ogbeni, no vex,” he said.
“Na business…”

I stared at them.
So this was how my life would end?
Not by bullets.
Not because I lack strategy.
Not because I wasn’t bold enough.
But because of inflation.

Chuka watched everything quietly, like a man observing children settle a playground issue.
Then he gave out an order.

“Guys, collect his phone.”

I didn’t move as two guys with guns rounded me and seized my phone from my pocket.

I looked at Cynthia.
She just stood there, arms akimbo, her face as blank as before.

I tried to catch her eyes — at least to beg her silently — but she avoided me completely.

“Get him on his knees,” Chuka commanded again.

Behind me, hands clamped down on my shoulders and shoved me hard, forcing my knees to the ground.

Chuka walked closer until I could see his shoes clearly.
Clean. Polished.

“So what are you going to do now? Kill me in cold blood?” I vented, breathing hard.

He crouched slightly so we were almost eye to eye.
“I’m not going to kill you with my bullet. That would be too risky. The boss might find out.” He stood up straight.
“What I’m going to do is this: I’ll take you to Third Mainland Bridge, tie your hands to the steering wheel of your car, and push you over the railings. That way, nobody will trace your death back to me.”

My head dropped instantly. The words sank into me like stones thrown into deep water.
I felt my chest tighten, my breath grow shallow. My mind stopped racing — it simply froze.
There was no plan left, no trick, no leverage. Just silence inside me.

I thought of the little girl at home, her fragile body fighting for survival. I thought of the promises I had made to myself, the battles I had fought, the prison walls I had endured. Tiffany and the battle ahead. And now, all of it seemed irrelevant.

Around me, the sound of chewing continued, the smell of suya mixing with the night air.
It was almost absurd — men eating meat while my life was being measured in seconds.

And in that moment, I understood something very clearly:
I didn’t lose because Chuka was smarter.
I lost because he understood people better than I did.

Chuka didn’t waste time.
He ordered the guys to tie my hands and legs together.

As they were tying me, I tried to look at Cynthia again, hoping for anything — eye contact, a sign, mercy — but she just stood there with her arms folded, calm, like someone watching a movie she had already seen before.

I resigned myself to fate. If this was the end, then so be it.

They opened the Prado door and were about to drop me in the back seat, still tied, when someone spoke from behind Chuka’s side.

“Enough.”

That was all.
The voice wasn't loud. Not even angry. But it was enough to freeze the air.


To be continued

Episode 75 – Two Can Play The Game.

Toyosi was still driving to her Mart when a strange feeling sat in her chest.
It was heavy, uneasy, and refused to go away.

Her fingers tapped the steering wheel harder than necessary, nails clicking against the leather as traffic lights blurred past her vision.

No, it wasn’t fear.
It was irritation — the kind that tells you the day has already gone bad and anything you do next will only make it worse.

She drove for less than a minute before scoffing to herself.
“Today is already wasted.”

At the next U-turn, she swung the car hard, tyres screeching loud enough to draw angry honks from other drivers.

“Go and die at home, bitch!” someone shouted.

“Iyalaya e… omo werey!” a Danfo conductor cursed from his bus.

Toyosi didn’t care.

As the car straightened, she reached for her phone and dialed her secretary.
“I won’t be coming to the supermarket again today,” she said without preamble.
“Yes. Cancel everything. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She ended the call before the woman could ask questions and drove home in silence, mind racing ahead of her.

She got home twenty minutes later and entered the compound without her usual grace.

The guards greeted her respectfully.
The dogs bounded toward her, tails wagging wildly, expecting the usual pats on their heads and her soft words.

She ignored everyone.
Even Cynthia, who had just entered the compound minutes earlier, was shocked at how strangely she was behaving.

Toyosi walked past them like a woman carrying something volatile inside her — something that would explode if touched.

She headed straight for the cellar.

Where we are

Episode 73 – Mask Off.

Toyosi drove into the mansion like a snake returning to its natural habitat.

The gates opened wide before the Black GLE even came to a full stop. Two massive dogs paced lazily along the driveway, tails swinging, eyes sharp. They recognized her immediately. No barking to create unnecessary tension. Just quiet acknowledgment of her presence.

Their body language said it all — boss daughter is home.

She parked, stepped out, and adjusted her jacket. The guards snapped to attention.

“Good afternoon, ma.”

“Afternoon,” she replied, already walking past them.

Aristotle wasn’t around. She could feel it in the air. The house was quieter than usual — no heavy footsteps, no low voices arguing about power and profit. Just space mixed with heavy silence.

She went straight to one of the rooms upstairs, dropped her bag, and collapsed briefly on the edge of the bed.

Her head was still buzzing.
Not from fear, but from the memory of fists, nails, and rage.

Tiffany’s face twisted with the smell of her betrayal.
The sharp slap landed between them.
The moment everything turned into a physical battle.

She remembered stumbling backward, her head nearly meeting the edge of the center table.

If she hadn’t quickly spoken about the poison, Tiffany would have smashed her skull open with that heavy wooden kondo.

A fight in a living room between two women who once called each other sisters.

Toyosi exhaled slowly and laughed — not because it was funny, but because she couldn’t believe it had ended that way between them. At least not so soon.

“Tiffany,” she muttered. “Always dramatic.”

She changed out of her clothes, wiped the faint scratch on her arm, and stared at herself in the mirror.

Her reflection didn’t look like a victim.
It looked like a woman who had chosen a side — and ready to pay the cost.

After a long moment, she walked out of the room and headed to the other wing of the house.

Her mother’s sitting room.
One of the big ones.
The one nobody entered unless they had news or unfinished business to discuss.

Her mother was seated exactly where Toyosi expected her — back straight, wrapper neatly tied, blouse on, glasses perched low on her nose, television on but ignored. She was in her early fifties, still beautiful. Her back assets and full‑blown breasts were the highlights of her beautiful MILF body. With her beauty, she could easily pass for Toyosi’s sister despite being her mother.

Toyosi stopped at the entrance.
“Good afternoon, ma.”

Her mother didn’t look up.
“So you’ve finally come to see me,” she said calmly. “I was beginning to think your pride would never allow you to see your own mother again.”

Join the telegram channel for continuation...

Episodes 1 - 41 is available for free on my Facebook page Darousmart Library .

Join My Telegram Channel for the continuations– Two Easy Options!

I want everyone to have a fair chance to access my Telegram channel, whether you have money or not. Here’s how:

💎 Option 1: Paid Access
- Subscription fee: ₦1,000 for 10 episodes.
- You get instant access, and new episodes will drop consistently — at least one every day.
- If you join after the first 10 episodes, you’ll pay ₦1,000 for episodes 42–51, then another ₦1,000 for episodes 52 onwards.
- This way, it’s fair for everyone — both early readers and those joining later.

I’m doing this so I can keep giving you high‑quality writing, tension, humour, emotions, and the kind of storytelling you’ve been enjoying.
If you’ve truly loved this story so far… if you want to keep following Darous, Tiffany, Kalu, Kenny, and The Circle mystery… then I believe this support won’t be too much.

Payment details: Contact me on WhatsApp.

Send your payment screenshot via WhatsApp, and you’ll receive the Telegram link instantly.

🌍 Option 2: Free Access Through Support
For those who don’t have money, you can still join by supporting my work:
- Go to my Facebook page @darousmart library
- Follow the page
- Share and like at least 20 of the previous episodes
- Then message me on WhatsApp, and I’ll send you the telegram link directly.

Whether you choose paid access or free support, you’ll still be part of this journey. Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for supporting my craft. Let’s continue this adventure together ❤️

Episode 72 - The Silent Diagnosis.

When we got to the estate clinic, Naomi was admitted immediately.

We sat in the clinic's waiting room, the air was heavy with silence.

Tiffany kept pacing. It was evident her mind was restless. You could see bruises on her forearm and a faint cut on her cheek from the fight with Toyosi, but none of that mattered to her now.

“Tiffany," I called her with a sharp tone. " You need to be more careful now. You seriously need to stop acting on impulse. If we are to win this battle, babe, you must keep your head clear.”

She turned on me, eyes blazing.
“What are you even saying, Darous? Do you think we would even know Naomi was poisoned if I hadn’t confronted that bitch? And now you want us to sit here and let the doctors work blindly? We should tell them what we know.”

I leaned forward, maintaining my firm tone.
“And tell them what, exactly? That we know it’s poison, but we don’t even know what type of poison it is?" I paused as she hissed. " The moment we say that, the doctor might see it as a conspiracy and may decide to involve the police. And once the police are involved, we’ll have to produce evidence against the daughter of the national security adviser. That’s like putting a bigger target on our backs.”

She shook her head, refusing to back down.
“So what then? We just sit here and watch her suffer?”



Join the telegram channel for continuation...

Episodes 1 - 41 is available for free on my Facebook page Darousmart Library .

Join My Telegram Channel for the continuations– Two Easy Options!

I want everyone to have a fair chance to access my Telegram channel, whether you have money or not. Here’s how:

💎 Option 1: Paid Access
- Subscription fee: ₦1,000 for 10 episodes.
- You get instant access, and new episodes will drop consistently — at least one every day.
- If you join after the first 10 episodes, you’ll pay ₦1,000 for episodes 42–51, then another ₦1,000 for episodes 52 onwards.
- This way, it’s fair for everyone — both early readers and those joining later.

I’m doing this so I can keep giving you high‑quality writing, tension, humour, emotions, and the kind of storytelling you’ve been enjoying.
If you’ve truly loved this story so far… if you want to keep following Darous, Tiffany, Kalu, Kenny, and The Circle mystery… then I believe this support won’t be too much.

Payment details: Contact me on WhatsApp.

Send your payment screenshot via WhatsApp, and you’ll receive the Telegram link instantly.

🌍 Option 2: Free Access Through Support
For those who don’t have money, you can still join by supporting my work:
- Go to my Facebook page @darousmart library
- Follow the page
- Share and like at least 20 of the previous episodes
- Then message me on WhatsApp, and I’ll send you the telegram link directly.

Whether you choose paid access or free support, you’ll still be part of this journey. Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for supporting my craft. Let’s continue this adventure together ❤️

EPISODE 71 – Five Symptoms.

Tiffany stepped forward toward where the stunned Toyosi was sitting.

Her flipflops dragged softly against the tiled floor, but in the silence, the sound felt louder than it should have.

Inside her, memories lined up against each other like soldiers on a battlefield.

Shared laughter showed up first, smiling like it was still innocent. But now it sounded fake, like a joke that had been hiding knives.

Then came the late-night talks, dragging promises and secrets. Words that once felt like loyalty now tasted like lies.

The meals followed too — plates of food she had cooked, the same food Tiffany had eaten without knowing poison was sitting at the table.

Even the money she gave showed up, waving like a gift, but now it looked like bait. A trap dressed as kindness.

Every memory lined up, not to comfort her, but to mock her. Six years of friendship, six years of trust — all of it twisting into proof that Toyosi had been the pain she was feeling all along.

Everything she once trusted about Toyosi was cracking all at once, and her body responded before her thoughts could organize themselves.

"Poison, not wine! That’s what you deserve… you bitch!” Tiffany screamed, her voice shaking with rage.

Toyosi turned her head around as the words landed again.
She straightened in her seat, eyes narrowing slightly, studying Tiffany the way a student studies a difficult question they hadn’t prepared for.

“Excuse me?” Toyosi said, blinking once.
“What did I just hear you say to me, Tiff?”

“Don’t Tiff me kankan,” Tiffany snapped.
“Omo Aristotle.”

Join the telegram channel for continuation...

Episodes 1 - 41 is available for free on my Facebook page Darousmart Library .

Join My Telegram Channel for the continuations– Two Easy Options!

I want everyone to have a fair chance to access my Telegram channel, whether you have money or not. Here’s how:

💎 Option 1: Paid Access
- Subscription fee: ₦1,000 for 10 episodes.
- You get instant access, and new episodes will drop consistently — at least one every day.
- If you join after the first 10 episodes, you’ll pay ₦1,000 for episodes 42–51, then another ₦1,000 for episodes 52 onwards.
- This way, it’s fair for everyone — both early readers and those joining later.

I’m doing this so I can keep giving you high‑quality writing, tension, humour, emotions, and the kind of storytelling you’ve been enjoying.
If you’ve truly loved this story so far… if you want to keep following Darous, Tiffany, Kalu, Kenny, and The Circle mystery… then I believe this support won’t be too much.

Payment details: Contact me on WhatsApp.

Send your payment screenshot via WhatsApp, and you’ll receive the Telegram link instantly.

🌍 Option 2: Free Access Through Support
For those who don’t have money, you can still join by supporting my work:
- Go to my Facebook page @darousmart library
- Follow the page
- Share and like at least 20 of the previous episodes
- Then message me on WhatsApp, and I’ll send you the telegram link directly.

Whether you choose paid access or free support, you’ll still be part of this journey. Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for supporting my craft. Let’s continue this adventure together ❤️