Outside, the quiet hum of the traffic filtered in, but inside, the world felt completely frozen.

Tari sat on the edge of the rug, her knees pulled tight against her chest, staring blankly at the untouched glass of water on the glass coffee table. Her eyes were swollen and rimmed with a raw red that made her rich, mahogany skin look pale and drained. It had been two days since they buried Kene in Asaba, and two weeks since the telephone call that shattered everything, since the word accident ripped her world clean down the middle on the Benin-Ore expressway.

A quiet, barefoot step sounded on the hardwood behind her.

Zane set a steam-filled bowl of Indomie on the table next to the water, the rich aroma of red pepper and onions cutting through the sterile, air-conditioned chill of the apartment. He dropped heavily to the floor beside her, resting his back against the base of the couch. He looked utterly spent. His sharp Edo-Igbo features, usually so refined and composed, were drawn tight with an unspoken, heavy grief. His black suit trousers were still on, the white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“You haven’t eaten since we got back from the airport, Tari,” Zane said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

Tari didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, the lump in her throat felt like swallowing broken glass.

“I keep waiting for him to walk through that door,” she whispered finally, her voice cracking into the quiet room.

“I keep thinking he’s just late because of traffic. Like he’s going to barge in, complain about the heat, and ask why we’re sitting in the dark.”

Zane let out a breath that sounded like a ragged sigh, leaning his head back against the cushion.

“He loved dramatic entrances. Remember that trip to Enugu three years ago? He missed the bus, hired a whole taxi to chase us down the highway, and acted like he was the hero of an action movie when he caught up.”

A tiny, painful breath escaped Tari’s lips— half a laugh, half a sob.

“He called me five times that day just to make sure I saved him the window seat. He was so loud, Zane. How is the world this quiet when someone that loud is gone?”

Zane turned toward her, slowly reaching out to unclasp her small, white-knuckled fingers from her shins. His hand was warm, broad, and steady against her cold skin.

“I don’t know, Tari,” he said softly, his own eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I look at my phone and I still want to call him to ask what shirt I should wear or what project we’re bidding on next. He was my brother too. But we’re going to hold onto each other, okay? I promised him a long time ago I’d always look out for you.”

He reached out, turning her chin toward him with gentle pressure.

“Come on,” he murmured, his thumb catching a stray tear on her cheek.

“Eat a little bit for me, okay? Baby, please.”

The endearment slipped off his tongue as naturally as breathing. It was the name Kene had given her twenty years ago when she was born— seven full years after him. It was the name his best friend— Zane had picked up and echoed for the past decade every time he walked through the front gate of their family house, tossing a bag of plantain chips at her or teasing her about her oversized school uniform.

Hearing it now cut straight through the cold numbness in Tari’s chest. A choked sob broke from her lips, and before she could stop herself, she leaned forward, burying her face into the crook of Zane’s neck.

Zane didn’t hesitate for a second. His long arms wrapped around her slender frame, pulling her tight against his chest as his own shoulders heaved with quiet, silent tears. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, rocking her slowly in the dim light of the living room.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into her braided hair, his hand smoothing down her back over and over again.

“I’m right here, Baby.”

Tari held on to his linen shirt like a lifeline, feeling the strong, rhythmic thud of his heart against her cheek.

In that dark room, enveloped in his scent of sandalwood, sweet sweat, and rain, a seed was planted deep, silent, and entirely unnoticed by the man holding her.

Two Years Later

“Tari, if you don’t grab those layout boards right now, we’re going to miss the entire pitch window,” Zane called out, adjusting the silver links of his wristwatch in the hallway mirror.

Tari stepped out of the guest room, clutching a fresh stack of architectural renderings. She paused in the hallway for a fraction of a second just to take him in.

At twenty-seven, Zane was breathtaking. Tall, broad-shouldered, with cut cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and an effortless, quiet authority that made people stop and look whenever he walked into a boardroom.

“I’ve been ready for ten minutes, Zane,” Tari said, smoothing down the front of her high-waisted, silk jumpsuit.

She was twenty-two now, working full-time as a junior designer at a firm in Lekki, and no longer the broken twenty-year-old girl who had slept on her late brother’s best friend’s living room couch for a month.

Over the past two years, her raw grief had settled into a quiet, manageable scar, but something else had sprouted in its place. Every time Zane smiled at her across the dinner table, every time he casually draped an arm over her shoulder at family gatherings, her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She was hopelessly, entirely in love with him.

Zane turned around, his eyes scanning her outfit before he gave an approving, dimpled nod. He stepped closer, reaching out to playfully pinch her cheek.

“Look at you, all grown up and looking like a real partner. Let’s go, Baby.”

Tari’s breath hitched slightly, a familiar flutter rising in her throat. She tucked her hair behind her ear and followed him out to his car, locking the feeling deep inside where it had lived for two long years.

Later that evening, after securing the contract for a huge commercial project, Zane took her out to celebrate at an exclusive rooftop lounge. Tari sat beside him on a high leather barstool, sipping her hibiscus cocktail and listening to him laugh with the bartender.

She felt close to him— closer than anyone else was allowed to be. She was the one who knew how he took his coffee, the one who knew he couldn’t sleep without a fan on, the one who held his secret grief when Kene’s death anniversary rolled around.

Then the glass doors of the lounge swung open, and a tall, striking woman in a sleek beige suit walked in, her heels clicking smartly against the tiled floor.

“Zane!” the woman called out, her face lighting up with a warm, polished smile as she glided toward their table.

“Nkem,” Zane said, standing up instantly. He pulled the woman into his side, dropping a casual, familiar kiss on her cheek.

Tari’s stomach dropped into a cold, hollow abyss.

“Nkem, this is Tari,” Zane said smoothly, leaning back against the high table and gesturing toward Tari with a proud smile.

“Tari, this is Nkem. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now.”

Nkem’s eyes brightened with polite interest.

“Oh! The junior designer you’re always talking about?”

“The very one,” Zane chuckled softly, placing a light, protective hand on the back of Tari’s chair.

“This is my late best friend’s little sister. Basically my baby sister.”

The words hung in the warm, humid evening air like a deliberate slap to the face.

Baby sister.

Tari felt the smile freeze completely on her lips, her pulse roaring in her ears. She stared at Zane’s easy, affectionate expression, realizing with a brutal, sickening clarity that while she had spent two years falling for the man who saved her, he still looked at her and only saw a child in need of keeping.

It’s been a while. Oh my gosh, I’ve missed you guys so, so much. 🥹

Just a little life update!!

Your girl has been doing great things with her free time, and I have two Goodnews to share.

First one: I got my job back!

Inserts Happy Dance 💃

My boss called me, and we had a heart-to-heart. Adjustments have been made, and I have my job back, but I went back with the mindset of still pushing myself forward and building my personal brand.

Second one:

On the topic of building myself, I just relaunched my Christian T-shirt brand! Preorder started today, and genuinely, I’m scared. 😭 There’s been no sale at all, but fingers crossed. With God on my side and the right marketing, we will get to the right audience.

I’ll attach a photo of some of the DROP 001 pieces we have on ground.

Wanna check the others out and probably order? Here’s the website link. 🥹

Check Here

That being said, your girl is building a brand. I’m so emotional, I wanna cry. 😭

Also, live update: I graduated from CCI Membership School two weeks ago! I finally feel like a full member. Church has been amazing, and my walk with God has been sweet too. God is helping me. ❤️

On the topic of love and relationship… Hmmmmm. 😂

I’ve been seeing the trend of what married people say about relationships, and omoooo, the pressure is getting wesser daily. 😭

Sha, sha, sha. No pressure on this side. I’m gladly building even though I admire them.

Also, I saw the wedding photos of someone that asked me out a while back, and the thought of, “That could have been you beside him,” crept into my heart.

The way I cast that thought out ehhh. 😂

The reasons why I refused to date him are still very valid, and I refuse to regret rejecting him just because I wanna get married.

I’m actually really happy for him. ❤️

Love and relationships have been far from my mind so far. I just wanna build myself, and whenever Abba says it’s time, my baby will come. ❤️

So far, so good, babies. That’s what’s been happening with me. I just thought to update my fam and let you guys know I still love ya’ll.

P.S.: We are 4 persons away from 1k subscribers.

Feels so surreal.
Screams in excitement! 😭😭

Thank you for being here, babiesssss… 🥹❤️

Happy 1k subs in the future. 😂

I love you guys so, so much. ❤️

Till next time.

Where do I even start from?

It’s been a really rough past few weeks for me. Hmmm… I honestly don’t even know where to begin, but I guess I’ll start with an apology.

I haven’t updated any episode of our story, and I disappeared without a word for weeks. I feel so bad about it. I’m so sorry, babiesss. 💙

I felt like I owe you guys an explanation because you’re not just readers to me anymore. You’re my little community, and you’ve supported me so much.

So, here’s a little breakdown of everything that has been happening.

For a little backstory, I work multiple jobs while also running two businesses, and by God’s grace, I am the Visioneer of a Foundation. So life has been… a lot.

A few weeks ago, one of my jobs had me in an absolute chokehold. I was handling a lot of intensive data work, and by the end of each day, I was completely drained mentally.

Every day, I’d tell myself, “I’ll update Substack tomorrow,” but tomorrow kept moving further away.

Then, just when I thought I’d finally have the chance to come back here…

I lost my other job.

Hmmm.

I can’t even begin to explain how much I have cried. (I still cried this morning. Ugly and snotty tears. 😂😂)

What’s funny is that, I think the Holy Spirit had been preparing me for it. He kept giving me little nudges that I was going to lose that job, but I didn’t really take them seriously until it actually happened.

I’m still a little shocked, if I’m being honest. Part of me is still in denial because I genuinely never saw it coming.

That job was my major source of income, so losing it really shook me.

For a while, I have been asking God, “What now?”

But in the middle of all that crying and confusion, I started realizing something.

God has been telling me for a while now to build my career and invest in my personal brand. I kept putting it off because I was comfortable. I depended so much on that job that I never really saw the urgency to build something that was mine.

Sometimes God allows the things we’re leaning on to be shaken so we’ll finally lean on Him.

I’m grateful that I have some money to hold body while I figure out my next steps.

To make everything even heavier, business has been slow too.

If you’re an entrepreneur, you probably know how emotionally exhausting that can be. You start questioning yourself, wondering if you’re doing enough, wondering if people still believe in what you’re building.

Then there’s the foundation.

For those who don’t know, I am the Visioneer of KBS Care Foundation, and next month we’re planning an outreach in a rural community. Our goal is to provide sanitary pads for young girls, educate them on menstrual health and sexual abuse awareness, and most importantly, share the love of God with them.

I had honestly planned to use part of my pay from that job to cover some of the outreach expenses while we continued applying for sponsorships.

Now that the job is gone, I’ve found myself wondering where the support will come from.

Some days, I don’t know where to find sponsors. Other days, I don’t even have the emotional strength to sit down and write proposal emails.

But one thing I do know is this: if God gave us the vision, He already has a provision.

I’m also incredibly grateful for my teammates. They’ve reminded me that I don’t have to carry this burden alone, and I’m thankful to God for every one of them.

This whole season has forced me to slow down and really think about my life.

I don’t have everything figured out yet. In fact, I have more questions than answers right now. But one thing I know for sure is that it’s time to stop playing safe.

It’s time to take a step of faith.

Maybe even a leap of faith.

My mum always says that when one door closes, it’s usually because God is preparing to open bigger ones.

I’m choosing to believe that.

I don’t know exactly what the next few months will look like, but I know who holds them.

So if I’m a little quiet for a while longer, please bear with me. I’m rebuilding. I’m praying. I’m learning. I’m trusting God to lead me into whatever this next chapter is supposed to be.

And no, I’m not giving up on us or on this space.

The story will continue.

I just need a little grace while I find my footing again.

Please keep me in your prayers, babiesss. 🥹

I refuse to let this season make me bitter. I refuse to let it steal my joy. I refuse to become depressed.

Instead, I’m choosing gratitude.

Because even here… even now… God is still good.

And in everything, I will give thanks.

I love you all so much.

Thank you for waiting for me. 🙏🙏

With all my love,

ABBA’s Mouthpiece💙💙

The curtains in Tammy’s apartment were only half-drawn, letting in a sharp, silver slice of the Lagos sun that cut across the cool parlor. She sat at her small dining table, an untouched cup of green tea steaming faintly next to her tablet, her mind already running through her schedule for the week.

She picked up her phone, scrolled through her contacts until she found Femi’s name, and hit the dial button. It rang twice before Femi’s voice came through, clear, sharp, and completely awake, though the distant, rhythmic hum of Lagos traffic suggested he was already on the move.

“Hey, Tam Tam! I was about to call you,” Femi said.

“I’m already on my way to the address you texted me on WhatsApp.”

Tammy smiled, leaning back in her chair.

“Good morning, Femi. Alright. I was just calling to make sure you didn’t forget the meeting with Setto today.”

“Forget? Please,” Femi scoffed lightly, a quiet chuckle coming through the line.

“I already looked through the document you sent over. I have been able to restructure a few things in the tax layout. The central bank won’t even find a single loose thread to pull when I’m done presenting.”

“Perfect. He’s expecting you, I trust you to do well.” Tammy said, a genuine note of pride in her voice.

The moment she hung up, she immediately dialed Setto’s line.

Over in the pristine penthouse suite of the Bello company, Setto’s phone vibrated against the desk. He picked it up, his rugged features softening the instant he saw the caller ID. He swiped across the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hi, babyyy,” Setto murmured, his voice dropping into that low, unhurried register he reserved strictly for her.

Across the desk, curled up in one of his visitors’ leather chairs with her legs tucked under her, Koda let out a loud, deeply irritated hiss.

She rolled her eyes so hard she practically stared at the ceiling, her silver bangles clattering sharply against the armrest as she shifted her weight.

Setto didn’t break his stride on the phone, but his eyes snapped toward his sister, pinning her with a hard, warning look. Koda didn’t care.

She simply stared back at him, her chin tilted up in pure defiance. She had never liked Tammy— never liked how easily the woman had walked into Setto’s carefully guarded life and rewritten his routines.

“Femi is on his way,” Tammy said on the other end. “He should be at the office before 10:00 AM.”

“That’s great,” Setto replied, keeping his steady gaze fixed on Koda, who was now deliberately tracing an invisible, aggressive pattern on her dress to ignore him.

“I’ll be expecting him. Did you get the perfume I sent over to your place yesterday?”

A soft laugh came from Tammy’s end.

“I did. I’m actually wearing it right now. I love it, darling.”

“That’s good,” Setto said softly, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

“How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?”

“I slept beautifully. Let me not distract you from your work. Take care of yourself and don’t stress too much, okay?”

“Alright, princess. Speak to you later.” Setto dropped the phone back onto the desk and let out a long, slow breath.

He leaned back in his chair, his hands flat on the desk as he looked at his younger sister.

“Koda, what is your problem this morning?” Setto asked, his tone completely flat.

“You’ve been sitting there throwing tantrums like a child. Why exactly are you here?”

Koda dropped her feet to the floor, sitting up straight and adjusting the strap of her outfit.

“It’s barely 9:00 AM and you’re already doing ‘hi baby’ on a Monday morning. It’s exhausting, bro. But that’s not why I’m here.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wood.

“I’m here because I need you to call Tunde. I need him for my gallery.”

Setto frowned, leaning his head back slightly.

“Tunde? Tunde is in London. What does he have to do with your gallery?”

“His uncle is the chairman of the board for the national museum complex,” Koda said, her voice rising.

“My contemporary African exhibition is next month. The administrative staff at the museum are playing games with my booking. They are telling me the secondary hall is undergoing ‘unscheduled maintenance,’ which is just code for ‘we want a bribe.’ If I don’t get that space, half of my large-scale canvas pieces won’t even fit in the building.”

“So write an official petition to the board,” Setto said smoothly, picking up his pen with practiced efficiency.

“You have a registered gallery, Koda. Follow the due process.”

“Due process takes six months in this country and you know it!” Koda snapped, throwing her hands up, her jewelry clinking furiously.

“Why must everything be a lecture with you? You businessmen spend the whole day leveraging connections over lunches and golf games, but the moment I ask you to use your network to help me, it becomes a crime. It’s just one phone call, Setto. Just tell Tunde to ask his uncle to clear the bureaucratic nonsense.”

Setto watched her for a long moment, his expression completely unreadable.

“It’s not about the phone call, Koda. It’s about you learning how to navigate these institutions without expecting a family intervention every time you hit a wall.”

“I am hitting a wall because of corruption, not because of a lack of talent,” Koda muttered, sinking back into the deep leather chair, her lips puckered into a hard pout.

“If it was Tammy asking you to help her out, you would have gotten up from that chair yourself.”

Setto’s jaw tightened instantly. “Leave Tammy out of this.”

His phone vibrated on the desk. He looked at it, stood up and pulled his suit straight.

“Koda, I have to quickly drop down to the fourth floor to sign off on a clearance manifest before the managers leave. When I get back, we’ll talk about Tunde.”

“Okay,” she muttered, adjusting her silver bangles as he walked out, the oak door clicking shut behind him.

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The silence of the penthouse office rushed back in, punctuated only by the low hum of the air conditioning. Koda slumped back against the leather sofa, staring at her nails, still irritated by the whole morning.

A few minutes later, the door handle turned.

Koda expected Setto, but instead, Linda, the secretary, stepped into the room, followed closely by Femi.

He was impeccably put together in his navy-blue suit, a laptop bag held under his arm.

The subtle, rich scent of his cologne— something sharp, woody, and expensive, flooded the sterile office air before he even spoke.

As they crossed the threshold, Femi’s eyes instantly caught Koda on the sofa.

“Good morning, Koda,” he said, offering a warm, easy smile.

Koda didn’t even turn her neck. She looked straight ahead at the wall, lifting her chin slightly, snubbing him completely.

Linda looked around, realizing Setto hadn’t returned yet.

“Mr. Bello stepped down for a quick manifestation review, Mr. Femi,” Linda said politely, gesturing toward the seating area.

“He asks that you please take a seat. He will be up in less than five minutes.”

“No problem at all, Linda. Thank you,” Femi replied.

Linda nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind her.

The moment the latch clicked shut, the silence in the room stretched tense.

Femi strolled over, entirely unbothered by the frost radiating from her side of the room, and took the chair directly across from the coffee table. He settled in, placing his laptop bag neatly on the floor.

“You didn’t respond to my greeting earlier. I guess you didn’t hear me. Good morning, Koda.” Femi repeated.

“Is it a must for me to answer you?” Koda snapped suddenly, turning her head to glare at him.

Her voice carried that unmistakable underlying Northern accent beneath her vowels that Femi found a bit captivating.

She was crossing her arms tightly, trying desperately to mask the sudden, irregular flutter blooming in her chest.

Femi burst into a soft, quiet chuckle, leaning his elbow on the armrest and resting his chin on his knuckles.

He found her dramatic theatrics completely endearing.

“A must? Not at all. But it is polite. Last time I checked, a simple good morning doesn’t cost anything.”

“Well, my morning was going perfectly well until you walked in,” she muttered, turning her nose up.

Against her own will, however, her eyes kept slipping sideways, tracking his profile.

She found her gaze lingering on the ridiculously sharp, clean line of his jawline. His skin was smooth, carrying that healthy, luminous glow of someone who lived entirely in temperate weather and filtered rooms, completely untouched by the harsh Lagos sun. It was infuriating how attractive he was, and it made her angrier.

“You’ve been remarkably hostile to me since the first day we met, Koda,” Femi said, his voice dropping into a calmer, softer register that seemed to vibrate in the quiet space.

His eyes scanned her features, the elegant, pointed line of her nose, and the small, sharply defined lips that emphasized her Fulani heritage so beautifully.

“Why is that? Did I do something to offend you?”

Koda shifted uncomfortably, her bangles jingling aggressively. She wanted to poke at him, to find a way to push him back out of her space.

“I am just wondering how your girlfriend even condones this incredibly smug, snobbish attitude of yours. She must have the patience of a saint.”

Femi’s smile widened, a playfulness entering his eyes.

“Smug and snobbish? That’s ironic, considering you have been coming at me since we met. But if you’re trying to find out if there’s a girlfriend somewhere, you can rest your mind. I’m actually single.”

Koda’s cheeks flared with a sudden, hot wave of blood.

She hissed loudly, looking away toward the windows to hide the sudden flutter in her throat.

“Find out? For what? What is my business with your relationship status? Please, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Then why ask?” Femi replied smoothly.

Koda turned back to him, her eyes flashing with a disdainful look, even though a deep, unexplained curiosity was clawing at her.

“I asked because I want to know exactly why you’re always hanging around. You’re Tammy’s ex, aren’t you? I just find it hilarious and completely suspicious that you’re here working with my brother.”

Femi shook his head slowly, his expression softening into genuine amusement.

“Tammy’s ex? So that’s what you think.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, bringing himself closer into her space.

“For your information, we never dated. We are just friends.”

He studied her face, watching the way her small lips parted slightly as she processed the information.

“But it’s interesting how much trouble you took to think about my past.”

“I did not think about your past!” Koda muttered, her voice rising in defense as she felt her breath cutting remarkably short.

His proximity was doing something terrible to her senses. The woody, rich notes of his perfume felt like a physical weight in her chest, making it hard to think.

“Hmmmm,” Femi murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet weight.

“I really do wonder why such a beautiful woman has such a bad mouth.”

Koda’s head snapped back around, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he whispered.

Femi didn’t back down.

The bickering completely died away, replaced by a thick, heavy silence that hung between them.

For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Koda found herself completely trapped, lost in the steady warmth of his gaze, her breath catching entirely in her throat.

The door swung open with a sudden bang.

The spell shattered instantly. Both of them recoiled, Femi shifting back into his chair while Koda snapped her head away, her chest heaving as she tried to force her breathing back to normal.

Setto walked back into the office, a set of signed documents in his hand.

He stopped mid-stride, his eyes darting between the two of them. Femi was clearing his throat, adjusting his suit jacket, while Koda was breathing remarkably hard, her face flushed a deep crimson.

“Koda?” Setto frowned, his tone flat.

“What is wrong with you? Are you fine?”

Koda stood up abruptly, letting out a loud, defensive hiss that vibrated through the room.

“Nothing is wrong with me, Setto! Just do your meeting!”

She marched past Femi without looking at him, practically throwing herself onto the far sofa near the window, her back turned to them completely.

Setto stared at her for a moment longer, shook his head at her dramatic behavior, and walked back to his desk.

“Hello, Mr. Bello. Thank you for inviting me over,” Femi said, his voice instantly transitioning back to a smooth, professional register as he stretched out his hand.

Setto extended his hand across the desk.

“Mr. Femi. Good to see you. Please have a seat. Glad the traffic didn’t hold you back on the bridge.”

“It was tight, but we managed,” Femi said, shaking Setto’s hand with a firm grip. He took the leather chair across from the desk, opening his laptop.

“Great. So what do you have for me?” Setto demanded.

Femi pulled up a trade chart and turned the screen toward Setto.

“Mr. Bello, the current plan your previous consultants gave you for the South African transit is a tax trap. They suggested routing the money directly into your local accounts as an investment. If you do that, the government will flag it under capital flight regulations, and you’ll be hit with a fifteen percent withholding tax immediately.”

Setto leaned forward, his eyes locking onto the screen.

“A fifteen percent hit destroys our margin. What’s the alternative?”

“We utilize your Mauritian holding company,” Femi explained simply, keeping the professional talk clear and direct.

“The Mauritius company buys the heavy-duty trucks directly from the manufacturer. Your local firm here then leases the fleet from Mauritius. You pay a nominal lease fee, which counts as an operational expense.”

Setto’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“That shifts the cash flow from an investment influx to an operational expense.”

“Exactly,” Femi nodded.

“An operational expense cuts your local tax exposure down to less than four percent. It keeps the capital movement entirely within international compliance, meaning the Central Bank cannot touch it, and the South African reserve bank will clear it without a single query.”

Setto spent the next few minutes reviewing the numbers, throwing a couple of minor questions about currency fluctuations at Femi, but Femi countered each one effortlessly.

“Clean,” Setto finally said, leaning back in his chair with a deep sense of satisfaction.

“This is exactly what I needed before the 5:00 PM board meeting.”

“Glad to help,” Femi said, closing his laptop and standing up.

He buttoned his suit jacket with a quick flick of his wrist.

“I have to rush now, Mr. Bello. I have another client meeting over at Victoria Island soon.”

“No problem. I’ll call you soon with the final decision from the directors,” Setto said, rising to accompany him to the door.

Femi stepped out into the reception lobby, purposefully not casting a single glance back at the corner of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving the office completely quiet once more. Setto stood by the doorway, while a sharp hiss broke the silence from the far sofa.

Setto turned around. Koda was standing up, her arms crossed tightly.

“Big bro, I don’t understand you at all. Why on earth are you working with that boy? He is Tammy’s ex, also he is arrogant and has too much attitude.”

Setto walked back to his desk and sat down, a small, amused expression appearing on his face.

“The ‘boy’ just saved this company millions in tax exposure in less than half an hour. And he is not Tammy’s ex, Koda. They are just friends. I have a right to work with whoever I want.”

Koda rolled her eyes dramatically, tossing her head back with a loud scoff.

“Whatever! I just don’t like him.”

Setto leaned back, a low smile breaking through his features.

“Koda... is there actually anyone in this world that you ever like? Apart from your paintbrushes?”

Koda froze, a small, reluctant smile cracking through her frown as she let out a short laugh.

“I actually like you, dad, mom and all our siblings.”

“You see, you need help.” Setto laughed.

Koda turned her head back toward the glass window, completely ignoring her brother’s teasing.

Her mind was racing, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake it. Femi’s symmetrical face, the sharp, irritatingly perfect line of his jaw, and that intoxicating, woody scent of his perfume were completely stuck in her head.

Even though he had walked out minutes ago, the air around her still felt heavy with his presence.

She vigorously shook her head, pressing her fingers against her temples in frustration.

Gosh, I seriously think I have issues with my head, she thought to herself, furious at her own reflection in the glass. I need to get my brain examined.

Read Previous Episode Here

Tammy sat on her bed that night after leaving Setto’s office. She was looking at the three faces on her screen, feeling a deep, overwhelming wave of gratitude.

“I am telling you, Sister Tammy, do not listen to them,” Tope had said, his voice cracking through the phone speaker, his hand gesturing fiercely.

“Uncle is just looking for who to control. Since we were kids, he always felt like his word is yes and amen. If he says he won’t give his consent because Setto is from the north, then let him keep his consent in his pocket. We are your immediate family. We are the ones who share your blood, not some uncles who only appear when it is time to eat rice.”

“Tope, you and this your bad mouth” Shindara giggled trying to steady her phone on the night stand.

“But sister, the boy is right. I called Aunty Kehinde this afternoon to find out why she was screaming at you like that. You know I’m not scared of them. Do you know what she told me? She said I don’t have any atom of respect for her.”

She turned her face fully toward her camera, looking directly at Tammy.

“Then she went ahead to say ehhh instead of me to advice you not to enter a house where you will become the fourth wife, I am busy talking to her like she’s my mate. That if I don’t know, these mallams always hide their real families in the village until the wedding is over. Can you imagine the level of ignorance? They are not ready to listen, sister. If we wait for them to give their blessings, you will be fifty before you marry the man you love.”

“Exactly,” Temitope had chipped in, leaning closer to her phone, her voice dropping into a whisper.

“The three of us are here. We are your siblings. If Setto is ready, we are ready. We will stand as your family. You have Valerie and Purity. You have our husbands and friends too. We will occupy the front rows of that church, and Tope will walk you down the aisle. Let the uncles and aunties stay in their houses and eat their pride. We will have this wedding without them.”

Tammy felt like crying.

“Thank you, guys. Thank you so much. I love you guys so so much.”

“We love you too” They all replied in unison.

Her siblings loved her, and because they saw how Setto looked after her, they were ready to risk the family’s wrath for her happiness.

The morning sun broke through the glass blinds of Setto’s private office.

Outside, the characteristic hum of the city, the distant, rhythmic blaring of yellow danfo buses, the low rumble of corporate generators, and the sharp chatter of vendors down the street, felt miles away.

Inside, the central air conditioning kept the space at a crisp, sterile temperature that smelled of leather polish, high-grade bond paper, and the rich, dark espresso Setto had poured himself.

“The lawyer called me this morning,” Setto said to Tammy as she scrolled through Instagram on her phone.

“He went through the custody paperwork, the abandonment report from the welfare agency, and the final decree. He said I should relax. The law in this country does not favor a ghost who decides to become a mother after months of silence.”

Tammy dropped her phone on her lap and leaned her head back against the sofa she was lounging on, her eyes tracking the steady movement of his chest.

“I told you. She can not win custody over Eliana. It’s been two days now and she still hasn’t called nor contacted you. That just shows that she was making empty threats.”

“Yeah. But I still wouldn’t take chances. My lawyers have already filed a precautionary restriction order. She can’t gain access to her. That’s by the way, let’s forget about Chloe. What did Pastor Ade say when you called?”

Tammy let out a long, slow sigh, her fingers instinctively reaching out to hold her phone steady.

“He said we should hold on. You know he traveled with his family on a vacation. He said when lands back in Lagos next week, he would inform me so we come to the parsonage. He asked me not to be bothered about my family. He knows how rigid they can be but has promised to pray alongside us and also try to contact them after we meet him.”

“Okay, baby. We will wait for him,” Setto said.

“Left to me, Setto, let’s go ahead and do this wedding without my family being involved.” She hisses under her breath.

“Like I told you before, baby,” he leans his desk and comes close to her on the sofa, his eyes never leaving hers.

He holds her hands gently.

“I am not a boy hiding under a bed. I want to do this right. I want to meet your extended family and do the traditional rites. I want their blessing. No matter how angry they are right now, we must give them the respect of an honorable approach.”

“No,” Tammy said immediately, her voice dropping into a cold, flat register.

She sat up straight, pulling away from his grip slightly, her eyes flashing fiercely.

“Setto, even my siblings are in support of us doing the wedding without my aunties and uncles .”

Setto watched her, his expression calm but serious.

“Baby, what happened to calling me Temi? You’ve called me Setto about 10 times today and it’s making me cringe”

Tammy squeezed his fingers apologetically with a pout, “Sorry, sorry, Temi.” She gives a small smile.

“No, babe. Say it like you mean it. Plus, you can call me babe, my love, baby, or even, my heart. It won’t hurt.”

“Urghhhhh!!” She groaned.

“I’ll try. But for now, let’s face the matter at hand. I don’t want my family involved in this wedding. If after P.Ade speaks to them, they don’t budge, we will go ahead and have the wedding. Like I said, my siblings are right behind me.”

“Your siblings are good people,” Setto said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles against her palm.

“I just hope your family doesn’t still acts adamant. But if it comes to that, baby... if the elders completely close the door in our faces, then I will gladly take you from the hands of your brother. But like you said, let us still hear what Pastor Ade says when he returns from his trip. Deal?”

“Deal,” Tammy murmured, her posture relaxing again as she leaned back into the sofa.

Setto let out a long breath and went back to his desk, pulling a thick blue folder toward him, flipping it open to reveal several pages of trade charts, port allocation logs, and financial projections.

He sat across from her on the sofa.

“On to other matters, the South African deal I told you of. Pieter van der Merwe’s board approved the demurrage clause yesterday morning. They are ready to sign the primary contract, but there is a major knot we need to untie before the first vessel leaves Durban.”

Tammy took the file from his hands and looked at the spreadsheets, her eyes scanning the columns.

“What’s the knot?”

“The currency fluctuation and the offshore tax structure,” Setto explained, his finger tracing a row of figures.

“We are moving high-volume natural resources through a multi-jurisdictional transit route. The capital will be coming from Johannesburg, clearing through a holding company in Mauritius, and landing in our local accounts in Lagos for the haulage operations. If our corporate tax structure isn’t entirely seamless, the local regulatory bodies will flag the transactions as capital flight. I need a top-tier corporate finance advisor, someone who doesn’t just know standard accounting, but someone who understands international trade compliance and maritime tax laws.”

He rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing. “I’ve looked at three different agencies this morning. Their retainers are ridiculous, and they are offering me standard, textbook solutions. I don’t need a textbook accountant, Tammy. I need someone sharp, someone who can spot the loopholes before the central bank even creates them.”

Tammy stared at the paper for a long second, her mind trying to think of who she could recommend.

Suddenly, her eyes widened, “Ah!”

She snapped her fingers, turning her head so fast her bun shifted slightly.

“Ehenn!! I know the guy for the job! Femi! Why didn’t I think of him since?”

Setto blinked, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Femi? Which Femi?”

“Femi! My friend nau,” she said, her voice rising.

“He studied international corporate finance and accounting for his master’s at Salford, and then he worked with one of the biggest forensic accounting and trade compliance firms in Manchester for a while before he moved back to Nigeria. I promise you, when it comes to offshore tax structures, Femi is an absolute demon. He literally does this in his sleep.”

Setto’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed just a fraction— the subtle, instinctual reaction of a protective man hearing his woman praise another man’s intelligence with so much enthusiasm.

He shrugged, his voice dropping into a slightly casual tone.

“Really? Femi. Okay. Is he that good, or is because he is your friend?”

Tammy noticed the tiny shift in his posture, the slight tightening of his jaw, and a small, mischievous smile played at the corners of her lips.

She reached up, patting his cheek gently.

“Temi, I promise you he is good. Very good. He consulted for two major oil servicing companies in Port Harcourt last month. If he looks at this deal, I believe that he will find the solution in thirty minutes.”

Setto shrugged again, trying to look entirely objective.

“Okay. If you say so. If he’s that good, call him. Let’s see if he can come over for a preliminary meeting.”

Tammy picked her phone from her lap, unlocking it. She dialed the number and put it on speaker, resting the device in front of them so Setto could hear the conversation.

The phone rang three times before Femi’s voice erupted through the speaker, carrying that distinct, slightly polished British-Nigerian accent.

“Ahnahnn! Look who is calling me! Tammy of the Most High! It’s been a while”

Tammy laughed.

“Femi Femooo! How are you? How are things?”

“I am good, darling, living the Nigerian dream, which mostly involves fighting with traffic and electricity bills,”

Femi laughed over the line.

“But wait, you’ve been completely off the radar for a while. I spoke to your brother and he told me you were resting. Is everything fine with you?”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Tammy said, her eyes shifting to Setto, who was staring at the phone with a completely unreadable, stoic expression.

“I’ve just been resting and taking care of myself. You know how the Lagos stress can accumulate.”

“Ah, that’s nice. You definitely need it,” Femi said, his tone turning warmer, genuinely fond.

“ So, to what do I owe this rare privilege of a phone call?”

“Well, I’m actually calling because of Setto, my man,” Tammy said with a small smile as she looked at Setto.

“He has a major logistics and transit project with a South African mining conglomerate, and there’s a complex multi-jurisdictional tax and currency bottleneck. I told him about your expertise in it. Can you come over to his office for a meeting?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, the sound of papers shuffling in the background.

“Uhhh... is everything fine? No regulatory fire or anything urgent?”

“No, no, everything is fine,” Tammy reassured him.

“It’s a clean slate. We just need a top-tier financial advisor to build the offshore structure from scratch before the contracts are signed. I just know you can handle it.”

“Wow. “ Femi gasped.

“I would love to handle that, Tammy. But here’s the hitch. I’m actually not in Lagos at the moment. I traveled to Abia State on Monday morning for a regional business and investment summit. I’m speaking on a panel here, and I have two follow-up consultations with some manufacturing clients in Aba.”

Tammy’s face fell slightly.

“Oh, really? When will you be back in Lagos?”

“I’ll be back this weekend,”* Femi said.

“So the earliest we can meet in the office would be Monday morning. Will that work, or is the timeline too tight?”

Tammy looked up at Setto, trying to gauge his reaction. Setto simply leaned back, his face expressionless.

“Three days is fine, Femi,” Tammy said into the phone.

“We will schedule the preliminary session for Monday morning at 10:00 AM. Safe travels.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Tammy. See you on Monday. Tell your man I’m looking forward to it.”

The call disconnected with a sharp beep.

Setto immediately let out a short, impatient breath, leaning his head forward.

“Monday is too far. The South Africans are signing soon. If we wait until Monday to even start designing the structure, we will be rushing the compliance filing.”

Tammy drew closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her face inches from his.

“No nau, Temi. Don’t worry. I promise you, it is worth the wait. Femi is incredibly fast. Once he sits down with the raw numbers, he will give you a clean blueprint before the close of business. Trust me on this one. Just wait for him to be back.”

Setto stared at her beautiful face.

Hearing her call him Temi had completely neutralized whatever jealousy he felt.

A helpless, soft smile finally broke through his features, and he shook his head in complete surrender.

“Okay, Your Lordship,” Setto grumbled softly against her hair.

“It’s because of you, actually. If anyone else told me to wait so long for a consultant while a multi-million dollar contract is hanging, I would have fired them. You are using your remote control on me, Tamilore.”

Tammy laughed, she leaned forward and pressed a warm, lingering peck against his cheek.

“It’s not remote control, my love. It’s called efficient resource management.”

She realized, with a small jolt of self-awareness, how frequently she had been calling him pet names today.

First Temi, now my love.

She sat there, her fingers tracing the neat stitches on his shirt collar, a sudden wave of warmth hitting her chest.

She remembered her conversation with Valerie the previous night.

Valerie had called her around 11:30 PM, ostensibly to check on her, but the conversation had quickly degenerated into Valerie’s relationship advice.

“Tammy, let me give you a serious warning” Valerie said through the phone,

“If you call that man ‘Setto’ one more time in my presence, I will officially unfriend you. You are acting like those old Yoruba mothers who call their husbands ‘Baba Tunde’ or ‘Aremu’ with zero romance. The man is helplessly in love with you, he treats you like a delicate glass ornament, and you are there calling him by his name like a contractor. Change your ways, madam! Find a sweet name for that fine man!”

Tammy had laughed it off, but sitting here right now, she realized Valerie was right.

She had spent so many years being the survivor, the iron lady who handled everything with so much vigour, that she had forgotten how to just be a woman who softens for her man.

But with Setto, the wall was melting. Calling him pet names didn’t feel like a performance again it was beginning to feel very easy.

“What are you thinking about, my girl?” Setto asked softly, his cheek still resting against her hair.

“Nothing,” she whispered, her smile widening as she leaned into the hug.

“Just thinking about how much I like being right here.”

Setto’s grip tightened, his heart doing a slow, heavy flip in his chest.

The intercom telephone on his desk rang with a sharp buzz.

Setto reluctantly wiggled out of the hug, went to his desk and snapped the receiver up.

“Yes, Linda?”

The voice on the other end wasn’t his secretary. It was the frantic, breathless voice of Musa, the head of corporate security for the entire building complex downstairs.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bello! Sir, I am extremely sorry to disturb your office, but we have a very serious situation at the main pedestrian security gates downstairs. That woman...Madam Chloe. She is here, sir. The security guards refused her entry because her temporary pass was flagged and deleted from the central system yesterday morning on your orders.”

Setto’s jaw clenched.

“And so? If she is refused entry, tell her to leave the premises.”

“Sir, that is the problem,” Musa groaned, the sound of loud, chaotic screaming faintly audible in the background of the call.

“She has refused to leave. She is standing right at the main entrance, blocking the cars from coming in. She is creating a public nuisance, sir. She is shouting, calling you names, screaming that you have kidnapped her daughter, and she is threatening to call the press. People are gathering on the street, sir. It is attracting a crowd.”

Setto stood up to his full, towering height so fast his leather chair rolled back and slammed into the glass credenza.

“I am coming down,” Setto said, his voice dropping into a register so low it sounded like distant thunder.

“Musa, do not touch her. I will handle this myself.”

He slammed the receiver down, his hands immediately moving to button his suit jacket.

“Chloe is downstairs,” he told Tammy, his voice vibrating with a dangerous energy.

“She is at the main gate creating a scene, blocking the entrance and shouting that I kidnapped Eliana. I am going to have the police arrest her for public disturbance and malicious defamation right now.”

Tammy stood up smoothly from the chair.

“Don’t go down there alone with that level of anger, Setto,” Tammy said, her voice calm.

She walked around the desk, her heels clicking firmly against the floorboards until she stood right in front of him, her small hands resting flat against his chest to ground him.

“If you go down there with this rage, you will give her exactly what she wants— a scene. She wants you to lose your composure so she can use it against you in court. Let’s go down together.”

Setto looked down at her, his breathing heavy, but the solid touch of her hands on his chest slowly brought his mind back.

He took a deep, ragged breath and nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The elevator ride down to the ground floor was silent and tense, the digital numbers ticking down like a countdown to an explosion.

When the doors slid open into the expansive, marble-floored reception lobby, the chaos from outside was already bleeding through the doors.

Several staff members and visitors were standing near the windows, whispering and peeking through the glass. Outside on the driveway, right before the security gates, Chloe was standing like a theatrical phantom.

She was dressed in another tight, sultry outfit— a short designer dress with sky-high stilettos. Her hair perfectly styled, but her face distorted with a venomous, hysterical rage.

She was pacing back and forth in front of an idling black car, screaming at the top of her lungs at three uniform security guards who were standing in a defensive semi-circle, their hands up to prevent her from pushing past the biometric turnstiles.

“Call him down here!” Chloe screamed with dramatic flair as she slapped her leather handbag against the iron gate.

“Tell Setto Bello to bring my daughter out right now! He is a kidnapper! A thief! Y’all are protecting a criminal! I have full parental rights over Eliana, and he is hiding her! If you don’t open this gate right now, I will make sure this entire company is shut down by the embassy!”

A small crowd of passersby, street vendors, and drivers from neighboring offices had gathered across the road, watching the drama unfold with intense interest.

The doors of the lobby swung open with a loud whoosh, and Setto stepped out onto the tarmac, radiating an aura of pure destruction.

Musa, the head of security, immediately rushed toward him, his face covered in sweat.

“Mr. Bello, sir! I am so sorry,” Musa gasped.

“We were about to call the police division from Maroko, but she kept shouting about the embassy and…”

“It’s fine, Musa,” Setto cut her off, his voice dangerously leveled.

He took two steps forward, ready to have her dragged away in cuffs.

But Tammy stepped right past him.

She didn’t hesitate. Her heels clicked against the floor with a slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly confident rhythm.

As she approached the gate, the security guards automatically parted.

Chloe stopped her screaming the moment she saw Tammy walking toward her.

She adjusted her sunglasses, a sneering, condescending grin breaking through her rage.

“Oh, look. The new side piece is here. Tell your man or whatever he is to you, to bring my child right now, sweetie, before I lose my patience.”

Tammy stopped exactly two feet away from Chloe, her face completely expressionless, her arms crossed over her chest.

She just locked her eyes onto Chloe’s face with a cold, unblinking intensity.

“Are you done with this disgraceful behavior?” Tammy asked, her voice low, steady.

Chloe let out a loud, dramatic scoff.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are speaking to? I am Chloe and I am still the legal wife…”

“First of all, in your miserable life, never you call me sweetie ever again. Secondly, you are a nuisance,” Tammy interrupted her, her voice dropping into a cold, flat register.

“Listen to me, and listen very carefully, because I will only say this to you just once.”

She leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

“This is not Europe, and this is certainly not a stage for your cheap theater. You left a baby to suffer while you went to chase your life. For almost a year, you didn’t care about her, you didn’t care if she existed. Now you wake up from whatever hole you were hiding in, put on clothes too small for you, and come to the gate of a reputable corporate institution to shout like a rabid dog?”

“How dare you!” Chloe shrieked, lifting her hand to slap Tammy.

On instinct Setto moved but stopped when Tammy caught her hand in the air.

“Don’t try it! Don’t even try to raise your hand at me! O dà bí ẹni pé o ti ya wèrè abi ọpọlọ rẹ kò pé rárá. (It is as if you have gone mad or your brain is not complete at all)” Tammy barked, dropping her hands violently.

“If you think you have madness, I promise you that my own madness is institutionalized! You come here again to create a scene, to disturb the peace of my man, or to mention Eliana’s name with that your dirty mouth, and I will personally ensure I beat you up and the immigration service will pick you up from your hotel room before midnight!”

The security guards behind her exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Setto stood a few feet back, his jaw slightly open, his heart doing a violent, ecstatic dance in his chest as he watched his woman completely take charge of the battlefield.

“I have the backing of her real father!” Chloe screamed back, though her voice lacked its previous confidence, her eyes shifting nervously under Tammy’s fierce gaze.

“We will take you guys to court! We will destroy your name!”

“Go to whatever court you like, puppy” Tammy said, her voice dropping back into a devastatingly condescending whisper.

She took a step back, looking down at Chloe from head to toe with pure disgust.

“But until then, pack your under aged clothes and get out of this entrance. You are blocking the driveway for actual taxpayers. Look at you, standing under the sun like a mad dog that lost its owner.”

Tammy turned her back on Chloe completely, refusing to give her another second of her attention.

She walked gracefully back up to Setto, her face softening into a beautiful, easygoing calm the moment her eyes met his.

She reached out, wrapping her arm securely through his elbow.

“Musa,” Tammy called out to the head of security, her voice carrying absolute authority.

“If she remains outside this gate for another sixty seconds, call the police and report a case of aggravated public nuisance and attempted extortion. Clear the driveway immediately.”

“Yes, ma! Right away, ma!” Musa shouted, his chest swelling as he immediately pulled out his walkie-talkie.

Tammy didn’t look back. She gently pulled Setto’s arm, guiding him back toward the glass doors of the lobby.

Setto walked beside her, his head spinning, his entire soul filled with a helpless adoration for the small woman holding his arm.

Behind them, Chloe let out one last, frustrated shriek of pure rage.

“This is far from over! Do you hear me, Setto?! This is far from over! I am coming back for my child! You cannot keep her from me!”

She spun around on her high heels, stomping furiously back into her idling black Uber.

She slammed the door with a loud, violent thud, and the car accelerated away from the curb, its tires screeching against the asphalt as it vanished.

Setto stood against the mirror-lined wall of the elevator cabin, his eyes fixed entirely on Tammy, who was calmly adjusting the her hair as if she hadn’t just single-handedly dismantled someone on the ground floor.

The doors slid open on the executive floor, and they walked back into his private office.

The door clicked shut behind them, restoring the quiet, cool sanctuary of the room.

Setto didn’t even let her reach the desk. He grabbed her by her waist, his hands lifting her slightly as he brought her into a hug.

His face was flushed, his eyes burning with a mixture of intense relief, deep amusement, and a love so profound it was entirely helpless.

He leaned down, pressing several pecks against her cheek, holding her close against his chest.

“My small pepper,” Setto breathed, his voice vibrating against her ear, his chin resting comfortably on her head.

“Mennnnn!! Look at you. See how you just went down there and completely changed it for her. I was ready to call the commissioner of police, only for my woman to dismiss her like a mischievous schoolgirl.”

Tammy laughed quietly, her arms wrapping securely around his waist, her body completely relaxing into the solid frame of his embrace.

“I told you. She thinks because she is a foreigner, she can come here and intimidate us with dramatic shouting. She doesn’t know that I have a PhD in handling mad people. I cannot sit down and watch her stress you like that.”

Setto’s heart did a violent, ecstatic flip inside his chest. He pulled back just a fraction, looking down into her face with a frantic, beautiful longing.

He cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

“I love you so much, baby. I love you” Setto breathed, his hands resting on her shoulders, hanging on her every word.

Tammy looked at his face, a beautiful, unreserved, and easygoing smile completely lighting up her features.

She reached up and placed a gentle, sweet peck on his jaw before looking directly into his eyes.

“I love you so much more, Temi,” she said clearly, her eyes locked onto his.

Share Isabella Peters

Read The Previous Episode Here

The silence Chloe left behind was thick and heavy, smelling of her overpowering perfume. Setto stood frozen behind his desk, his chest heaving under his shirt. His knuckles were white from gripping the edge of the wood, his mind a chaotic battlefield.

He looked at Tammy standing in the doorway. She was wearing a stunning jumpsuit that hugged her petite frame perfectly, her hair slicked into a neat style. But her face was pale.

Panic, sharp and cold, pierced through his initial anger.

She heard everything, his mind screamed. He felt a sudden, sickening weight in his stomach.

Setto was a man deeply, helplessly in love, the kind of love that made a powerful man look soft whenever she entered the room.

His mom teased him about it, saying Tamilore had given him a potion because the moment she breathed, Setto was ready to move mountains.

And right now, he was terrified. He was scared because she saw Chloe. What if she thought he still had business with his ex?

“Baby...” his voice came out a rough, strained whisper.

He moved from behind the desk, his legs eating up the distance between them, his hands reaching out to hold her, to explain, to swear that Chloe was nothing but his past.

But before he could even grab her, Tammy moved.

She didn’t back away or start shouting like he feared. Instead, she tossed her keys onto the side table, took three quick steps across the floor, and threw her entire body into his chest.

Her arms locked tightly around his waist, her face burying deep into his shirt, right where his heart was hammering away.

“Setto, I’m sorry,” she gasped, her voice breaking, muffled against his chest.

“I am deeply sorry about how I acted yesterday. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

Setto’s brain completely short-circuited. His arms hung awkwardly in the air for a fraction of a second, paralyzed by the sheer shock of it.

He had braced himself for a misunderstanding, but here she was, holding onto him like he was her only cover in a heavy downpour.

Slowly, a ragged breath escaped his lips. The tension melted off his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close that even air couldn’t pass between them.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent— vanilla mixed with a hint of cocoa butter, and just let himself drown in her.

After a long, quiet moment of just breathing each other in, Setto gently shifted.

Keeping one arm firmly around her waist, he guided her over to his leather chair. He carefully tucked her into the seat and sat right on the edge of the desk, trapping her comfortably between his thighs.

He leaned down, pulling her into his torso, his arms wrapping over her shoulders.

He kissed the top of her head, his heart overflowing.

“My love,” he murmured.

“About what you just saw... about Chloe. I promise you…..”

Tammy reached up, her soft fingers gently pressing against his lips to stop him from talking.

She tilted her head back to look at him, a weary but beautiful smile on her lips.

“Let’s talk about that later, Setto,” she whispered, her eyes softening.

“For now... let me tell you what happened yesterday.”

Setto stared down at her.

He nodded slowly, kissing her forehead.

“Okay. I’m listening, baby.” He slid his hands down, capturing both of her hands in his palms, intertwining their fingers tightly on his thigh.

He didn’t move an inch, completely captivated as she began to pour out her heart.

Tammy took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around his.

“When I got to the family house... it was a complete ambush. The moment I mentioned your surname, they all went cold.”

She swallowed hard, a flash of remembered pain crossing her face.

“One of my aunts literally jumped off her chair. She started shouting ‘God forbid!’, saying over her dead body that a daughter of their household would bring a Fulani man home. They didn’t care that you are a Christian. All they saw was tribe. It broke me. I won’t lie. I got super exhausted and just wanted to disappear in that moment.”

Setto remained completely still, his face calm, though his grip on her hands tightened just a fraction.

He didn’t interrupt; he just let her empty the heavy load she had been carrying.

“Aunty Abike even told me your culture would swallow me alive,” Tammy continued, her voice dropping into a small, vulnerable whisper.

“She said you would lock me up, treat me like property, and oppress me. They made me feel so ashamed. Like at my age, I should just be grateful to find any ‘proper Yoruba boy’ instead of following a mallam. They made me feel like I was destroying the family. I felt so small and rejected, I just couldn’t take it. I drove off to a place where I could cry in peace. I didn’t want you to see me crying. I didn’t want you to see how broken I was.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you nor take your calls. I was just tired of always being the strong one. I just needed to let it out.”

Setto’s heart practically broke into pieces. He lifted her hands to his lips, peppering her knuckles with soft, lingering kisses.

“No, no, I am the one who should be sorry. I am so sorry, my baby,” Setto said, his voice thick with raw remorse.

“I am so sorry I wasn’t there. I should have come with you. I shouldn’t have let you face that alone. I am sorry I wasn’t there to stand up for you when they were bullying you.”

Tammy shook her head quickly.

“No, Setto, don’t say that. It’s not your fault in any way. You didn’t know. I also didn’t allow you to go with me even when you offered to.”

“No, it is not fine,” Setto insisted, his tone dropping into that firm, unyielding note he used when he was dead serious.

He leaned lower, bringing his face inches from hers, his eyes locking onto hers.

“You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be shamed by anyone, blood or no blood. You are a queen, Tamilore. You are my entire world, and anyone who makes you feel small is completely wrong.”

He softened, his thumb gently tracing her jawline, his eyes pleading.

“But please... promise me you will never shut me out like that again. I don’t like it at all, baby. When you went completely silent, it tore me apart. I was frantic, checking my phone every single second, worrying if you were safe. Don’t build a wall against me when the world gets loud. Let me carry the weight with you. Please, baby.”

Tammy pouted, her eyes flooded with fresh tears, but this time, they were tears of pure relief.

The heavy armor she always wore cracked.

“I promise,” she whispered. “I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” Setto murmured, leaning down to press a warm, reassuring kiss against her eyelids as they fluttered close, then he proceeded to press another one to her nose, her ears and finally her cheek.

Her breath hitched and she looked at him with so much love and emotion.

“I really cannot wait to be your wife.” She murmured as he pulled her against his chest.

“I also cannot wait for you to be my wife.” he whispered, holding her.

They stayed like that for a few beautiful minutes. As the quiet settled, Tammy remembered something.

She shifted slightly, a sharp, curious glint returning to her eyes.

“Okay... now it’s your turn. What about Chloe? What did she come here to do?”

Setto immediately stiffened, a heavy sigh escaping his chest as his gaze drifted toward the glass windows.

“Baby... let’s talk about that later. The day has already been too stressful for you. Let’s just focus on us.”

Tammy let out a sharp, amused breath, a knowing smile touching her lips as she pinched his hand lightly.

“Ah-ah! Look at this man! Egbon Setto Bello, you just finished preaching a whole sermon about opening up and not building walls, and now you are closing up? Daddy Pastor, Is that fair?”

Setto paused, his eyes snapping back to hers. He looked completely caught out, and then a low, deep, helpless laugh rumbled in his chest. He shook his head, totally defeated by this woman.

“Okay,” he smiled, “you got me. Fair point.”

“Chloe is back because she wants Eliana. She came to demand custody.”

Tammy’s brows furrowed instantly, her features flaring up.

“Wait... what? On what grounds? Didn’t you legally fight for baby Eliana back then? Didn’t the courts settle everything?”

“I did,” Setto said, his jaw clenching at the bitter memory.

“I fought for that little girl with everything I had in me. Legally, financially, emotionally. I went through fire to ensure her birth certificate carries my name, and the court granted me sole custody because Chloe literally abandoned a three-month-old baby.”

“Then why is she back now?” Tammy asked, her voice rising, a fierce edge cutting through her tone.

Setto sighed again, the weight of it heavy on his chest.

“She claims the biological father of the baby is back in the picture. She says he has the financial backing now, and they want Eliana back so they can live as a happy family abroad. She gave me exactly three days to pack her things before she comes back with her legal team.”

Tammy sat perfectly still for a second, absorbing the absolute audacity of the woman, a dangerous, fiery light sparked in her eyes.

“Can you imagine? Heheheheheh!” Tammy exclaimed.

“She cannot do anything, Setto. She is joking. Who she be sef? Abi she no dey fear?”

Setto looked down at her, watching the way her shoulders squared.

A low chuckle escaped his throat, his eyes dancing with amusement at how fierce she looked.

“My small pepper. See how you are vibrating as though you are ready to jump into the elevator right now and beat her up.”

“Yes oo!” Tammy snapped, a grin breaking through as she lifted her chin proudly.

“If worse comes to worse, I go show her say na Yoruba babe I be! She thinks she can just walk into Lagos with her rubbish accent and under aged clothes to come and scatter what you’ve built? She doesn’t know who she is playing with! I will personally show her her level!”

Setto’s laughter broke out. The sheer joy of seeing his woman turn into a fiery street fighter on his behalf made him feel lighter.

He pulled her into a hug, his chest shaking against hers.

“It won’t come to that, my love,” he laughed heartily, burying his face in her shoulder.

“But God, I can’t help but imagine you actually beating Chloe up. It’s the funniest thing I’ve pictured all week. You have no idea how much I needed this laugh.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes deeply grounded and full of reassurance as he cupped her face.

“But there will be no need for that, baby. I have things completely under control. My legal team is ironclad. Chloe has absolutely no legal leg to stand on. She cannot take Eliana away from me. I won’t let it happen.”

Tammy looked deep into his eyes, seeing the absolute certainty of a man who would tear down the whole of Lagos before letting his daughter be taken away from him.

She smiled, her heart swelling with an emotion so profound.

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face against his collarbone, entirely smitten by his beautiful heart.

“I’m here for you, Temi,” she whispered softly.

Setto froze.

The entire office seemed to ground to a sudden, dead halt.

The words, the pet name, spoken with such raw, unprompted tenderness from a woman who never used pet names hit him like a physical jolt of electricity.

His heart skipped a beat, a wave of shock and pure, unadulterated joy rushing through his veins.

He grabbed gently her by the shoulders, pulling her back quickly so he could look directly into her face, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a beautiful, frantic disbelief.

“What did you just say, baby???” Setto breathed, his voice cracking, completely vulnerable.

Tammy looked at his shocked, ecstatic face, a beautiful, easygoing smile completely lighting up her eyes. She didn’t shrink back. She didn’t get rigid.

“I said, I’m here for you, Temi,” she repeated clearly, her eyes locked onto his.

Author’s POV

The double doors of the Church parted like the gates of a quiet city, admitting the morning sun in a long, unbroken sheet of gold that sliced through the dim, reverent cool of the sanctuary.

Soteria Idorenyin stood at the threshold, her hand resting on the forearm of her eldest brother, Asuquo.

To the five hundred people watching, she was an editorial vision of bridal perfection, a portrait of high-fashion elegance designed by a master.

Her gown was gorgeous. A veil drifted over her face, softening her features into a romantic mist, but it could not hide the intense, glossy shine of her eyes. They were locked entirely onto the handsome man in the midnight blue suit standing at the far end of the altar.

Beside her, Asuquo walked with his chin held high, his jaw was clenched so hard, his eyes swimming with thick, unexpressed moisture as he took the place of the man who should have been there to give her away.

At the altar, AkilaHyel stood as still as a mountain.

His shoulders were rigid. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him, his knuckles turning white against the deep blue fabric of his suit.

The soft, beautiful notes of a violin and piano began to float through the church, playing a slow, acoustic melody of Can’t Help Falling in Love

“Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can’t help falling in love with you?

Like a river flows surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

Take my hand, take my whole life, too

For I can’t help falling in love with you

Like a river flows surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

Take my hand, take my whole life, too

For I can’t help falling in love with you

For I can’t help falling in love with you

When Soteria took her first three steps down the aisle, his breath left him in a sharp, audible hiss that only Effiom heard.

His eyes grew instantly misty, a hot, sudden pressure building behind his eyelids that forced him to tilt his head upward for a brief second, staring at the rafters of the church just to keep from breaking down before she even reached him.

When Akila looked back down, she was halfway to him. The world was moving in slow motion. He saw his mother, Mama, sitting in the front, her head tilting as she wept silently into her shawl. He saw Mrs. Idorenyin, Soteria’s mother, holding a white lace handkerchief to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with the silent grief of a widow who had successfully brought her only daughter to the altar of God.

With every step Soteria took, the beads on her dress made a soft, rhythmic sound against the floor, a beautiful, fragile pulse that seemed to beat in perfect time with the thumping of his own heart.

When they finally reached the foot of the altar, the music faded into a low, lingering string chord. Asuquo stopped, turning to his sister.

Akila stepped down from the platform. He took Soteria’s hand from her brother, his fingers instantly closing around hers, absorbing her trembling warmth into his palm.

Pastor Uzor stepped forward, and he stood behind the wooden altar table. He looked down at the couple, his eyes filled with a deep, discerning warmth that had watched this love story climb out of the trenches of grief and doubt.

“Beloved,” Pastor Uzor’s voice boomed through the church.

“We are not here today to witness a performance. We are here to witness a consecration. Before this congregation and before the living God, this man and this woman have come to fuse their lives into a single fortress. Let us begin with the vows.”

He gestured to the little groom, who brought forward two slim, silver bands resting on a velvet cushion. Pastor Uzor picked up the larger band, placing it in Akila’s palm.

“AkilaHyel, take this ring,” the pastor instructed. “Place it upon her finger, and repeat after me.”

Akila turned fully to face Soteria.

He took her hand and slid the platinum band halfway up her finger, his eyes locked onto hers through the sheer tulle.

“With this ring,” Akila’s voice rang out.,

“I thee wed. With my body, I honor thee. All my worldly goods, I share with thee. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Soteria’s chest heaved as she took the smaller ring from the cushion.

Her fingers were shaking but Akila’s hand steadied hers, holding her wrist firm as she slid the band onto his finger.

“With this ring,” she whispered, her voice cracking beautifully,

“I thee wed. With my body, I honor thee. All my worldly goods, I share with thee. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Now,” Pastor Uzor said, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he stepped back slightly, giving them the floor.

“You may read your personal vows to one another.”

Akila reached up, his hands moving with an intentional, reverent slowness, and lifted the veil completely off Soteria’s face, throwing it back over her shoulders.

The moment her face was bare, the tears that had been pooling in her eyes broke free, tracking two clean, glittering lines down her cheeks. She looked up at him, her lips parting as she tried to smile through the wetness.

Akila reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a small, folded piece of white paper, and looked at it for a brief second before folding it back up and putting it away.

“My baby, My queen,” Akila said, his voice dropping into a low, intimate whisper that the microphones barely caught, yet it echoed through every corner of the silent sanctuary.

“I met you in the weirdest of places and at a time where i did not ever imagine being in love. I was a cynical, hardened man who thought his life was already written. The day I met you, I didn’t even know I would fall in love with you.”

He paused, a jagged breath escaping his chest as a fresh wave of tears blurred his vision. He didn’t look away from her.

“But I remember that night. I remember you standing in my kitchen after everything had fallen apart for you that week. We ended up on that cold kitchen floor. We sat there in the dark, and we cried our eyes out until our chests were sore. In that moment, looking at you in your rawest, most broken form, a part of my soul that had been dead and buried for years suddenly felt a bit of life. I looked at you and I didn’t just see a woman; I saw my assignment from heaven. I swore an oath to God that night on that kitchen floor that I would protect the woman before me with my very life.”

Soteria let out a soft, choking sob, her shoulders shaking under the heavy lace of her gown. Amara stepped forward, her own eyes glistening with tears, and gently handed her a tissue, but Soteria didn’t use it. She just kept her eyes glued to her husband.

“I stand here today and I am so deeply proud of you, Ziniya,” Akila’s voice cracked, a tear dropping from his jaw onto his lapel.

“I have watched your growth spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually over this past year. I have watched you lean into God when life got heavy. I have watched you trust him with your fears. I promise you today, before our family, that the man who held you on that kitchen floor is the same man who will hold you through every storm of our lives. I will honor you. I will cherish you. I will never let you walk an unshielded path again.”

Soteria took a deep, stabilizing breath, swallowing the lump in her throat as she stepped closer to him, her hands reaching up to grasp his lapels. She didn’t look at her paper either.

“My Man, My Man. My Hausa Odogwu” she whispered with a laugh.

“You know who I was when you met me. I was a spoiled brat. I was an arrogant, defensive girl who hid behind her father’s name and her lifestyle because she was terrified of being hurt. I thought that if I kept my walls high enough, if I controlled every single detail of my life, nobody could see the frightened girl inside.”

She managed a small, watery laugh flashing through her tears.

“But look at me now, baby. Look at the woman standing before you today. Being with you has made me see, for the very first time in my life, how much God truly loves me. I used to think I was too broken, too scattered, too difficult, too stubborn to be loved properly. But God looked at my secret cries, He looked at my fears, and He sent a man so perfect to represent His love for me. You are the physical manifestation of God’s grace in my life.”

She lifted her right hand, her fingers completely unbothered by the cameras, and gently wiped the moisture from Akila’s eyes.

Her touch was warm, lingering against his skin. Akila closed his eyes for a brief second, leaning his face into her palm, before lifting his own thumb to gently wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“You studied my exhaustion when I didn’t even know I was tired,” Soteria said softly, her eyes locked into his.

“You gave up your own comfort just to ensure my soul could rest. I am so proud to be your wife, Uyai. I promise to follow your leadership, to honor your strength, and to love you with a pure, unyielding devotion until my very last breath. You are my home, baby. My absolute home.”

Pastor Uzor stepped between them, his own face bright with an immense, spiritual joy. He placed his hands over their joined palms, his voice rising in a triumphant crescendo.

“By the covenant of the blood of Christ, by the laws of this land, and before this assembly... I now pronounce you husband and wife! What God has joined together, let no man put asunder! AkilaHyel... you may kiss your bride!”

Before Akila could even lean down to claim his wife, Effiom stepped forward with a face looking so serious.

He drew a hand towel from his pocket, tapped Akila on the shoulder, and began to meticulously, aggressively wipe Akila’s lips to clear away any tear salt or sweat before the kiss.

The entire congregation dissolved into a roar of laughter.

“Get out of the way, my friend!” Akila laughed, throwing a playful shoulder into Effiom’s chest, sending the best man stumbling back with a grin.

Effiom stepped back, chuckling, and took his place right beside Amara. As the crowd continued to shout and cheer, Effiom’s hand dropped casually behind his back, his fingers slotting perfectly between Amara’s.

He held her hand with an excited, quiet anticipation, his eyes sparkling as he looked down at her.

Amara didn’t pull away; she squeezed his knuckles back tightly, both of them standing there, sharing a silent, private promise of their own while the world celebrated the couple.

Akila turned back to Soteria, his chest rising with an emotion too powerful for words. For a heartbeat, all he could do was look at her, as though he still couldn’t believe she was truly standing before him as his wife, choosing him.

Then he closed the distance.

His hands slid firmly around her waist, adjusting her effortlessly until her delicate gown cascaded around his shoes like a cloud of white.

A soft gasp escaped her lips before he drew her closer, eliminating even the smallest space between them.

He was finally kissing her. After a year plus of keeling themselves, he had this woman all to himself..

His forehead brushed hers for the briefest moment.

Then he kissed her.

Not a hurried kiss for the cameras. Not the polite kiss expected after wedding vows.

This was the kiss of two souls who had walked through fire and somehow found each other waiting on the other side.

It began slowly, almost reverently, as though they were savoring a miracle neither dared rush.

Every gentle movement carried months of longing, years of silent prayers, sleepless nights, impossible odds, and battles they had survived together. It was gratitude. It was relief. It was worship wrapped in love.

The world around them disappeared.

The hundreds of guests filling the pews ceased to exist. The orchestra faded into silence. The relentless flashes of cameras became nothing more than distant flickers in another universe.

There was only Akila. There was only Soteria.

He held her as though letting go would unravel the very life he had fought to protect, his arms steady, possessive, and impossibly tender.

Her fingers curled into his shoulders, holding onto him with equal desperation, her tears slipping freely down her cheeks as they mingled with his own.

Time seemed to surrender to them.

The kiss deepened, not in urgency, but in feeling. Every passing second became another promise spoken without words, another vow carved into eternity.

The congregation watched in silence, many smiling through tears.

Even those who had sworn they wouldn’t cry found themselves reaching for handkerchiefs.

When the kiss stretched on long, Pastor Uzor finally lifted the microphone to his lips.

With an exaggerated clearing of his throat and eyes sparkling with amusement, he interrupted the moment.

“My people” he said, chuckling as the congregation erupted into warm laughter. “The marriage is already sealed.”

Right on cue, Naya’s loud, sharp voice cut through the lingering cheers from the front row: “Hehehehehehehe! God abegeth thee oo!!”

The entire church burst into another hysterical wave of laughter.

Soteria pulled back from the kiss, her face completely flushed, her gorgeous smile breaking wide open as she hid her face against Akila’s chest, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Hallelujah” Pastor Uzor chuckled, waving his hands to settle the rowdy crowd.

“Before we send this beautiful couple out into the world, let us say a word of prayer.”

He stepped closer, as they knelt down, placing his hands over their heads.

“Our Father in Heaven. We thank you for the life of these ones. Thank you for the hurdles they have crossed and the ones they’ll cross, with you guiding them. I decree in the name of Jesus, May the Lord establish your home in him,” Pastor Uzor prayed.

“May He protect your health, multiply your resources, and grant you blessed children. You shall live to see your children’s children in peace and honor. Any weapon formed against this union is nullified. The wisdom of the Lord rests upon you both. In Jesus’ mighty name we have prayed!”

“AMEN!” the church roared, the sound shaking the very timber of the building.

“And now!” the church secretary announced, the band instantly bursting into a contemporary praise groove that had the youth jumping.

“It is time for the signing of the certificate and the official exit of the newly wedded couple!”

The next forty minutes became a beautiful, ecstatic blur of joy.

The family members danced up the altar as they joined the couple to sign the certificate,

The photographers moved with precision, capturing the beauty of the couple under the lights.

When the final picture was taken, Akila turned to his wife, offering his arm with a majestic, uncontainable pride.

“Are you ready, Mrs. AkilaHyel Gaya?” he murmured into her ear, his hand tightening over hers.

“I was born ready, husband” Soteria smiled, her eyes bright with a peace she had never known before.

Outside, the guard of honor stood in two perfect lines, their silver swords drawing from their scabbards with a sharp, synchronized clink, crossing over the red carpet to form an arch of steel.

With the choir singing behind them, Akila and Soteria stepped forward together, dancing through the corridor, through the rain of white rose petals, and straight into the beautiful, endless expanse of their forever.

SOTERIA’S POV

The reception was open-air, a sanctuary carved out of the Abuja night.

Above us, the sky was a deep, velvet expanse dusted with cold stars, but beneath the canopy of the garden, thousands of warm fairy lights were woven through the branches of the ancient trees, casting a soft, golden glow over the five hundred guests who filled the lawn.

The tables were draped in premium silks, topped with cascading white orchids, and surrounded by the low, vibrant hum of laughter, clinking crystal glasses, and the relentless, glossy flashes of cameras.

But the moment the live band shifted into a slow, deeply resonant melody, the world collapsed into a singular, quiet axis.

Akila stepped onto the wooden dance floor, anchoring me against the sudden chill of the evening breeze.

His hand, warm and unyielding, settled securely against the small of my back.

We began to sway under the open sky.

He leaned down, his chin brushing the edge of my hair, his breath warm and uneven against my ear. His voice dropped into a rough, emotional whisper.

“So... you’re now my wife. Wow. I can’t believe it, baby. I love you so, so much.”

A tight, beautiful ache formed in the back of my throat. I pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. They were glossy, reflecting the fairy lights like tiny, captured stars.

“I love you too, Akila,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.

“And I still can’t believe you’re actually my husband. Captain AkilaHyel Gaya... my husband.”

A slow smile broke across his face, as his chest heaved with a deep, shaky breath.

We just stayed there, our eyes locked in a silent, overwhelming liturgy of gratitude.

The world around us was shouting, celebrating, and taking photos, but in the center of that open-air lawn, we were just two drowning souls who had been dragged to the shores of grace.

As we continued to sway, the heavy weight of the day began to melt off my shoulders.

I rested my forehead against his chest.

“Babe,” I murmured, my voice muffled against his chest.

“What if we don’t go to the hotel tonight?”

He leaned back slightly, his hand moving up to gently adjust a loose strand of hair.

“Why, baby? Your brothers spent a fortune on that executive bridal suite. Our bags have already been moved there.”

“I know,” I said, looking up at him with a quiet, stubborn conviction.

“But I don’t want a hotel room. I want our very first night together, our first time as husband and wife, to be inside our own home. Even if all the furniture isn’t there yet, I want our home to hold this memory first.”

Akila stared down at me, his eyes searching my face.

He didn’t question me. He didn’t argue.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden heat.

“Whatever you want, my wife. Your word is law.”

Without breaking our dance, he subtly steered us toward the lawn, close to where the bridal train was seated.

He caught Naya’s eye and gave her a brief nod.

Naya approached us, her voice dropping into a low, concerned whisper.

“Yaro, what’s up ?”

“Naya, I need you to help me with something,” Akila instructed.

“Call the cleaner. Tell her to head over to the new house right now. She should open the windows, clean up any dust, and make sure the master bedroom is completely set up. The keys to the house are in the glove compartment of my car parked at the main gate. Tell the driver to hand the key over to her.”

A huge, mischievous grin broke across her face.

“Hehehe!,” she teased under her breath, shaking her head. “Issoryt ooo, Mr and Mrs. Consider it done. I am on it.”

She then disappeared into the crowd with her phone already pressed to her ear.

Akila looked back down at me, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating against his ribs.

He pulled me back into his space, his arms wrapping securely around my waist as the band soared into the final chorus of our song.

The night was crisp and silent by the time the car finally pulled away from the venue, leaving the lingering echoes of the reception far behind.

When the heavy front doors of our house clicked shut, the silence that fell over us was profound.

We didn’t change out of our wedding attire immediately.

The house was magnificent but cavernous, our footsteps echoing softly on the pristine white porcelain tiles that mirrored the moonlight streaming through the glass windows.

The living room was empty, save for several unopened boxes of books stacked against the wall.

I sat on the floor, Akila sat right beside me. He took my hands into his palms, his thumbs tracing the veins on the back of my wrists.

We spent that entire first night just looking at each other, talking about the day.

In the quietness of that empty room, surrounded by bare walls and future promises, we knelt together on the tiles.

Hand in hand, our foreheads touching, we wept. We didn’t cry from sadness; we cried from the sheer, crushing weight of gratitude.

We thanked God for pulling us both out of our separate, dark oceans, for saving my drowning soul and breaking down the walls that had kept Akila’s heart cold for years.

It was a time of genuine thanksgiving, and when we finally lay down on the mattress, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, the emptiness of the house felt like the richest place on earth.

The second night, after the wedding adrenaline had completely washed away, we consummated our marriage.

It was a beautiful, tender, and deeply sacred transition. There was no rush, we were not trying to impress each other, it was just a slow, reverent surrender that felt like a quiet prayer offered before the mercy seat of God.

Two days later, we were at Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, about to take off for our honeymoon. .

I had picked the location myself.

I wanted nature. I wanted a place where the earth was raw, where the rhythm of life was slow, and where the water could remind us of the vastness of the grace that had rewritten our lives.

I chose Zanzibar.

The moment the wheels left the tarmac, a profound sense of liberation settled over me.

My baby had three weeks off for our honeymoon and it was just perfect.

The flight was a beautiful blur. We were completely glued to each other, sitting so close on the leather reclining seats that there was no space between his shoulder and mine.

“My baby, all mine “ Akila murmured two hours into the flight, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at me.

I was wrapped in a soft cashmere shawl, my bare feet tucked under his thigh.

“Mrs. Gaya. How do you feel?”

“I feel great, husband. Super duper happy,” I smiled.

Akila reached up, his fingers cupping my chin, and pulled my face up.

He stole a slow, lingering kiss right there, his lips warm and soft against mine, completely unbothered by the flight attendant who was discreetly setting down a tray of fresh tropical fruit in the galley.

He kept doing that throughout the entire flight. Every time I looked out the window at the shifting clouds below, or every time I paused mid-sentence while gisting him about anything, he would lean across the console and steal another kiss.

By the time the aircraft began its final descent over the coast of Tanzania, the late afternoon sun was hitting the water below.

My breath completely caught in my chest. I pressed my face against the glass window.

It was a spectacular, shimmering expanse of pure turquoise and liquid sapphire, so brilliant it looked like a painting.

The tiny coral islands and white sandbars below looked like scattered pearls resting on a bed of glass.

“You picked well, my wife,” Akila murmured from behind me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders from behind, his chin resting on my head as we both watched the world open up beneath us.

Our resort in Nungwi, situated on the northernmost tip of the island, was a masterpiece of understated African luxury. It consisted of private stone villas with high, sweeping thatched roofs, hidden behind lush walls of bougainvillea and towering palm trees.

When I woke up on our first morning on the island, the room was filled with a soft, ethereal light.

The sun was just beginning to clear the horizon, painting the wooden rafters in shades of amber and lavender.

The only sound was the slow, rhythmic sigh of the Indian Ocean pushing against the shore, causing the sheer white linen curtains to dance gently against the stone walls.

Beside me, Akila was deep asleep, he looked incredibly peaceful.

His breathing was deep and even, his hand resting open right beside my pillow.

I propped myself up on one elbow, my eyes tracing the contours of his face.

A sudden, tight knot of pure emotion formed in my throat, so intense it made my eyes sting with hot tears.

I remembered the girl I used to be, the arrogant, defensive, and deeply confused girl who thought she could control her life.

I remembered the heavy, suffocating darkness of those years when I was always partying and living recklessly, wondering if God even knew my name or if my father’s name was the only thing that gave me worth.

But Christ had broken into that ocean. He hadn’t just saved my soul from the deep; He had restored my dignity, healed my family, and then, in His ultimate, breathtaking extravagance, He had crowned the entire journey with this beautiful man.

As if sensing the depth of my gaze, Akila’s eyelashes fluttered open.

The moment his eyes found mine, a warm, slow smile broke across his face.

He didn’t say a word; he just reached out, his long arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me down until my face was buried in the warm hollow of his neck.

“You’re awake,” he rumbled, his baritone thick with sleep, his chest vibrating against my cheek.

“Why are you watching me like that, Mrs. Gaya?”

“I’m just admiring my husband,” I whispered, my hand flattening against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful heartbeat beneath his skin.

“I’m just thanking God that you are real. That we are actually here.”

Akila’s hold on me tightened, his fingers gently tracing the lines of my back with a reverence that always amazed me.

“Ziniya, before you came, I thought I had everything figured out. I thought walking in the light just meant keeping the rules, reading the Bible like a book, and going to church. But my heart was cold. I was living in a dark room and calling it salvation.”

He lifted his head, his eyes locking into mine with a fierce, absolute honesty that made my breath hitch.

“God used your radical surrender, your vulnerability, and your beautiful, stubborn faith to show me that I hadn’t allowed His light fully into my heart. Through you, mama, the true meaning of your name broke into my life. You brought salvation to my soul.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t wipe them away. It was the absolute truth.

The name Soteria meant salvation, and God had used my life as a divine vessel.

Through a simple, broken yes, He had brought my mother and brothers into a deeper walk with Him, transformed the hearts of my closest friends, and pulled this formidable Captain out of his self-imposed isolation into the warmth of a true, living covenant.

Over the next three weeks, we immersed ourselves in the raw, undisturbed beauty of the island.

We spent long, lazy afternoons walking barefoot along the shoreline, letting the warm water lap at our ankles while Akila held my hand as if he would never let go.

We went on spice tours in Stone Town, laughing until our stomachs were sore as Akila tried to identify cinnamon and nutmeg plants.

We sat on the deck of a traditional wooden dhow cruise at sunset, watching the sun dip below the horizon like a burning coal, painting the entire Indian Ocean in shades of crimson and gold.

Leaning against his chest, watching the stars multiply over the Zanzibar sky, I closed my eyes in perfect peace.

The storms were far from being over but hand in hand with the man God had created specifically for me, I stood at the edge of a beautiful, unwritten future, completely healed, completely loved, and ready to change the world through my testimony.

The golden Abuja morning light was filtering softly through the curtains of my bedroom, throwing long, peaceful shadows across the floor.

It was beautiful. For six months, It has been back to back planning and meeting with vendors.

Today, it felt like there was a lot of noise in my head but the only sound was the steady, rhythmic tap-tap of the beauty blender against my cheekbone and the faint hiss of a hair straightener heating up on the vanity.

“Soteria, your phone is vibrating again,” Amara murmured from the corner of the room, her voice hushed so she wouldn’t disturb the makeup artist.

She was already zipped into her chief bridesmaid dress — a stunning, sophisticated emerald green that complemented her skin perfectly.

“Don’t touch that phone, Amara,” a sharp, authoritative voice snapped from the doorway.

My mom, Mrs. Idorenyin, walked into the room, looking absolutely regal in her gorgeous lace.

Her headtie was tied to perfection, not a single pleat out of place.

Behind her was Akila’s mom, Mama, who had a warm, knowing smile on her face.

At 5:00 AM, the two matriarchs had formed an impenetrable wall at my door. They had officially confiscated my phones, warned the extended family to stay downstairs, and told the bridal assistant that if anybody disturbed my peace, they would have to answer to them.

“Mummy, please, let me just check if the driver fetched Zainab from the hotel,” I pleaded, turning my head slightly.

“Soteria, look straight, abeg,” the makeup artist asked gently, holding my chin.

“Zainab is fine, baby” my mom said, walking over to smooth down the silk of my bridal robe.

“Somebody that flew into the country on her own, you are worried for her. She is downstairs with the other girls. Your only job today is to breathe and look beautiful for your husband. Let us handle the rest.”

I took a slow, deep breath, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair was swept up into a clean, timeless updo, and the makeup was flawless. It was not too heavy, just classy and fresh.

When I smiled nervously, my gap tooth flashed back at me. A sudden, sharp ache hit my chest. Daddy should be here, I thought.

As the daughter of a late Major General, I had always pictured him walking me down the aisle in his full dress uniform, his chest proud. It hurt that he wasn’t alive to see this, but looking at my mom’s strong, resilient face, and knowing my brothers were downstairs waiting to escort me, the weight in my chest softened.

Finally, I thought, my mind racing back through the beautiful madness it took to get to this morning.

______________________________________

If anybody had told me that planning a wedding would nearly drive me crazy, I would have argued. I am a perfectionist by nature; I like my life being organized.

But merging our worlds was a different ball game entirely. Akila being a captain and my late dad a Major General, this wasn’t just a wedding. It was a military affair.

The sheer volume of protocols, guest lists filled with top-tier brass, and security logistics had been dizzying.

Two months ago, we had traveled down to my village in Akwa Ibom for the traditional wedding. It was beautiful and extremely intimate. We had it in the family compound.

Two days before the traditional rites, Effiom chartered two private jets to fly everyone to Uyo.

For the traditional wedding, I had insisted on a specific aesthetic.

Amara, Naya, and my other friends looked absolutely stunning in their coordinated cultural attire.

They wore a rich, deep burnt-orange lace tailored into gorgeous dresses, their headties pulled back into clean styles, and their necks adorned with coral beads.

When we landed in Uyo, a convoy of security and private vehicles fetched us straight to my late dad’s compound in the village. We wanted a tiny, symbolic family gathering, but the moment we pulled up to the gates, my heart dropped.

The concept of “small” doesn’t exist in when you are the only daughter of a late Major General. Over eighty extended family members from both my maternal and paternal lines had completely taken over the compound. The house was a loud, vibrant sea of older aunts and uncles in matching native wrappers, their voices echoing through the trees.

“Soteria is our only brother’s daughter,” my dad’s elder brother, Uncle Edet, declared, standing firmly in the center of the parlor with his walking stick.

“We cannot do a half-hearted thing for her. We must go all out so her father’s spirit rests proud.”

Before I could even unpack my bags, my uncles had ordered a huge cow to be brought into the compound and slaughtered for the feast.

The entire estate instantly transformed, the air filling with the heavy scent of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and the rich, mouth-watering aroma of Afang and Edikang Ikong soup simmering over open firewood hearths in massive iron pots.

For my traditional look, I wanted pure, regal modesty. I wore a heavily beaded, royal blue George fabric wrapper and a matching tailored corset top that accentuated my silhouette flawlessly.

My neck was heavy with generations of authentic, polished coral beads passed down from my grandmother, and my hair was styled into a high, intricate cultural updo wrapped in gold thread. When I looked in the mirror, a striking, proud Ibibio woman flashed back at me.

The process of the marriage itself was a long, beautiful, and exhausting cultural test. First came the Ndidiong Ufok (knowing the house), where Akila’s people had to officially identify my family home, followed by the intense negotiation of the Ecom (the traditional bridal list). My uncles didn’t make it easy; they went through the list item by item, demanding the exact specifications for the traditional items, the gin, and the wrappers for the elders.

Then came the grand entry. I was kept hidden in an inner room while my girls danced out first, clearing the path.

When it was finally time for the Mboppo presentation, I walked out into the courtyard under a rain of brass gongs and singing women. Akila was waiting in the center of the compound, looking like an absolute king in an embroidered top and a matching woven cap.

I had to fetch a cup of traditional palm wine, weave through the crowd of eighty shouting relatives, and find my husband. When I finally knelt before him, my eyes swimming with emotional tears, I handed him the cup.

He drained the entire glass, stood up, and pulled me up with him, his hand locking into mine while the entire village erupted into a deafening chorus of drumbeats and blessings.

If the traditional wedding was a deep dive into culture, the civil wedding was a stark, exhausting reminder of the reality of living in Nigeria. The process of getting our marriage certificate sorted at the government registry in Abuja nearly drove me to tears.

For over a week, I had been driving back and forth to that dusty government office in the heat. I did not want to use the connection my dad had. I wanted to experience what it felt like to go for what you want directly and without any help. I actually regretted doing that.

Every single day, it was a different story from the administrative staff.

One day they would tell me the registrar wasn’t on seat; the next day they would claim the official stamp had gone missing, or that our files hadn’t been properly cleared from the back office.

It was a classic, frustrating display of the corrupt Nigerian system, the workers purposely slowing down the process, dropping heavy hints for substantive motivation and bribes just to do the basic job they were paid for.

I refused to pay them a single kobo, which meant I spent days sitting on broken plastic chairs, watching the clock tick while my stress levels hit the roof.

One afternoon, I went to Akila’s house completely drained, dumping my bag on the table and bursting into tears of pure frustration. These days, my tear glands were on a spree. Every little thing, and a torrent pours out of my eyes.

“I am just tired, babe,” I sobbed, wiping my face.

“I’ve been going to that registry for eight days straight. They are just tossing me up and down, looking for bribes. The wedding is around the corner and we don’t even have the legal paperwork sorted!”

Akila had sat quietly on the sofa, listening to me, his jaw tightening into a hard line.

He hated seeing me stressed, and he especially hated the undisciplined, corrupt bottleneck of the public service. He didn’t say much; he just pulled me into his arms, kissed my forehead, and told me to not bother going alone again.

The next day, Akila purposely dressed in his full, immaculate captain’s uniform complete with his high-ranking epaulets, his cap, and his official staff car flanked by a uniformed escort.

He knew exactly how the Nigerian system worked; he knew that a corrupt system that oppresses civilians will instantly tremble and bow when faced with uniform authority.

When his staff car pulled up inside the registry compound, the entire atmosphere in the office changed in seconds.

The very same administrative staff who had been ignoring me for a week suddenly jumped to their feet.

The supervisor ran out of his inner office, sweating and tucking in his shirt, bowing repeatedly as he escorted usinside.

The missing stamp was magically found within ten minutes. The paperwork that had been “stuck in the back room” was brought out, verified, signed, and stamped in under fifteen minutes flat.

Akila didn’t have to voice a single threat or offer a single kobo; his presence alone dismantled them. He hated that he had to pull rank just to get basic compliance, but he did it solely to protect my sanity.

When the actual civil wedding morning arrived two weeks later, the atmosphere was completely different.

I woke up feeling a serene, lightweight happiness. For my civil wedding look, I went for a high-fashion, ultra-classy modern aesthetic.

I wore an ivory-white, structured midi-dress with sharp, tailored shoulders and a clean, modest neckline. My hair was styled into a sleek, low ponytail, and my makeup was barely-there fresh, highlighted by the simple sparkle of my diamond stud earrings.

The joining at the registry was swift and intimate. It was just our mothers, my brothers, Akila’s immediate family, Amara, and Naya.

The registrar, the very same man who had been sweating in front of Akila days prior, was on his absolute best behavior, turning the ceremony into a lighthearted affair with funny, theatrical remarks.

When Akila slipped the slim civil band onto my finger, his eyes were incredibly soft.

After the signatures were finalized, we headed straight to a gorgeous, exclusive restaurant. The space was a masterpiece of minimalist luxury, huge glass panels overlooking the landscape, tables decorated with simple white orchids, and floating candles that cast a soft, warm glow over our small party of twenty-five people.

It was a long, beautiful afternoon of eating good food, and listening to everyone say good things about the both os us. I could not have asked for better.

Sitting there with Akila’s arm resting gently on the back of my chair, looking at our official legal certificate on the table, I knew the our journey had been worth it. We were legally, culturally, and truly one.

By the time the civil wedding was over, I was completely running on empty. The months of fabric selection, arguing with the caterer, and chasing the decorator had drained me. I was either throwing a tantrum or crying to Akila on the phone every single night because a vendor had messed up.

One evening, exactly two weeks before the white wedding, Akila and I were taking a quiet stroll around the estate. I was in tears, completely losing my mind because the hair vendor had sent the wrong hair for my white wedding.

“I am just tired, babyyyyy!” I had cried, stopping under a streetlamp, wiping my face furiously.

“Everything is turning into a mess! The hair is wrong, the designer is changing the pattern on my dress, and I swear I’m going to look like a joke!”

Akila had stopped walking. He didn’t argue or try to give me a lecture.

He just stepped closer, blocking out the cold night air, and pulled me into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tightly I could hear the steady, calm thumping of his heart.

The scent of his woody cologne instantly washed over me, slowing my racing mind. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering peck against my temple.

“My baby,” he had murmured, his voice rough and incredibly gentle as his thumbs wiped my tears.

“Please, stop doing this to yourself. I don’t care about the hair vendor, and I don’t care about the dress. I just want my baby healthy and happy. Let the event planner handle everything. Allow Amara and Naya to sort things out. Just rest, my love.”

I had just nodded, thinking it was one of his usual comfort sessions.

I had no idea that the moment he dropped me off, he picked up his phone and called Amara.

According to Amara, he was so worried.

“Amara, my baby is stressing herself and i don’t like it one bit,” he had said.

“She was crying because of hair. I don’t like how stressed she is. It’s taking a toll on her. I want to do something for her. Please, find the best, most luxurious spa resort. Book a full, uninterrupted weekend for her, you, and Naya. I just need pure pampering for her . Send me the bills once you do.”

And they did. About one week to the wedding, Amara and Naya had walked into the parlor, asked me to pack some dresses, grabbed my phone, and they whisked me away to a luxury spa resort just outside Abuja for a three-day treat. It was heaven. Massages, facials, long hours of sleeping, and deep, endless gists with my girls without a single vendor calling to stress me. Akila had completely shielded me from the world, paying for everything just so I could find my smile again.

“Soteria, it’s time to wear your dress,” Amara’s voice cracked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I looked up. The bridal assistant was holding up the magnificent white gown.

The silk of my bridal robe brushed against my ankles as I stood up from the vanity chair.

My wedding gown was an absolute masterpiece of luxury, a custom-designed, pristine white beaded lace dress that hugged my silhouette with a modest, classic precision before cascading into a dramatic cathedral train. Thousands of tiny, premium glass beads had been hand-sewn into the intricate lace; every time I took a slow, shallow breath, the entire dress shimmered under the bedroom lights, capturing the soft shadows of the morning. My hair was swept up into a sophisticated, timeless wavy wig, leaving my neck bare. It was exactly who I wanted to be: authentic, classy, and completely ready.

Before I could call out to Amara, the heavy mahogany door clicked open.

My mom walked in first, looking breathtakingly regal in her outfit. Right behind her was Akila’s mom, Mama, her headtie tied in a beautifulnorthern style that made her look like royalty.

The moment they stepped into the quiet room, a sudden wave of warmth washed over me. For the past three weeks leading up to the civil wedding and straight down to this white wedding morning, our families had been living here.

My mom had stubbornly insisted that Akila’s entire family must stay with us in the family mansion. She refused to hear anything about hotels or guest houses.

“They are our people now,” she had told me, and for the past week, the mansion had been a beautiful, chaotic haven. We had spent weeks waking up to the rich aroma of food, the sound of Ibibio and Hausa languages blending over breakfast mugs in the kitchen, and the continuous, comforting chatter of our mothers planning together.

Mama looked at me, her eyes instantly growing glossy with thick tears.

“Allah Ya yi muku albarka, Soteria,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she walked over and placed her warm, hands gently on my shoulders.

She closed her eyes, pouring out a deep blessing over my head, praying for my womb, my peace, and the longevity of my home. When she finished, she pulled me into a tight embrace that smelled of pure motherly love.

Then my mom stepped forward, her eyes were swimming with unchecked moisture. She took my hands in hers, her grip tight and reassuring.

“Unwana, our very little general,” my mom whispered, her voice cracking beautifully.

“Your father is watching you today and i know he is proud of you. You have grown into a wonderful woman, and you are stepping into the fort of a good man. May God protect your going out and your coming in. You will be the peace in Akila’s home.”

She pulled me into a fierce, lingering hug.

“Alright, no more crying oo, before the makeup spoils,” my mom laughed waterily, stepping back and wiping her cheeks with a handkerchief.

“We must go. The convoy is downstairs.”

“Soso babyyyy! Are you ready?” Naya’s loud, unmistakable voice suddenly boomed from the stairwell outside the open door.

I walked out to the landing, holding up the heavy train of my dress, and looked down into the grand foyer.

Naya was down there, looking incredibly beautiful in her emerald green bridesmaid dress, but she was currently in full coordinator mode, completely stressed as she tried to manage Wandi’s twins.

The little bride and page boy were looking adorable in their miniature white dress and tailored suit, but they were currently giggling and running around the pillars while Naya chased them with a pack of wet wipes.

“Stand still, both of you!” Naya yelled playfully, catching the boy by his collar.

“Sister Wandi, please come and carry your children oo! If they mess up their outfits, i will personally beat them up !”

I smiled, the planning was done. The stress was gone. I was ready to walk down the aisle into the arms of the man who knew exactly how to love me.

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AkilaHyel’s POV

The silence inside my house this morning didn’t feel like the usual quiet.

It was heavy, thick with a strange, jittery energy that I hadn’t felt for years. I woke up at exactly 5am, my eyes snapping open long before the alarm on my phone could even ring.

By the time the sun reached its peak this afternoon, Soteria Unwana Idorenyin would officially be my wife.

We had argued about where to spend the night before the wedding.

Soteria had insisted that we stay apart to keep things traditional. So, she was over at the family mansion with her bridal train.

I had stayed in my old house with Effiom. The new house I got was yet to be furnished. The artisans took a lot of time delivering our furnitures so we had to stay over at my old place for now.

I kicked off the duvet and walked across the hallway to the guest room. Effiom was still snoring like a broken exhaust pipe, his frame sprawled across the mattress. He had arrived last night.

I wasn’t wearing my ceremonial dress uniform today.

Soteria and I had agreed that for the white wedding, I would wear a custom-tailored midnight blue suit. It was a masterpiece, sharp, clean lines that fit my shoulders perfectly, with a single white rose pinned to the lapel.

As I pulled on the crisp white shirt and fastened the heavy silver cufflinks, the absolute gravity of the day began to settle into my chest.

When we were both fully dressed, Effiom adjusted his own tie, his usual playful demeanor dropping for a brief second as he looked at me.

“Akila,” he said, his voice carrying a sudden, rough weight.

“Let’s pray.”

I nodded, my jaw tightening. We stood in the center of the room, bowing our heads, and Effiom placed his palm on my shoulder.

“Father,” Effiom began, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

“We thank you for today. We thank you for the journey that brought Akila and Soteria together. You saw him through the lonely years, the years where he built a wall around himself. And you sent a woman who knew how to break it with love. As he steps out today to take her hand before your altar, cover them with your blood. Grant them wisdom to navigate this season. Give them a peace that no man can disrupt. Bless this union. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” I whispered.

I took a deep breath, clearing my throat to shake off the tightness in my chest, and pulled out my phone. I couldn’t help it.

I needed to hear her voice, even if it was just for five seconds to steady my rhythm. I dialed my mom’s number, knowing she would be close to her.

The screen flashed, and Mama’s face appeared, her headtie tied in a beautiful way that made her look like a queen.

“AkilaHyel, yarona [my boy]!” Mama cheered, her eyes crinkling with absolute joy.

“Look at you! You look so handsome! My handsome groom!”

“Mama, good morning,” I smiled.

“How is it going over there? I hope my wife is not crying about any thing this morning.”

“Ah! Don’t even go there,” Mama laughed, waving her hand dismissively.

“Your wife is looking like a beautiful angel. The makeup girl is just rounding up.”

“Let me see her, Ma,” I leaned closer to the screen.

“Just turn the camera for one second let me look at her face.”

Suddenly, a hand reached into the frame and snatched the phone. Mummy Idorenyin’s loving face appeared on the screen. She pinned me with a classic look that instantly told me I had no power here.

“Captain Akila,” Mrs. Idorenyin said, a wide, triumphant grin on her face.

“You are not allowed to see the bride before she walks down that aisle. It is a traditional law and it is final. Go and wait for her at the church like a gentleman. See you there!”

The line went completely dead before I could even open my mouth.

Effiom burst into a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the house, thumping me on the back.

“Lover boy, put your phone away let’s go. The driver is waiting.”

The church was a sight that made my chest tighten the moment our car pulled up. Because this was a marriage between a serving Captain and the daughter of a late Major General, the military presence was heavy.

A guard of honor stood at attention along the pathways, their ceremonial uniforms pristine under the sun. Senior officers from the Navy, Army, and Air Force were arriving in a steady stream of black SUVs, their gold braids and medals glinting in the light.

Our families from Adamawa and Akwa Ibom flooded the entrance in a sea of beautiful outfits.

When Effiom and I walked down the aisle to take our place at the altar, the church was already packed to the rafters. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, fresh floral installations, and that heavy, reverent electricity that always precedes a monumental event.

Pastor Uzor was already standing behind the altar, wearing his pastoral robes, looking down at me with the warm, proud eyes of a father. I stood on the right side of the altar, my hands clasped loosely in front of me, trying to maintain my bearing while my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

At exactly 10 minutes past 9am, the double doors at the very back of the church swung open.

The entire congregation stood up. The chatter died down instantly, replaced by a collective, breathless gasp that seemed to echo off the high rafters.

SOTERIA’S POV

The Mercedes-Benz S-Class I had rented for the evening rolled smoothly to a stop right in front of Akila’s apartment. It was an immaculate, jet-black machine with deeply tinted windows, driven by a professional chauffeur in a crisp suit.

I sat in the plush leather backseat, my heart doing a frantic, joyful dance against my ribs. I took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of my outfit, ensuring not a single wrinkle marred the fabric.

“Madam, we have arrived,” the driver said smoothly, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice tight with nervous excitement.

As I picked up my phone, I couldn’t help but smile thinking about how frantic the last hour had been.

Originally, the plan was for Akila to meet me directly at the venue. But Naya had called me in a full-blown panic just before I left.

“Soso, change of plan!” she had hissed into the phone, her voice a mix of anxiety and excitement. “Do not meet him at the location. Go to his house and pick him up yourself. I am terrified that if he drives himself, he’ll take his time, or something will delay him, and you guys won’t be there on time. Plus, if you turn up at his door with a whole chauffeur, it makes your story of ‘spoiling him for his birthday’ way more believable. He won’t suspect a thing!”

Naya’s fear of a timing mishap had altered everything, but looking at the luxury around me, I realized she was right.

This was much better. I quickly fired off a WhatsApp message to Effiom.

Soteria: Just arrived at his place. Are you guys done? I am by the door.

Effiom: He is ready. We are coming out now.

I rolled down the window just as the doors of Akila’s lobby slid open.

When Akila stepped out onto the driveway, my breath literally caught in my throat. My eyes widened, and for a solid three seconds, I forgot how to inhale.

He looked absolutely, deliciously edible.

Akila is a naturally imposing man, broad-shouldered, tall, with a commanding presence that usually fills any room, but tonight, he looked like a high-fashion editorial model straight from a luxury magazine.

He was wearing a well-tailored senator outfit in a deep, rich shade of army green that complemented his dark complexion perfectly. The fabric was heavy and expensive, draping over his frame with sharp, clean lines. Across his chest was an immaculate, intricate white embroidery design that added a regal, sophisticated contrast.

His cap was tilted at a perfect, rakish angle, and his wrist bore the heavy gleam of his favorite luxury watch. He looked so devastatingly handsome, so clean and polished, that I felt a sudden, fierce rush of pride. This is my man. All mine, I thought, my stomach doing a wild flip.

Effiom was walking to his own car, looking sharp as well, but Akila completely dominated the space. As he walked toward the car, his eyes locked onto the tinted glass of my window, a knowing, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The chauffeur quickly stepped out, rushing to open the back door for him.

Akila slid into the plush leather seat beside me, and the scent of his expensive, woody cologne instantly filled the car, making my head spin.

He turned his head to look at me, his eyes raking over my outfit. His gaze softened, a deep, warm adoration filling his eyes.

“Ziniya,” he murmured, his deep voice sending a thrill straight down my spine. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

“You don’t look bad yourself,” I teased, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart.

“In fact, you look very eatable.”

Akila let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through the leather seats. He reached out, his warm hand completely engulfing mine, squeezing gently.

But as the car pulled out of the driveway and smoothly navigated toward the venue, his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the sheer luxury of the ride.

“Ahnahnn, babe, what is the actual plan?” Akila asked, looking around the sophisticated interior of the car, then back at me.

“A whole chauffeur and an S-Class? This dinner is looking too serious oo. Are you sure we are just going for a casual dinner?”

I laughed nervously, my fingers tightening around his. “Babe, just wait and see. Relax and let me pamper you for once.”

“Hmm, if you say so,” he said, his eyes dancing with a secret amusement I didn’t quite catch.

I quickly typed a message to Naya under the shadow of my handbag.

Soteria: Naya! We are in the car. Please tell me everyone is at the hall. Everything is in place, right? I was so scared we’d be late because of the route change, but we are on the way!

Naya: Soso, calm down. Everyone is here and everything is perfect. We are all waiting for you.

I breathed a massive sigh of relief and locked my phone. I turned back to Akila, who was watching me with a serene, patient expression.

For the rest of the drive, we held hands, his thumb gently caressing the back of my knuckles, a silent anchor in the middle of my nervous energy.

When the car finally slid to a smooth halt in front of the hotel, the sun had fully set, replaced by the cool, crisp Abuja night air.

The chauffeur quickly got out and walked around to Akila’s side. Akila stepped out first, his tall frame catching the ambient lights of the hotel lobby.

He turned around, offering his hand to me, carefully guiding me out of the plush backseat so my heels wouldn’t catch on my dress.

As we walked through the polished, quiet lobby toward the private executive elevators, I felt my heart rate spiking to a dangerous level.

This was it. The moment I had spent three solid weeks planning. We stepped into the elevator, and I pressed the button for the penthouse floor.

The ride up was silent, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

When the elevator doors finally slid open with a soft chime, the space before us was cast in a warm, breathtaking glow.

I stepped out beside him, expecting to see the masculine, emerald green and charcoal setup I had meticulously budgeted for.

Instead, the sight that met my eyes completely shattered my reality.

The entire penthouse hallway and private hall had been transformed into a magical, ethereal wonderland. There were no dark drapes.

The entire space was cascading with heavy, pure white silk and shimmering silver fabrics. Lining the wide pathway were thousands of glowing white pillar candles inside tall glass cylinders, creating a dramatic, warm, and intensely romantic illumination.

But what took my breath away completely were the flowers. Thousands upon thousands of fresh, premium red and white roses, arranged in spectacular, overflowing installations that draped from the ceiling and framed the double doors of the main hall.

The rich, heavenly fragrance of fresh roses and expensive vanilla candles hit my senses all at once, so overwhelming and beautiful that I felt lightheaded.

I froze on the threshold. My mind frantically scrambled to process the scene.

Red and white roses? White silk? This is not a birthday decoration. This looks like...

A sudden, sharp realization hit my brain like a lightning bolt. My knees went entirely weak. In a blind panic of pure, overwhelming shock, I turned around and literally tried to run back into the elevator.

“No, no, no, this is a mistake!” I gasped, my voice shaking.

But Akila was already moving.

With the lightning-fast reflexes of a man who had anticipated this exact reaction, his frame blocked the elevator doors.

He reached out, his strong arms wrapping completely around my waist, lifting me slightly off the floor as I tried to retreat.

“Akila, let me go! The decorator mixed up the halls! This is someone’s wedding or something!” I said, my voice cracking with sudden panic.

“Baby, calm down. Look at me, it is for you.” his deep voice rumbled against my ear as he gently but firmly guided me back into the beautifully lit hall, closing the doors behind us.

He held me securely against his chest, but my entire body was shaking uncontrollably.

My hands were trembling so badly I couldn’t even hold my clutch. The sheer weight of the surprise, the realization that my friends, the decorator, everything, had been part of a massive, elaborate trap to blindside me, hit me with the force of a tidal wave.

I buried my face in my hands, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the tears began to spill over my makeup.

AKILAHYEL’S POV

I held her tightly against my frame, feeling the violent, erratic tremors running through her body. I could hear the soft, ragged hit of her breath and the sudden, heavy onset of her tears.

As I looked down at her — this brilliant, sharp-minded woman who usually had an answer for everything, now completely undone by my surprise, a deep, roaring wave of nervousness hit my own chest.

My hands, usually so steady, felt suddenly cold.

She looked so utterly gorgeous. The ivory dress skimmed her silhouette beautifully, and seeing her wrapped in the exact colors I had dreamed of seeing her in made my chest tighten with an almost painful amount of love.

She had spent three whole weeks running around Abuja, stressing over her plan, entirely convinced she was doing it for me. I felt bad that I had to stress her but there was no other way she would be less suspicious.

When Naya had called her to frantically switch plans and have Soteria pick me up, I was sitting right next to Naya, smirking.

We needed her to feel completely in control, entirely convinced that she was the one orchestrating the night.

She didn’t have a single clue that every naira she spent was being logged and kept somewhere, or that this entire candlelit hall was designed exclusively for her.

“Baby,” I whispered, my own voice carrying a rare, heavy tremor as I gently pulled her hands away from her face.

“Ziniya, look at me. Look at me, please.”

Soteria looked up at me, her beautiful eyes swimming with thick tears, her chest heaving as she cried.

She was in absolute, total shock. The tears were flowing freely now, ruining the makeup they had spent hours organizing, but to me, she had never looked more beautiful.

Her diastema was slightly visible as her mouth trembled in disbelief.

“Babe...” she sobbed, her voice breaking completely.

“You... you lied to me. Amara... Naya... everyone... you people lied to me.”

“We didn’t lie to you, my love,” I murmured gently, a soft smile breaking across my face.

I lifted my hands, using my thumbs to tenderly wipe the streaming tears from her cheeks, my touch as light as featherwork.

“We just gave you the steering wheel so you wouldn’t suspect a thing. Please, don’t cry again. You are breaking my heart.”

“I thought... I thought I was surprising you,” she wept, her small fists lightly thumping against my chest.

“I spent weeks planning this. I thought I was giving you the perfect celebration.”

“And you have given me the perfect life, my queen,” I said softly, my voice cracking slightly under the weight of my own emotions.

I held her securely, swaying her gently from side to side in the middle of the candlelit path, letting her catch her breath.

“Just calm down, okay? Take a deep breath and look at me.”

Soteria nodded weakly, swallowing hard as she tried to steady her breathing. She clutched my arms like a life raft, her eyes locked onto my gaze.

As her crying slowly subsided into quiet, emotional sniffling, I raised my hands to signal the team and the hidden speakers of the hall came alive.

It wasn’t just a background track; I had arranged for an artiste with a live violin and piano blend to play her absolute favorite love song.

The chords swelled, rich and deeply moving, filling the space with a profound, cinematic weight.

The singer’s voice emerged, clear, raw, and completely unhurried, singing every single word:

“There’s something about the way you smile

My whole world stands still for a while

I think my future has begun

Cuz darling I think I found the one

Oh baby there’s no maybe I know that you’re the one for me

And would you be my lady cuz you’re the only one I see

I’m in Love o

Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife So in love o

Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife You’re sent from above o Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife So I’m in love o

Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife So in love

It took a while to find you

And now my search IS over”

As the music breathed through the room, I took a slow, deep breath, my chest expanding.

The moment had finally come.

I reached into my pocket and drew out a small, folded piece of paper.

But as I unfolded it, my hands began to shake violently.

The unshakeable Akilahyel Gaya — the man who had faced war, immense crises, and heavy losses without a single flinch — was visibly trembling.

Seeing my hands shake, a beautiful, watery smile broke through her tears.

She instantly reached out, wrapping her warmer hands around my knuckles, holding them steady against my chest.

She nodded at me, a silent, encouraging gesture that told me she was ready to listen.

I locked my eyes onto hers, my voice thick, gravelly, and laced with an emotion I had never allowed myself to feel in front of anyone else.

“Soteria,” I began, and the sheer depth of vulnerability in my baritone made her eyes fill with fresh tears all over again.

“Ten years ago, when my father passed away, the world became a very cold, dark place. A massive part of me died in that room with him. I built high, impenetrable walls around my heart. I hardened myself, because I believed that my only purpose in this world was to be a shield. To protect my family, to carry heavy burdens silently, to work until my fingers bled, and to live my life in quiet, guarded isolation. I convinced myself that love was a luxury for other people. I didn’t think there was a single space left in this universe for me to experience pure, unfiltered joy. I was just surviving.”

I paused, a thick lump forming in my throat. I looked up at the ceiling for a brief second to catch my tears, but they escaped anyway, tracking down my face.

Soteria let out a soft gasp, her own hand flying to her mouth as she saw me cry. She reached out and wiped the tears from my eyes.

“And then, you walked into my life,” I continued, my voice dropping to a rough, emotional whisper that vibrated with everything inside me.

“With your sharp, brilliant mouth, your staggeringly beautiful heart, your unwavering passion for God and family, and that gorgeous smile that completely disarms me every single day. You didn’t just walk past my walls, mama. You didn’t even knock. You completely dismantled them without even trying, just by being who you are.”

I stepped closer, our chests almost touching, the full lyrics of the song softly looping in the background like a sacred vow.

“I’ll do anything for you my lover

I’ll be the one to hold you

I’ll be your man your soldier

I’ll be everything you need and even more

I’m in Love o

Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife So in love o

Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife You’re sent from above o Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife So I’m in love o

Ife Ife, Ife Ife mi, Ife Ife So in love”

“You brought a light into my world that I honestly didn’t think I deserved. For years, I was the person everyone leaned on, the strong man who took care of everyone else. But the day you stepped into my life, you looked at me and insisted on taking care of me. You made me realize that healing is not just a dream, it is a reality. You showed me that a man can finally lay his heavy armor down and find a safe, beautiful home in another person’s soul. You saved my life, Ziniya.”

I slowly folded the paper, completely abandoning it, letting my eyes lock onto hers with an intense, unyielding devotion that bared my entire soul.

“I don’t want to build a future if you are not the blueprint. I don’t want to see a tomorrow where your face isn’t the very first thing I see in the morning light, and the very last thing I hold safely against my chest at night. I want to stand by you through every storm, to shield you from the harshness of this world, to honor you in front of God and man, and to love you with every single broken and healed piece of my being for the rest of my days. I am entirely, completely yours.”

I gently let go of her hands. Reaching into the hidden, pocket of my outfit, I pulled out a small, royal blue velvet box.

With a slow, deliberate grace, I lowered myself down until I was on one knee on the pristine white carpet, looking up at the woman who held my entire world in her hands.

I opened the box.

Resting inside was a spectacular, custom-made platinum ring featuring a massive, flawless oval-cut diamond.

It caught the warm glow of the thousands of candles, flashing with a brilliant, blinding fire.

It was elegant, classy, and modest yet undeniably luxurious —perfectly tailored to her exact, sophisticated taste.

“Soteria Unwana Idorenyin,” I said, my voice cracking completely, my tears reflecting the candlelight.

“Will you do me the absolute, ultimate honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?”

Soteria completely broke down. She let out a loud, beautiful sob, a magnificent mix of a laugh and a cry that echoed through the high ceilings of the penthouse hall.

She didn’t even hesitate for a microsecond. She stepped forward, dropping directly to her knees right in front of me on the white carpet, throwing her arms violently around my neck, pulling me against her as if her life depended on it.

“Yes!” she gasped out, her voice muffled, hot, and damp against my shoulder.

“Yes, baby! A thousand times yes!”

The moment the word left her lips, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hall swung open with a dramatic flare, and a loud, deafening roar of cheers, screams, blowing whistles, and applause filled the space.

Soteria pulled back in absolute shock, her eyes widening as people began to stream out from behind the heavy white silk partitions where they had been hiding the entire time.

There was Naya, screaming at the top of her lungs; Amara was jumping up and down like a literal child, tears streaming down her face; Effiom was clapping proudly, Pastor Olive, and Pastor Uzor and his wife were beaming, shouting their congratulations.

But what made Soteria’s heart completely stop, what caused her to freeze entirely, was the woman walking at the very front of the crowd, dressed in a gorgeous traditional attire, weeping openly with a joyful smile.

“Mummy?!” Soteria gasped, her voice reaching a high pitch of utter, paralyzed disbelief.

Her mother, whom Soteria firmly believed was still outside the country and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks, was standing right there.

I had secretly arranged her flights, flown her back into Nigeria the night before, and kept her tucked away in a luxury suite in this exact hotel just for this very second.

Soteria scrambled to her feet, running as fast as her heels could carry her straight into her mother’s open arms.

They hugged fiercely, both of them weeping and shaking, while I slowly stood up, a triumphant, deeply emotional smile breaking across my face as I wiped a stray tear from my own eye.

The next hour was a beautiful, emotional blur of pure, unadulterated joy.

There were endless rounds of tight hugs, loud laughter, and high-pitched retellings of how the entire plot had been executed.

They took hundreds of pictures. The professional photographer I had hired capturing every raw moment.

Pastor Uzor and his wife gathered everyone around, placing their hands on us, and said a powerful, beautiful word of prayer over our future union.

Afterward, we all sat down at a banquet table set up at the back of the hall.

The gourmet fusion dinner she had meticulously paid for was served, but throughout the entire meal, she and I were completely, utterly glued to each other. Our chairs were pulled so close together that there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

My arm was draped securely around the back of her chair, my hand occasionally dropping to rest on her bare shoulder or her waist, drawing her close.

Every few minutes, as someone laughed or made a toast, I would lean down, my lips pressing a soft, lingering, and deeply affectionate peck onto the side of her head, murmuring sweet, private words that made her heart swell to near-bursting.

By the time the dinner finally wound down and the guests began to depart in pairs, the night air had turned incredibly still and peaceful.

I escorted her back down to the lobby, but instead of the rented S-Class, I led her to my own car. I was driving her home myself.

The drive through the quiet, amber-lit streets of Abuja was soft and heavy with a beautiful, sacred contentment.

Soteria sat incredibly close to me across the console, her left hand resting gently on the gear stick, the flawless diamond ring on her finger flashing brilliantly every time we passed under a streetlamp.

She had a video call with Zainab to show her the ring. Zainab’s scream was enough to pull off the roof of my car.

When I finally steered the car into her compound and brought it to a stop in her driveway, I shifted into park and turned to look at her.

Her phone suddenly gave a loud, double chime.

Soteria idly reached into her bag, unlocking the screen. She blinked, thinking the numbers on the screen were a mistake. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

It was a direct inward credit transfer to her account.

The amount was a staggering, even sum of exactly 10,000,000 Naira. The sender name read: AKILAHYEL GAYA

Soteria turned her head sharply, staring at me in absolute bewilderment.

“Babe? What is the meaning of this? Why did you just send me ten million Naira?”

I didn’t look away from the road, but a soft, beautiful smile played on my lips as I steered the car into her estate gate.

“Ziniya, you spent a lot of money planning this ‘surprise birthday’ dinner for me. You paid the caterers, you paid the decorators, you even tried to pay for the hall. I didn’t want you to know that I was tracking the bills, because you would have picked it up and ruined the proposal. So I let you clear the bills with your own money, but now that the surprise is over, that is your refund with a little extra for being the most beautiful woman in Nigeria.”

Soteria stared at the screen, then looked back at me.

The sheer, overwhelming thoughtfulness of the gesture made a fresh wave of emotional tears sting her eyes.

“My mannnnnn, you are too much,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she leaned across the console, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck as I parked the car in her driveway.

“You are just too much. I feel so incredibly blessed to have you. I don’t even know what I did to deserve a man like you.”

“You chose me, mama,” I murmured deeply, shifting the car into park and pulling her into my arms. “That’s all you had to do.”

I leaned down, pressing another soft, warm peck against her forehead, holding her close as the engine idled quietly.

When I finally loosened my grip so she could go inside, Soteria didn’t move. She stayed anchored against my chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of my army green attire. The cool night air outside didn’t matter; inside the car, it was warm and safe.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered against my shoulder, her voice small and filled with a sudden, intense longing.

“Just stay a little bit longer. Let’s just stay like this.”

I let out a low, rough chuckle, but my grip tightened around her waist for a brief second before I forcefully, but gently, pushed her back a few inches. I looked at her, my eyes suddenly dark and heavy with a deep, burning restraint that made her breath hitch.

“Mama,” I said, my voice rough and strained as I gave her a long, intense look.

“You need to get down from this car right now and go inside your house. Because if I stay here for another five minutes holding you like this, I will be fiercely tempted to break our agreement.”

She shook her head, a stubborn but incredibly beautiful pout forming on her lips.

“I’m not getting down,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Before I could even reply, she shifted across the console, pulling me closer to her.

She wrapped her arms fiercely around my neck, burying her face in the crook of my shoulder.

I let out a soft laugh, my arms automatically winding around her waist, locking her against me.

We just stayed like that for a long time, tangled up in each other, breathing in sync.

The cool night air was completely blocked out by the heavy, enveloping warmth of the car.

After several minutes of quiet holding, she shifted slightly, her eyes looking up into mine, glittering with residual tears and sheer wonder.

“Baby, seriously, I am so happy. Extremely happy. How did you guys pull this off?” she asked, her fingers toyed with the collar of my outfit.

“I need the full gist. Because I was so sure I was the one mastermind here!”

I rumbled with a deep chuckle, my hand gently rubbing her back.

“You really thought you had me, didn’t you, Ziniya?”

“Yes! I really thought so!”

“Oya, let me confess,” I smiled, leaning my head back against the headrest.

“This plan has been in play right from when we travelled for my dad’s remembrance. When we got back, you were becoming too suspicious and we had to do something”

Soteria gasped, her eyes widening. “Oh my!”

“Yes,” I laughed.

“So, we had to pivot. Amara was actually the mastermind behind the counter-plot. She came up with the brilliant idea to feed into your suspicions. She told Naya to fake-confess to you that it was actually a ‘surprise birthday party’ for me. They knew that if you thought you discovered the secret yourself, you would stop digging and feel completely in control. Every decorator, every caterer you called, they were immediately calling me or Naya the second you hung up, transferring the payment details to me.”

Soteria stared at me for a beat, processing the sheer levels of betrayal from her closest friends, and then she completely lost it.

She burst into a fit of laughter so loud and hard that her entire frame shook against mine.

She threw her head back, her beautiful smile flashing under the dim dashboard light as she cackled, clutching her chest for support.

“I cannot believe them!” she shrieked through her laughter, tears pricking her eyes all over again.

“Amara? My own friend? Wow! So the whole time I was stressing over the theme, you guys were literally laughing at me behind my back?!”

“We weren’t laughing at you, mama, we were admiring you,” I corrected softly, my voice dropping to a lower, tender register as her laughter slowly subsided into a breathless, happy smile.

“You were putting so much energy into celebrating me, even while I was preparing to give you my whole life. It just made me love you a thousand times more.”

The laughter in the car melted away, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness.

Soteria’s gaze softened, her eyes dropping to my lips and then back up to my eyes.

She rested her hand against my jaw, her thumb lightly tracing my jaw. The space between us shrank until our breaths were mingling, warm and intoxicating.

The scent of her vanilla perfume mixed with my woody cologne, creating an atmosphere so thick with desire it was dizzying.

She leaned in just a fraction of an inch closer, her chest rising and falling heavily against mine. It was a beautiful, agonizing temptation.

Looking at her in that dress, with her ring finger resting against my neck, everything inside me screamed to lean forward and completely do what I promised myself not to do until marriage.

Damn!!! It was hard.

Harder, now that I put a ring on her finger.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs. The restraint required to not break our boundary in that exact moment was the hardest thing I had ever had to pull off.

Knowing I was right on the edge of losing my grip, I forced myself to break the spell.

I loudly cleared my throat, the sharp sound cutting through the heavy tension of the cabin.

Soteria blinked, a deep, beautiful flush instantly spreading from her neck up to her cheeks.

She let out a small, knowing chuckle, realizing exactly what she was doing to me.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of playful satisfaction as she slowly adjusted and moved back fully to the passenger seat.

“Let me come and be going before I cause trouble for a whole man of God.”

I let out a rough, strained laugh, shifting my posture as I quickly opened my door.

“Yes, please. Get down before I forget my principles, woman.”

I walked around to her side, opening the door and helping her step out into the cool night air.

I walked her all the way to her front door, waiting until she unlocked it and stepped safely inside. She leaned out one last time, her eyes sparkling with absolute adoration.

“Goodnight, my fiancé, I love you!! I love you! I love you so so much” she whispered, the title sounding incredibly sweet on her tongue.

“Goodnight, my queen. I love you so much more. Make sure you lock the door,” I replied, my voice warm.

I waited until I heard the deadbolt click into place before I turned back to my car.

Getting back into the driver’s seat, the silence of the vehicle felt completely different now, it felt full, heavy with a beautiful promise.

As I started the engine and drove out of her house, navigating the quiet, dark Abuja roads toward my own house, a triumphant smile broke across my face.

My chest expanded with a profound sense of peace and absolute satisfaction.

That brilliant, beautiful, chaotic, God-fearing woman was about to be my wifey. And I was the luckiest man alive.

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AUTHOR’S POV

The emotional weight of the tenth-year remembrance service for his father still hung heavy in the warm air as their convoy finally pulled into the family compound.

The compound was already bubbling with the chaotic, beautiful noise of the northern women. The rich, smoky aroma of pounded yam, local miyan kuka, and peppered goat meat cooking over open firewood pits drifted through the courtyard. Wandi was already barking cheerful orders near the kitchen setup, and the cousins were loud on the veranda.

But before the festive chaos completely swallowed them up, Akila had a mission to execute. He needed to officially present the woman who held his heart to the matriarch of his family.

He leaned down to Soteria.

“Ziniya, let me quickly go and check on Mama in her room. I want to make sure she’s well rested after the long service, then I’ll take you to see her, okay?”

“Alright, my love,” she smiled.

“Take your time. I’ll hang out with Amara and Effiom on the veranda.”

Akila nodded, stepping away from the noise of the yard. He walked down the quiet gravel path toward the white-washed cottage at the back of the compound, the private sanctuary where his mother always stayed.

His heart was pounding against his ribs, a strange, nervous energy fluttering in his chest that felt completely foreign to a commander.

He knocked softly on the heavy wooden door. Two distinct raps.

“Shigo ciki, [Come in],” her sweet, fragile voice echoed from inside.

Akila pushed the door open.

The room was cool, shaded from the harsh afternoon sun, and smelling faintly of menthol and traditional oils. Mama was sitting on her low, cushioned armchair, a beautifully patterned shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“Mama, good afternoon,” Akila said, walking over to kneel directly on the floor beside her feet, taking her small, warm hands in his.

“AkilaHyel, da kanka [you yourself],” she smiled, her eyes crinkling with deep affection as she patted his knuckles.

“The service was beautiful, ko? Your father would have been so proud to see you standing there today like the son he raised.”

“Thank you, Mama. It was indeed a heavy day,” Akila swallowed hard, clearing his throat as he looked up at her. He decided to drop the heavy cargo right there.

“Mama... actually, there is something very important I need to tell you. I want to propose to my girlfriend.”

Mama stopped patting his hand. She went completely still, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at him with a classic, sharp expression that made him feel like a ten-year-old boy caught climbing the mango tree.

“Kai, AkilaHyel!” Mama exclaimed.

“Which one is girlfriend again? You are standing in front of your mother talking about girlfriend? Gaskiya, you want me to knock that your big head this afternoon?”

Akila couldn’t help it; a deep, rumbling laugh tore from his chest.

“Sorry, Mama. Forgive me. I mean my wife-to-be.”

“Yawwa!” Mama clapped her hands together once, a triumphant grin breaking across her face.

“That is better! That is what I want to hear. Wife-to-be. Not all these modern English terms. So, the girl I saw you holding, the one with the beautiful gap tooth and the kind eyes... she is the one?”

“She is the one, Mama,” Akila said softly, his voice filled with a profound, unshakable certainty.

“She is the one i want to do life with. But, Mama, it’s a surprise oo. She has absolutely no idea. Please, you must not mention a single word about a proposal or a ring when she comes in.”

Mama let out a loud laugh, waving her hand dismissively.

“Ahnahnn! Are you teaching your own mother how to keep a secret? Keep your lectures to yourself, my friend. I know how to handle things like this. Go and bring her inside let me see my daughter! Quickly!”

Akila smiled, standing up and brushing down his native attire. “Alright, Mama. I’m coming.”

He walked back out to the veranda, his eyes immediately locking onto Soteria.

She was laughing at something Effiom had said, looking so effortlessly elegant. Akila walked up to her, offering his hand.

“Come, baby,” he whispered. “Mama is ready to see you now.”

Soteria’s breath hitched slightly, a nervous excitement instantly taking over her face. She took his hand, smoothing down her lace skirt as he led her back down the gravel path.

When they stepped into the cottage, Soteria immediately dropped to her knees with deep, unforced traditional reverence, bowing her head.

“Good afternoon, Mama. How are you doing today, Ma?”

“Oh, look at her!” Mama gasped, her eyes instantly filling with shining tears of pure joy. She didn’t even let Soteria finish her greetings before she reached out, her small hands grabbing Soteria’s arms and pulling her upward.

“Get up from the floor, my beautiful child! Come and sit close to me here.”

Just as Soteria sat on the edge of the low stool beside her, the cottage door burst open with a loud, energetic clatter. Wandi walked in, holding a tray with a tall glass of freshly made local zobo drink.

“Mama, I brought your….” Wandi stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening into massive circles as she saw Soteria sitting by Mama’s side.

She immediately dropped the tray onto the side table, wrapping her arms around Soteria from behind, laughing loudly.

“My sister! You don’t know how happy I am to see you here! Welcome to Hong officially!”

“Wandi, abeg, don’t break my daughter-in-law’s neck with your loud shouting,” Mama scolded playfully, though her own face was split into a massive grin.

She turned back to Soteria, her hands gently framing the young woman’s face, her wise eyes taking in every feature under the warm lamp.

“Soteria, my daughter,” Mama murmured, her voice dripping with an emotional, beautiful tenderness.

“I have been praying for a woman like you for my son for years. Akila is a good man, but his heart became so rigid after his father died. He refused to bend for anybody. He carried too much heavy stone in his chest. But today... standing in that church, I looked at him, and I saw his father’s light back in his eyes. Wandi, ko ba haka ba? Did you see him?”

“Mama, I did oo!” Wandi chimed in, leaning against the armrest, her eyes sparkling.

“The hard guy actually smiled three times during the service! It’s an absolute miracle.”

Soteria burst into a bright laugh,

“Mama, Sister Wandi... thank you so much. He is a stubborn man, yes, but he has the most protective, beautiful heart I have ever known. It is an honor to be here with you all.”

Mama’s expression softened.

“Come here, Akila. You both should kneel down. I want to pray for you.”

She placed her right hand on Soteria’s head and her left hand on Akila’s shoulder as he knelt beside them.

She closed her eyes, her lips moving as she began to pour out a heavy blessing.

“Ubangiji Shi albarkace ku... May the Lord Almighty establish this beautiful life you are building. God will grant you perfect peace, long life, and yara masu albarka [blessed children]. Soteria, you have brought joy back into this house, and the Lord will pour that joy back into your own bosom a hundredfold. You are officially welcome to the Gaya family, my daughter.”

“Amen,” Soteria whispered, as she wrapped her arms tightly around mama’s shoulders.

Wandi squeezed into the hug from the side, laughing and wiping her own eyes.

Akila stood up quietly, watching the three of them gisting, laughing, and swapping hilarious stories about his childhood.

He gave Mama a quick, subtle nod and stepped out.

Akila walked out of the cottage, the afternoon sun hitting his face as he marched straight across the courtyard, his eyes scanning the crowd until he spotted exactly who he needed.

Naya was standing by the beverage cooler near the veranda, pouring herself a cup of zobo, looking relaxed after the long day.

He walked up behind her, his voice dropping into a low tone.

“Naya. Please come with me. It is urgent.”

Naya paused, the plastic cup halfway to her mouth. She turned her head slowly, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at his serious tone.

“Ahnahnn, Akila. What is it? I am tired oo?”

“Drop the cup, Naya. It is urgent,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking toward the quiet, shaded space behind the parking garage.

She sighed loudly, dropping the cup onto the table, and followed his heavy strides. The moment they were completely out of sight and earshot of the main yard, she crossed her arms over her chest, pinning him with her sharp look.

“Okay, What’s up?.”

Akila looked around to ensure the place was clear, then turned back to her, an uncontainable grin finally breaking completely across his face.

“I need your full help with something,” he said, his baritone vibrating with a rare, jittery excitement.

“I am proposing to Soteria.”

Naya’s jaw literally dropped open, and she let out a muffled, high-pitched scream, her hands flying to her mouth to choke back the noise so she wouldn’t alert the yard.

“Oh my God! Yaro!” she gasped, her eyes wide with frantic delight.

“Are you serious? You are finally doing it?!”

“Yes, I am serious,” Akila laughed, holding her hands steady.

“I want this to be the most sophisticated, high-end blindside she has ever experienced. She is too smart, Naya. Her mind picks up on everything. I want her to be completely surprised.”

Naya’s eyes lit up as she leaned in closer, her brain already shifting into planning mode.

“Leave the planning to me and Amara, Akila. I am the Chief Planner. We will come up with a plan. Tell me exactly what you have in mind for the ring...”

____________________________________________________________________________

The flight back from Yola to Abuja was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that felt heavy with new beginnings. The dry, dusty air of Hong and the towering granite hills that had witnessed Akila’s childhood gradually faded beneath the clouds, replaced a few hours later by the familiar, sprawling tarmac of the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport.

Abuja met them with its usual fast-paced energy. The broad, smooth asphalt of the airport expressway stretched out ahead as Akila drove them into town, his large hands steady on the steering wheel.

Soteria sat in the passenger seat, looking at his profile. There was a softness in his eyes now, a gentle, unhurried ease that hadn’t been there before they traveled down for his father’s tenth anniversary. The heavy burden of old grief had cleared, leaving behind a peaceful stillness. Every now and then, he would glance across the gear stick at her, his eyes warm, holding her gaze just long enough to make her stomach do a joyful, erratic flip.

ONE MONTH LATER

Soteria knew something was definitely up.

She was certainly not the type of woman who passed through life with her eyes closed. She picked up on every single shift in routine. She noticed when things didn’t completely align. And lately, the people in her inner circle were acting completely bizarre.

First, it was Akila. The man had suddenly started becoming unavailable.

When she asked, he would casually smile and say he had to sort out some urgent stuff at the office.

Now, Akila worked hard, yes, but he valued his weekend rest fiercely unless the world was coming to an end.

Then there was the phone issue. Whenever they were together and a notification popped up, he would casually but very deliberately tilt the screen a fraction of an inch away from her line of sight.

One Tuesday evening, while they were having dinner at his place, she couldn’t take it anymore. She narrowed her eyes as he typed a rapid response to a text message and shoved the device straight into his pocket.

“Baby,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

“Who is that you are texting with such speed? Since when did you start hiding your phone screen from me?”

He didn’t even flinch. His face remained perfectly calm as he reached out, his large hand gently wrapping around the back of her neck to pull her close, his deep chuckle vibrating against her shoulder.

“Ziniya, are you investigating a captain? It’s just Effiom reaching out to me about some clearance documentation.”

She let it slide, but her suspicion didn’t die. It just shifted down the line.

Two days later, she was having lunch at a café in Wuse II with Amara and Naya. They were supposed to be reviewing the final checklist for the upcoming outreach they had, but the energy at the table was completely confusing.

Amara was aggressively checking her smartwatch every five minutes, and Naya was distracted.

“Okay, the both of you should stop it right now,” Soteria said, dropping her fork onto her plate with a sharp, echoing clink.

She leaned forward, pinning them with a sharp look.

“What is actually going on? Because if you guys think I am blind, you are deeply mistaken.”

“What do you mean, mama?” Amara asked, her voice jumping a whole octave higher than normal. She quickly grabbed her glass of water to hide her expression.

“Nothing is going on nau. We are just tired from work.”

“Lie to me again, Amara, and I will just change it for you,” Soteria threatened playfully, though her mind was spinning.

“Naya, you are distracted, Amara keeps checking her watch. Is there something that I need to know? Naya, are you planning to travel out of the country without telling me?”

Naya and Amara exchanged a swift, terrified glance across the table. It was a look that lasted less than a second, but to Soteria’s inquisitive mind, it was an absolute admission of guilt.

They realized she was growing far too suspicious. If they didn’t pivot right now, she would unearth the entire proposal plan before the weekend.

Naya immediately leaned forward, dropping her demeanor and slinging her arm over the table.

“Osheyyyyyy baddest. Detective Soteria on the beat. Fine, you caught us. We were trying to keep it a secret, but the truth is... we are actually concerned about Akila.”

“Concerned about him, how?” Soteria asked, her heart doing a sudden, nervous skip.

“His birthday,” Naya said smoothly, her face turning into a picture of perfect sisterly concern.

“Think about it. He turned 31 recently. Yes, we did that small bonfire for him, but Akila has never actually had a proper, intentional celebration since our dad passed. Now that we are back, he’s already sinking back into his extreme work routine. I and Amara were just thinking of how we can help him.”

Soteria relaxed slightly, her suspicion deflecting off the target.

“Oh. But his birthday has already passed nau. Today is over a month later.”

“Exactly!” Naya pressed, her voice dripping with sudden inspiration.

“That is why you should organize a surprise birthday party for him!”

Soteria blinked, utterly taken aback. “Surprise keh? A month after his birthday?”

“Yes!” Naya insisted, leaning in closer.

“He has absolutely never been surprised before in his entire life. Because the actual date has passed, he would not even suspect a thing. He thinks the birthday celebration is over and done with. He won’t suspect it at all. A perfect time to do something nice for your baby!”

Amara chimed in instantly, nodding her head vigorously.

“Babes, Naya is completely right. You know how your man is, if you had tried to do anything on his actual birthday, he would calculate the details and shut it down. But doing it a long time after will mean a lot to him. He deserves to be celebrated after all he has been through.”

Soteria sat back in her chair, tapping her chin as her mind began to run through the idea. “Hmm... that’s actually true,” she said.

Akila had spent a decade avoiding his birthday because of the grief tied to his father’s passing. The village bonfire had been nice, but a proper, intimate celebration, surrounded by the people he loved, would mean a lot to him.

“Okay, you people have a point. It’s actually a very beautiful idea. So, what do you think I should do?” Soteria murmured, a slow smile breaking across her face.

Naya and Amara practically exhaled in unison, the relief at the table so thick it was a wonder Soteria didn’t feel it.

“A small, high-end, intimate dinner party,” Amara suggested immediately, her eyes lighting up with creative fire.

“Just his inner circle. You, me, Effiom. You can even invite Pastor Uzor and his wife, a few of his close friends, and then family. We can get a very classy, exclusive private hall. Low key, very luxurious and completely private.”

“Yes!” Soteria gasped, completely hooked by the concept.

“Oh, How did I not think of this? Now I am so happy to do this for him! He deserves to be celebrated properly. Okay, ladies, let’s map out the plans.”

And just like that, with a masterclass in deception, Naya and Amara handed her the steering wheel. Soteria plunged headfirst into the project.

The planning took over three weeks, mostly because Soteria was an absolute perfectionist. Every single detail had to be vetted by her sharp eyes.

By the second week, they were looking for the perfect venue. Naya called her one afternoon while Soteria was at a client’s house for inspection.

“Boo boo, check your DM, I sent you a picture. I found the perfect hall inside that new hotel in Maitama. It’s completely secluded, very classy, and they only take one booking per night. I’ve already spoken to the manager sha.”

“Perfect,” Soteria said, opening the picture on her phone. “Ohhhhh!! Babes, it is gorgeous. I love this so much. Mbok, send me the invoice let me pay.”

“Ahhh, pay for what abeg?” Naya laughed over the phone. “This one is my personal gift to my brother. Thirty one is a huge milestone, and since he’s my favorite big brother, consider the hall bill completely covered by me. Don’t worry about it.”

“Naya, are you sure?” Soteria asked, hesitating. “I am the one planning this, I should be handling the bills.”

“Na you sabi oo. Madam, keep your money for the food and decor. Trust me, the hall is sorted,” Naya insisted.

“Thank you, baby. This means a lot to me. I am grateful.” Soteria cooed.

“It’s fine, my love. I dey for you. Let me quickly hurry home before yaro becomes suspicious.” Naya said.

“Okay, boo. See ya later” Then she hung up the call.

When it came to the catering, Soteria refused to compromise. She hired one of the top gourmet chefs in Abuja to design a customized five-course fusion menu, traditional northern delicacies reimagined with a modern, luxury finish.

When it came to the decoration, Soteria was a woman of specific tastes. She favored a very classy, modest, and sophisticated aesthetic. She called the event decorator into a meeting at her office, with Amara sitting in the corner under the guise of “moral support.”

“Okay, look at my mood board,” Soteria told the decorator, sliding her tablet across the desk.

“I don’t want the typical, loud Nigerian party decor. No flashing colored LED lights, please. I want a deeply sophisticated, masculine yet romantic environment. Think heavy emerald green drapes, deep charcoal accents, clean lines, and hundreds of white pillar candles in glass cylinders. The lighting must be very good. Let’s do soft shadows, dramatic warm glows and high-resolution finish.”

The decorator looked at the tablet, then glanced up at Amara, who gave her a very slow, deliberate nod behind Soteria’s back.

“No problem, Madam. Your vision is very clear,” the decorator smiled smoothly, recording the instructions.

“Emerald green, charcoal, pillar candles. I will calculate the total cost for this setup and send the breakdown.”

“Excellent,” Soteria said, completely satisfied.

Two days later, the invoice arrived. It was steep, but for Akila, she didn’t care. She paid the decorator the full amount.

____________________________________________________________________________

Later that week, Akila took Soteria out for a quiet dinner at a serene, low-lit restaurant in Asokoro. It was their first proper date night since returning from the village, and the atmosphere between them was wonderfully relaxed.

As they enjoyed their meal, Soteria wiped her mouth with a napkin, leaned across the table, and gave him a bright, knowing smile.

“Babe,” she murmured, her voice carrying a playful undertone.

“I need you to clear your calendar for next week Saturday evening. I have somewhere very special I want to take you.”

Akila paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. He looked at her, his dark eyes twinkling with an amused curiosity.

“Oh? Somewhere special? Just the two of us?”

“Yes, just both of us,” she said, nodding proudly.

“I want us to have a beautiful evening.”

Akila swallowed his food and smiled, leaning back in his chair.

“Alright, Ziniya. If you say so. But is there a way I should dress? Should I do easy wear, a corporate look or an official look?”

“Don’t worry, I have a dress code for you. Wear something nice in your favorite colors, army green and white. Keep it very sharp and classy.”

Akila’s smile widened.

He reached across the table and lightly tapped her chin.

“Army green and white. At your service, baby. I will make sure I look my best for you.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, the conversation flowing seamlessly from lighthearted banter to deep, shared dreams for the future. For Soteria, it felt like the perfect, peaceful calm before her big surprise.

_______________________________________________________________________

The next afternoon, the plans shifted to the next phase. Amara and Naya practically dragged Soteria out of her apartment under the pretext of an emergency dress-shopping expedition.

“Babe, you cannot host a premium dinner for my brother looking like you just left a meeting,” Naya declared as they walked into the boutique.

“You need something absolutely breathtaking.”

They browsed through the racks until Amara pulled out an incredible ensemble.

It was a gorgeous, sophisticated ivory satin outfit with an elegant, modest neckline, structured long sleeves, and intricate, hand-beaded detailing around the cuffs.

When Soteria tried it on, she stared at her reflection in the boutique’s full-length mirror. The fit was flawless, skimming her silhouette beautifully and highlighting her natural, radiant glow.

“Oh my goodness,” Soteria whispered, touching the fabric.

“This is stunning. I am getting this. Where is the attendant?” She asked as she looked around.

Amara moved forward and slid her black card to the cashier. “Don’t worry about the bill, boo. I’m paying for this.”

Soteria’s jaw dropped. “Amara, pay for what? Please take your card back joor! Why would you pay for my outfit?”

“Look at this one,” Amara laughed, waving her hand dismissively as the cashier processed the payment.

“Madam, please stop being stubborn. You’ve already spent a fortune catering for the food and the decor for this man’s birthday. Let me cover this dress and your shoes as my own support. Relax abeg!”

Before Soteria could even recover from Amara’s gesture, Naya chimed in with a bright grin.

“And since Amara has taken the outfit, I am officially covering your makeup and hair for the day. No arguments allowed!”

Soteria threw her hands up in the air, her gap tooth flashing as she laughed in sheer disbelief. “Ahnahnn! Na me dey do birthday? Why are you people treating me like I’m the celebrant?”

“We just want to do something really good for you, Soteria. Just accept the love.”

__________________________________________________________________________

The day of the event finally arrived.

From the early hours of the morning, Soteria’s house was turned into a bustling beauty studio.

Naya and Amara arrived with a hairstylist and a makeup artist in tow.

Soteria sat in her chair, completely bewildered but happily yielding to the pampering, believing it was all part of being the perfect host for Akila’s big night.

The makeup artist worked with absolute precision, enhancing Soteria’s striking features while preserving her natural skin texture perfectly, exactly the way she loved it.

Her hair was being styled into an elegant updo that would complement the regal neckline of her ivory outfit.

As the makeup artist reached for a blending brush to apply the final touches, Soteria’s phone buzzed on the vanity table.

She picked it up, seeing Effiom’s name flash across the screen. She quickly answered it, putting it on speaker so she wouldn’t disturb the makeup application.

“Effiom! Tell me you are with Akila right now,” Soteria said immediately, her voice a mix of nervous excitement and frantic coordination.

“Calm down, big head,” Effiom chuckled over the line.

“I’ve been with your man for the past three hours. We just left the car wash and we are heading back to his place so he can get dressed. He is completely clueless.”

“Good,” Soteria breathed out a sigh of relief, though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

“Please, Effiom, I am begging you, do not allow him to get suspicious. Keep talking to him about anything, football, politics, whatever. Just make sure he dresses in the army green and white outfit I told him to wear, and bring him to the hall exactly by 7:00 PM. Not a minute late mbok!”

“Soteria, you go need calm down. Just trust me. “ Effiom laughed.

“Everything is under total lock and key. Just focus on looking beautiful. We will see you there.”

“Alright, thank you, my guy” Soteria smiled, hanging up the phone.

She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes as the hairstylist began securing the final pins into her hair.

In just one hour, she would be heading out, entirely convinced that she was about to pull off the ultimate surprise of Akila’s life.

SOTERIA’S POV

Pastor Uzor’s office smelled of old leather-bound books, polished cedar wood, and the faint, clean scent of lavender oil. It was a space that felt entirely quiet, deliberate, and grounded.

Pastor Uzor sat behind a mahogany desk, his spectacles resting halfway down his nose as he marked a passage in a study Bible.

When he looked up and saw us standing there — Akila dressed in a simple, dark kaftan, and me with my hands clamped tightly over my handbag — his face cracked into a warm, deeply familiar smile.

“Ah, my people,” Pastor Uzor said.

He closed his Bible and gestured to the two plush leather armchairs opposite his desk.

“Sit down, please. Sit down, Akila. Soteria, you are welcome.”

We sat down, the leather creaking softly under our weight. Akila didn’t waste time.

He reached across the small gap between our chairs, his warm hand covering mine, anchoring my fingers.

He looked at the pastor, his jaw relaxed but his posture completely respectful.

“Thank you for seeing us on short notice, Sir,” Akila began.

“As I mentioned on the phone, we didn’t want to make this trip to Adamawa without seeing you first. We are getting very serious about our future, and we want to officially inform you of our relationship for counsel and accountability, sir”

Pastor Uzor leaned back in his chair, a profound, knowing look passing over his face as he looked at our joined hands. He let out a soft, joyful chuckle.

“Glory be to God,” he murmured, shaking his head with a brilliant smile.

“I am glad you are here,” Pastor Uzor said softly.

“A relationship that stays hidden in a corner without spiritual oversight is a relationship that is vulnerable to every passing wind. Akila.”

He turned his focus directly onto Akila, his eyes holding a gentle but unyielding truth

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear this today. You see, Akila, I have known you for over three years since you joined this church. And if I am being completely honest, you were not always as committed or as efficient as you have been in these last few months. You used to walk in here like a man carrying the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, completely unyielding.”

Pastor Uzor then turned his gaze directly to me, his eyes shining.

“Soteria, I thank God for bringing you into his life to sharpen him more. The transformation in this man is visible to everyone. But more than that, I thank God for how Akila stood in the gap for you to come to Christ.”

I paused, a sudden emotion rippling through my chest.

I blinked, my mind racing as I looked from the pastor to Akila.

“Sir?”

Pastor Uzor smiled warmly, leaning forward.

“This man took your journey to Christ personally. When you first started coming around, Akila came to this office. He met with Pastor Olive and I. In his words, ‘Please, Sir and Ma, whatever it takes, draw her close. She needs someone to guide and counsel her.’ He constantly interceded for your soul. There were times he fasted just for you to fully heal and be steadfast in your walk with God. I am glad that season also shaped him to be a better man”

A profound wave of awe rushed through my entire body, making my eyes sting with sudden, hot tears.

I turned my head slowly to look at Akila. His face was a deep shade of crimson, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor as if he had been caught breaking a rule.

He hadn’t told me this. He had never once bragged about it or used it as a point of leverage during our arguments. He had just quietly, fiercely covered me in the secret place. What a man!!

My heart swelled until it felt heavy in my chest.

I reached out with my other hand, holding his hand tenderly between both of mine, squeezing it with an overwhelming rush of gratitude and love.

He looked up then, his dark eyes soft and incredibly vulnerable as he met my gaze.

“So you see,” Pastor Uzor continued, pulling our attention back with a gentle smile, “you must continue to be each other’s shield. The scriptures tell us in Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 that two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. Akila, your strength must be her protection, never her oppressor. And Soteria, your wisdom and grace must be his peace, never his battleground. Guard each other. Sharpen each other.”

He turned his focus directly onto Akila, his eyes holding a gentle but unyielding truth.

“Son, the scripture says a man must love his wife as Christ loved the church and gave Himself for it. That means your leadership in this woman’s life must be defined by sacrifice, tenderness, and patience. You are a strong man, Akila, but your strength must never become a wall that shuts her out or a hammer that breaks her spirit. When you step into a home, you drop the urge to control. You must create an environment where Soteria feels safe enough to speak her mind without fear of hitting a stone wall. Your job is to cherish her, to cover her flaws, and to provide a soft landing for her soul when the world outside is harsh.”

Pastor Uzor then turned his gaze to me, his expression full of a fatherly kindness that made my throat instantly catch.

“And you, my daughter, Soteria,” he said gently.

“You are a gifted, intelligent, and highly industrial woman. Your tongue must be an instrument of healing and grace in this man’s life. A man like Akila carries a lot of silent burdens, burdens of protection, family, and duty. If he comes home and meets a constant battle of words or a spirit that refuses to yield, his heart will eventually grow cold. Your assignment is to be his helper, his confidante, and his peace. Speak life into him. When you see his edges getting sharp, don’t meet him with fire; meet him with the quiet, unshakeable wisdom that comes from a gentle spirit. Honor his heart, and protect his honor in public.”

He looked at the two of us, a small, encouraging smile returning to his face.

“You two have a beautiful life before you. But remember, the enemy doesn’t attack bad things; he attacks things that have the potential to glorify God. Guard your relationship with prayer. Don’t let disagreements linger past sunset. Speak the truth to each other, but always wrap it in love.”

Pastor Uzor stood up from his chair, walking around the desk.

Akila and I stood up automatically, bowing our heads as the pastor stepped closer. He placed his left hand heavily on Akila’s shoulder and his right hand over my head, bridging the space between us.

“Let us pray,” Pastor Uzor murmured, closing his eyes.

“Father, in the name of Jesus, we thank You for this beautiful alignment. Thank You for Akila and Soteria, and thank You for the grace that brought them together. Lord, we commit this relationship into Your holy hands today. May You continue to be the third cord that cannot be easily broken. Give them the grace to be each other’s shield, to walk in absolute truth, humility, and love.”

He pressed his hands down slightly, his voice rising.

“We seal this relationship with the blood of Jesus. We decree that no weapon formed against their peace, their joy, or their future shall prosper. Every root of pride, miscommunication, or old baggage, we command it to dry up from the foundation today. And Father, as they journey to Adamawa for this remembrance, we ask for journey mercy. We clear the highways of any danger. Let this trip be a season of deep family bonding, of healing, and of sober reflection. Let Your presence envelop them from here until they step into Adamawa. Cover their going out and their coming in. In Jesus’ mighty name we have prayed.”

“Amen,” Akila and I whispered together.

When I opened my eyes, the last remnants of past anxiety had completely vanished.

Holding Akila’s hand tightly as we thanked the pastor, I knew that whatever lay ahead on the long road to our future, our foundation was finally built on the Rock.

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AkilaHyel’s POV

The rugged, red-earth landscape of Adamawa State blurred past the tinted windows of the rented car, the dry, ancient wind of the northeast sweeping over the chassis as we drove from the airport to the house.

The air here was entirely different from the heavy, bureaucratic humidity of Abuja. It smelled of sun-baked granite, dry savannah grass, and home.

My left hand was draped casually over the steering wheel, but my right hand was entirely occupied.

Soteria’s soft, manicured fingers were slotted perfectly between mine, resting on the center console. Every few miles, my thumb would involuntarily stroke the smooth skin of her knuckles.

Effiom, Amara and Naya were seated behind.

I was looking at the long stretch of the road ahead, but my mind was completely consumed with the happenings of the past few days.

I am going to marry this woman, I thought, the realization hitting my chest not with panic, but with the profound, unshakable solidity of a cornerstone being laid into the earth.

It wasn’t a sudden, fleeting emotional high. It was a deeply absolute conviction.

Two days before we embarked on this trip to my village, I had taken her to see Pastor Uzor. I remembered sitting in his office, the heavy, polished mahogany desk between us, as we told him our intentions.

I remembered how Pastor Uzor had looked at us with the deep, discerning warmth of a father. He had laid his hands over our joined palms and prayed over us.

Walking out of that office, the weight of my past had finally fractured.

Looking at her now, sleeping softly in the passenger seat, her head resting against the leather headrest, the morning sun catching the flawless glow of her fair skin, my heart stretched against my ribs with a volume of love that felt dangerous.

I didn’t want to just call her my girlfriend anymore.

I was already calculating my plans, running through jewelry contacts in my head, figuring out how to blindside her with a proposal she would never see coming.

But before I could secure the future, I had to honor the past.

It was funny how less than a week ago, I had been completely closed off to this entire trip. If someone had told me I would be coming to Hong with a light heart, I would have called them a liar.

I had been completely uninterested in having any kind of celebration for my birthday, and I hadn’t even bothered to know the plans the family were making for my father’s 10th-year remembrance.

But Soteria hadn’t let me wallow in my pain.

I remembered her holding my face in the parlor, looking into my eyes, and forcing me to pull out my phone right then and there to call Wandi for an update.

“You deserve to celebrate your birthdag, baby. And your father deserves to be celebrated too,” she had told me, breaking down my walls with pure love.

The tires of the car crunched over the gravel driveway of the family compound, finally coming to a halt after the long, dusty drive from the Yola airport.

The moment the engines cut out, before I could even open my door, the front veranda of the house erupted.

Mama came rushing down the concrete steps with a speed that completely defied her age.

Her face was lit up with a brilliant smile, her colorful wrapper trailing behind her as she sprinted toward us.

Behind her, three young cousins, the boys my mother had brought from the extended family to stay with her, came running out too, shouting in excitement.

“AkilaHyel! Yarona!” Mama cried out, her voice cracking with pure, unadulterated joy as she reached my side of the car.

The moment my feet hit the ground, she lunged forward, her small, frail arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

She buried her face into my chest, shaking with a deep, emotional happiness.

Naya pushed her door open from the backseat, and Mama instantly reached out with one arm, dragging her into the embrace too.

“Yesu maku albarka, yarana! Kun dawo lafiya!” Mama wept joyfully in Hausa, her hands patting my back frantically. (God bless you, my children! You have returned safely!)

She pulled back slightly, her eyes shining as she squeezed Naya’s cheeks.

“Auta nawa! Ke ce da kanki? Waɗannan idanun nawa sun ga abin farin ciki yau!” (My last born! Is this really you? These eyes of mine have seen something of joy today!)

“Mama, I am here! Ina kwana, Mama!” Naya laughed, her eyes tearing up as she kissed my mom’s forehead.

I stood there, a massive, helpless smile breaking across my face as I looked down at my mother.

I hadn’t seen her in person in five long years. My breath caught slightly in my throat.

She looked so beautiful, though the silver in her hair had grown thicker and the lines around her eyes deeper.

I had been sending money home every single month, ensuring she never lacked a single comfort, and looking at the modern five-bedroom bungalow we had built for her here in the village, a profound sense of fulfillment washed over me.

She didn’t have to stress for anything. She lived like a queen, surrounded by three cousins from my late father’s side and one from her own side who took care of the compound.

She was a happy woman whose only daily chore was happily roasting groundnuts on the veranda just to pass the time.

I cleared my throat, gently turning Mama around to face the rest of our convoy.

Soteria was standing just a few paces behind me, her fingers nervously tucked into the strap of her handbag, with Effiom and Amara standing right beside her, watching the family reunion with soft smiles.

“Mama,” I said, my voice dropping into a proud, gentle frequency.

“Come and meet our guests. This is Amara, our friend, Effiom, my brother and friend from Abuja. And then... this is Soteria, his sister.”

The moment my mother’s eyes landed on them, she immediately wiped her face with the edge of her wrapper and switched entirely into English, her face beaming with hospitality.

“Oh, welcome! Welcome, my children! Thank you so much for coming with my Akila. Thank you for traveling all this way for our Baba’s remembrance. God bless you!”

She stepped forward, warmly shaking Effiom’s hand and giving Amara a tight squeeze.

But when she reached Soteria, Mama paused.

Her wise, sharp eyes scanned Soteria’s flawless, fair skin and the gentle, respectful way she bowed her head.

I leaned down close to Mama’s ear, dropping my voice into a low, private whisper so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Mama... that’s my girlfriend.”

Whack!

Mama’s hand instantly flew out, spanking the back of my hand with a sharp, loud slap that made Effiom and Naya burst into immediate laughter.

“Girlfriend kenan?!” Mama barked, her eyes widening in hilarious, mock outrage as she glared up at me. (Girlfriend, you say?!)

“We don’t do girlfriends here oo, Yaro What is girlfriend? Is that what I taught you? We do wives in this house! Don’t bring that modern taboo word to my compound, kaji ba [you hear]?”

I burst into a loud, booming laugh, my head tilting back as the sheer nostalgia of her words hit me.

She had been exactly this way since we were teenagers; to Mama, the word ‘girlfriend’ or ‘boyfriend’ was a spiritual mistake.

Soteria’s cheeks turned a beautiful, deep shade of crimson, a shy laugh escaping her lips as she looked at the floor, entirely charmed by my mother’s unfiltered spirit.

“Come inside, my children! Come inside out of this sun,” Mama commanded, waving her arms to usher everyone toward the grand veranda.

“Nobody is going to any hotel in this town, oo. I have already prepared all the rooms in this house for you people. The children staying with me will move their mats and stay in my master bedroom. Then Wandi, her husband, and the twins will take the second room when they arrive. Akila and his friend Effiom, you both will take the third one. Then Soteria and Amara, you will stay in the fourth room...”

“Ah ah Mama wait na!” Naya interrupted with a mischievous grin, slinging her arm around Soteria’s shoulder and pulling her close.

“So only Soteria will stay in one room. Wonderful…. Don’t worry, Mama. Me, Amara, and Soteria will just occupy one room together. She won’t be comfortable staying alone.”

Mama looked at the three girls, her laughter echoing across the courtyard.

“Eh! No problem at all! As long as everybody has a bed to sleep on, I am just too happy to have my house full again. Go and wash your faces, food is almost ready!”

Later in the evening, as the dry heat began to cool into a crisp, mountain breeze, the sound of another horn blasted from the front gate.

Wandi had finally arrived.

The compound descended into beautiful, chaotic pandemonium the moment the car doors opened.

Wandi stepped out, looking exhausted but radiant, and her twins instantly charged out of the backseat like loose missiles.

They sprinted across the yard, screaming,

“Uncle Akila! Aunty Naya!” before throwing their bodies straight into our arms.

Timi walked behind them, dragging two heavy boxes, his face splitting into a wide, relieved grin as he traded a firm, masculine embrace with me and Effiom.

Sitting out on the wide veranda later that night, watching Mama happily pass around bowls of fresh roasted groundnuts while Wandi and Soteria laughed over a shared plate of food, I felt fulfilled. The house was noisy, the twins were turning the parlor upside down, and the foundation of the Gaya family felt more solid than it had in a decade.

My birthday was the next day, exactly a day before my dad’s remembrance anniversary, and instead of letting me bury myself in work or silence, the family forced me to come outside.

The night before the main church service, my siblings and cousins had hosted a small, beautiful bonfire in the center of the yard specifically to celebrate me turning thirty one.

I remembered sitting on a wooden bench with Soteria tucked into my side, a bottle of cold malt in my hand, watching the fire crackle against the night with Mama’s watchful eyes on us.

I ignored her. I was not a child but it felt cute having her monitor me.

Wandi had made me a small chocolate cake, and Joseph, my cousin, had led everyone in singing a hilariously loud, off-key birthday song.

Effiom and Amara had joined in, clinking their glasses and cheering.

For the first time in ten years, the shadow of death didn’t choke out the day of my birth.

I had looked down at Soteria, who was smiling up at me under the firelight, and realized God had handed me back a piece of my life I thought I’d lost forever.

Now, the next morning, the heat of the sun heralded the true weight of our mission.

Today marked exactly ten years since the foundation of the Gaya family had cracked. Ten years since my father, the giant of a man who had taught me everything about honor, discipline, and faith, had drawn his last breath.

We drove past the Mandara mountains, the massive, imposing hills standing like silent sentinels over the terrain, until we finally pulled into church for the anniversary service.

The tenth anniversary thanksgiving service was held at the family church. The Church of Christ in Nations (COCIN) in the heart of Hong.

The structure was a beautiful, spartan building made of red brick and high corrugated roofing sheets, sitting right at the base of the rocky hills.

When we walked through the heavy wooden doors, the church was already packed to the rafters.

Community elders in flowing babban riga, old government workers who had served with my father, extended family members, and local villagers filled the wooden pews.

The heat of the morning was thick, but the atmosphere was charged with a deep, reverent electricity.

Wandi, Timi, Naya, and I sat in the front family pew with mama.

Soteria was sitting right beside me, wearing a beautifully tailored, conservative local lace attire, her hair covered neatly with a matching wrapper.

Amara and Effiom sat just behind us.

The service began with the choir, dressed in vibrant local textiles, their voices rising in a powerful, heavy Hausa hymn that rattled the church windows:

“Ubangiji Shi ne Kariyata, kuma Garkuwata...”

The rhythm of the local drums beat against the floorboards, a steady, ancient pulse that seemed to reach straight into the locked vault of my chest.

Then, the presiding reverend called for the testimonies.

An old, gray-haired man in a faded, heavily starched military uniform walked slowly up to the altar.

He leaned against the wooden podium, adjusting the microphone.

It was Major General Danjuma (Rtd.), my father’s childhood friend.

“Ten years,” the old General began, his voice rough and gravelly, echoing through the speakers.

“Ten years since we lost Elder Gaya. Many of you here knew him as a church leader, or a community father. But I knew him in the trenches. During the war in the late eighties, everyone was forced to fight or hold a weapon. When our village was pinned down, Gaya was the man who refused to retreat. He told me, ‘Oga, if we run, who will protect the old men and women behind us?’ He was a man of steadfastness when it came to his duty, but he had the softest heart for his people. He raised his children with that same fire. I look at his son, Captain Akila, sitting here today, and I see the exact same protector. Your father’s legacy is not dead, my boy. It is alive in you today.”

I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening as a hot, sudden pressure built behind my eyes.

Soteria immediately shifted her hand, slipping her fingers into mine and squeezing with a firm strength.

Next was an old woman from the village, walking with a wooden cane.

She didn’t speak into the microphone; she just stood by the altar, her voice carrying through the quiet church.

“When my husband died,” she said in fluent Hausa, wiping her eyes with the edge of her wrapper,

“It was Elder Gaya who paid for my children’s school fees. He didn’t make noise about it. He would just send bags of rice, groundnut and guinea corn to my compound in the middle of the night so I wouldn’t feel ashamed. He was a rich man, but he lived like a servant of the people. We have not stopped praying for his family. We will never stop.”

As testimony after testimony poured out, stories of my father’s quiet generosity, his fierce love for my mother, his unbending faith, my heart melted.

A tear finally broke free, tracking a hot line down my stubbled cheek. I didn’t wipe it away.

I turned my head and looked across my shoulder at Soteria.

She was already looking at me.

Her own dark eyes were swimming with tears, completely moved by the weight of my father’s life.

She raised her free hand, gently using the soft pad of her thumb to wipe the moisture from my cheek right there in the open church.

And then, she smiled. It was the sweetest, most profound smile I had ever seen, a smile that said she saw the frightened, grieving boy inside the commander, and she loved him unconditionally.

A fierce, consuming warmth flooded my entire chest, spreading all the way down to my boots.

Right there and then, surrounded by the echoes of my father’s legacy and the singing of the choir, the final locked into place.

Yes. I am making her my wife.

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Soteria’s POV

The wooden pew beneath me felt cold and unyielding, but the air inside the church was thick with a heavy, sacred stillness.

The low murmur of the crowd died down to an absolute, breathless hush the moment the Master of Ceremonies cleared his throat and announced that it was time for the tributes.

A retired major general spoke, followed by an old woman.

“We will now call upon the first son of the family,” the MC’s voice echoed through the ancient speakers.

“Captain AkilaHyel, to give his tribute.”

My breath hitched slightly in my throat. I felt the muscle in Akila’s thigh tighten right beside me.

Akila didn’t move immediately.

He sat there for a fraction of a second, his frame entirely anchored, his jaw locked tight as he stared at the red carpet lining the altar steps.

I didn’t say a word. I just slid my hand across the rough fabric of his kaftan, finding his fingers and squeezing them with everything I had.

He turned his head. His dark eyes were intense, carrying a decade of buried warfare and guarded grief, but as he met my gaze, something in his face softened.

I gave him a small, slow, reassuring nod.

I am right here, the movement whispered.

He let go of my hand, adjusted the shoulders of his kaftan, and stood up.

Watching him walk down the aisle toward the pulpit was like watching a monument move.

His spine was perfectly rigid, but there was an undeniable vulnerability in the slow, deliberate weight of his steps today.

He climbed the wooden stairs, gripping the edges of the podium with his hands, and looked out over the crowded church.

For a long moment, he just looked at his people, old veterans who had served with his father, the village elders who carried the history of this land in their wrinkled faces, and his mother, who was watching him from the front row with her hands clasped tightly over her chest.

“They say time heals all wounds,” Akila began.

His voice wasn’t the booming command tone I was used to hearing when he was barking orders.

“But for me, ten years hasn’t been about healing. It has been about learning how to navigate a world where the giant who mapped out the territory is no longer standing beside me.”

A soft, collective murmur of agreement rippled through the older pews.

“Obeying my father was my very first example of what leadership meant,” Akila continued, his eyes tracking the stained-glass window for a brief second before settling back on the congregation.

“He was my first mentor. He didn’t just teach me how to be a man; he taught me how to be a shield. Every single time I lace up my boots, every time I stand in the gap to protect people who cannot protect themselves, I am simply following the deep footprints he left in this town.”

He stopped. He took a sharp, heavy breath, and I saw the muscles in his neck strain as a raw, violently human crack surfaced in his composure.

“The truth that still burns in our hearts... the reality we cannot erase,” his voice dropped an octave, turning thick and rough with an old, jagged pain, “is that he was taken from us unlawfully. He was taken cruelly, and he was taken before his time.”

The moment the word unlawfully left his lips, a sharp, collective sob tore through the front row.

Mama buried her face into her wrapper, her shoulders shaking violently as the memory of that ten-year-old trauma hit the room.

Across the pews, several elderly women began to wail softly, rocking back and forth.

My own eyes stung with a sudden, fierce burn of tears.

“That reality has often made me angry,”

Akila whispered into the microphone, his eyes finding mine in the crowd, anchoring onto me as if I were his coordinates in the middle of a storm.

“It made me build walls. It made me hard. But standing here today, looking at the family he left behind, I choose gratitude over bitterness. I am grateful for the years we shared, for the discipline he poured into my foundation, and for the absolute honor of being his son. His footprints are still here. And we will keep walking in them.”

He stepped back from the podium, bowed his head respectfully to the altar, and walked down the steps.

By the time he sat back down beside me, his chest was heaving.

I didn’t care who was watching; I immediately reached out, wrapping my fingers through his and holding his hand tightly in my lap, using my thumb to rub the back of his knuckles until his breathing began to level out.

“Next, we call upon the first daughter,” the MC announced softly, cutting through the emotional weight in the air.

“Mrs. Wandi Timilehin, to say a few words.”

Wandi stood up from the other side of Naya.

She was already weeping, her face flushed as she held a crumpled tissue in her trembling hand.

As she walked up to the microphone, her husband Timi gave her an encouraging smile from the pew, watching his wife with a deep, protective love.

“To the world, he was an elder,” Wandi began, her voice cracking instantly into a sob that she tried hard to swallow. She gripped the microphone stand like a lifeline.

“But to me... he was just my daddy. He was the man who never let me go to sleep with a tear in my eye. I was his goat child,” she laughed through her tears, a soft, beautiful sound that made the family pews smile.

“I was the stubborn first daughter who always challenged his rules, but he never handled me with iron fists. He always handled me with the softest velvet. He carried me when I was a small girl, and he carried my anxieties when I grew up.”

She paused, wiping her nose with the tissue, her gaze drifting toward Naya.

“Our family is not complete today,” Wandi continued, her voice rising with a proud, emotional strength.

“Our sister, Kwaala, the second daughter of the house is thousands of miles away across the Atlantic. Because of her military service with the United States Navy, she couldn’t get the operational clearance to fly down to Nigeria for this tenth anniversary. But she is here with us.”

Right on cue, Naya stood up from her seat. She didn’t walk to the altar, but she stepped out into the central aisle, lifting her iPad high into the air so the entire congregation could see the glowing screen.

On the display, connected via a crystal-clear live video call from an international naval base, was Kwaala.

She was dressed in her immaculate, crisp white naval uniform, her cap sitting squarely over her dark hair.

Her face was completely wet with tears, her eyes red as she watched her family through the lens from across the ocean.

“Kwaala sends her love,” Wandi choked out, looking at the iPad screen as Naya turned it slowly so the elders could see.

“She told me to tell the church that even from the middle of the sea, even when the waves are high and she is far from home, she still steers her life by the compass our father gave us in this village. The Gaya children are not together, but our foundation is one.”

Mama let out a loud, emotional cry of from her seat, waving her hand at the screen to bless her distant daughter.

Kwaala raised a trembling hand on the video, blowing a kiss across the digital bridge to her weeping mother, before Naya gently lowered the device, her own face covered in tears.

Wandi walked back down the aisle, completely spent.

The choir stood up in unison, their local instruments. The traditional drums and the beaded gourds, primed and ready.

They lifted their voices into a haunting, majestic Hausa melody, vibrating above our heads.

“Ubangiji, Kai ne Tushen rayuwarmu,

Babu wani kamar Ka a duniya.

Ko a cikin duhu ko a cikin haske,

Hannunka yana riƙe da mu har abada.”

(Lord, You are the Foundation of our lives, there is no one like You on earth. Whether in darkness or in light, Your hand is holding us forever.)

The harmony was so rich, so full of an ancient, unshakeable faith, that I felt a shiver run straight down my spine.

I looked at Akila.

He was watching the choir, his lips moving softly as he sang along with the words, his spirit completely surrendered to the moment.

The presiding Reverend stepped forward to the altar, raising his heavy, robed arms over the front pews.

The entire church fell into an absolute, breathless silence to receive the final apostolic covering.

“Ya Ubangiji, muna miƙa wannan iyali gaba ɗaya a hannunka. Ubangiji, Ka sa albarka a kan Akila da Wandi da Naya da Kwaala. Ka ba su zuciya mai ƙarfi, Ka kuma ba su zaman lafiya da kariya. Duk inda suka sa ƙafarsu, bari alherinka ya bi su. Muna roƙon Ka, Ka ɗauke duk wani baƙin ciki, Ka dasa farin ciki da bege a cikin zukatansu. Amin.”

(Oh Lord, we place this family entirely into Your hands. Lord, place a blessing upon Akila, Wandi, Naya, and Kwaala. Give them a strong heart, and grant them peace and protection. Everywhere they step their feet, let Your grace follow them. We beseech You, take away every sorrow, and plant joy and hope in their hearts. Amen.)

“Amen!” the church erupted, the collective shout rattling the wooden doors.

But the service didn’t end in silence.

The moment the final “Amen” cleared, the drums didn’t stop. They accelerated.

The rhythm turned into a fast, infectious, joyful northern tempo.

The solemnity of the remembrance fractured instantly into pure, unadulterated thanksgiving.

The village women began to dance in the aisles, their wrappers swinging as they kicked up dust.

Joseph, Safiyya, and Karen, Akila’s cousins who flew in last night, jumped up from their seats, laughing and pulling Amara and Effiom into the celebration.

Before I could even adjust my dress, Akila stood up.

A brilliant, breath-taking smile was plastered across his face, his teeth flashing white against his dark stubble.

He grabbed my hand, his grip firm, and pulled me straight out into the central aisle beside him.

“Come on, baby,” he laughed loudly over the sound of the drums, his shoulders already moving to the traditional rhythm.

“Let’s dance for Baba.”

I burst into a laugh, my initial shyness completely melting away under the sheer volume of their joy.

I danced beside him, my steps matching his steady, heavy movements as the entire Gaya family converged around us in a spinning, laughing circle of gratitude.

Looking at Akila’s face under the bright church lights, seeing him completely free, completely healed, and completely whole, I knew that whatever foundation we were building together from this day forward was locked into a rock that nothing on this earth could ever shake.

We danced all the way out of the brick church doors, our hearts entirely light, finally turning our faces toward the warmth of the village home.

I don’t think I need to warn you guys of what is ahead. If you know these two, oppression is their last name. Just tighten your seatbelt. It is well with us ooo…

PS: We did not hit our target last time. But don’t worry, I love you guys beyond that. Just know that your engagements keep me going. Please do well to like, comment, and restack.

AkilaHyel’s POV

The bag slid from my shoulder, hitting the floorboards with a dull, heavy thud that felt loud in the sudden stillness of the parlor.

I didn’t even notice the sound. My hands froze at my sides, my boots rooted to the threshold as the air inside my own house suddenly became too thick to breathe.

Soteria.

She was sitting right there on the sofa, her laptop halfway open on her knees, looking like a vision that had materialized straight out of my dreams.

For a long, breathless second, neither of us moved. The only sound in the house was the faint, rhythmic sizzle of meat coming from the kitchen and the low hum of the AC.

Then, her laptop tilted. She didn’t close it; she just set it aside with a frantic, trembling hand, her movements entirely devoid of her usual deliberate, professional grace.

She stood up from the cushions. Her chest heaved in a sharp, ragged gasp, and the moment her feet touched the floor, I saw her lower lip begin to tremble.

“Akila,” she whispered.

The sound of my name on her tongue — raw, broken, and sincere, felt like a tether. I took three long, urgent strides across the parlor, closing the distance between us before she could even take a full step forward.

The moment I reached her, she didn’t wait. She lunged into my chest, her small hands instantly bunching into the fabric of my t-shirt, burying her face straight into the crook of my neck.

A sharp, violent sob tore out of her throat, her entire frame shaking against mine as the dam broke.

“My babyyyy,” she cried into my skin, her hot tears instantly soaking through the cotton of my shirt. “Baby, you just got up and left. You didn’t text me. You didn’t call. You just vanished into thin air after everything you said to me!”

“Ziniya,” I groaned, my large arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her so tightly against my frame that there wasn’t a single millimeter of space left between us.

I lifted her slightly off her feet, my chest heaving as the familiar scent of her hair filled my senses, grounding me completely.

“Ziniya, I’m sorry.” I pleaded. I tried lifting her face to look up, but she refused.

“Look at me, baby, I am right here.”

“I cannot!” she sobbed, her hands tightening on my shoulders, her fingers digging deep into the muscles as if she were terrified that I would turn back into a ghost if she let go.

“You should have called me, babe. Even if you were angry, even if you hated me for what I said... you shouldn’t have gone a whole week without speaking to me. We’ve never done this before. I felt like I was running nuts. Every single day, I stared at my phone, waiting for your name to pop up, but nothing. I missed you so much, baby. I missed you, it felt like my heart was physically wounded!”

Hearing her pain, knowing that my silence had inflicted that kind of damage on her spirit while I was busy fighting my own pride, made a sharp pang of guilt pierce through my chest.

I buried my face in her neck, my hands moving up to her back, holding her as she wept.

“I’m sorry, my love. I am so sorry,” I murmured against her skin, my voice thick and rough with my own unshed tears.

“I didn’t leave out of spite, mama. I needed to clear my head. I needed to go back to God completely. I wanted to call you every single night. The silence was killing me. I missed you more than life itself, but I needed that time alone with God.”

She pulled her face back slightly, her eyes red, puffy, and swimming with a fresh layer of hot tears.

The cap shifted, tilting backward on her head, exposing the beautiful, frantic line of her brow. She looked up at me, her chest heaving as she swallowed a knot of grief.

“I was so wrong, babe,” she choked out, her hands moving down to frame my jaw, her palms warm and trembling against my stubble.

“I wanted to drive back here after we had that fight, but I was so ashamed of the things I screamed at you. I called you a bad leader. I took the things you were wrestling with, and I used them to hurt you because my own feelings were hurt. And I was wrong about Julian, too. I should have shut him down immediately. I shouldn’t have entertained his advances without speaking to you. I disrespected you, too. I am so sorry, baby. Please, forgive me.”

Looking into her face, seeing her beautiful gap tooth catching the light as her mouth parted in a desperate appeal, I felt entirely undone.

“Shh,” I whispered, my heart swelling with a fierce, protective tenderness that completely surprised me.

I raised my large thumbs, gently wiping the hot trails of moisture from her beautiful skin, smoothing the lines of distress around her eyes.

“Don’t cry, baby. Please. It is breaking my heart. I’ve forgiven you since the day we had that fight. During this retreat, I had amazing encounters. The Lord broke me. He showed me where my foundation was leaking. You were right. I was too rigid, too uptight. I operated like a man who answered to nobody; my actions made you feel like an enemy instead of the woman I am supposed to cherish and cover.”

I leaned down, my lips gently pressing against her wet eyelids, kissing away the tears that were still spilling over her lashes.

I pecked her forehead, then her flushed cheeks, my mouth lingering against her skin until her ragged breathing began to slow, turning into small, soft gasps against my mouth.

“I love you, Soteria,” I breathed, my hands sliding up to cup her face, my thumbs tracing her jawline with a desperate, intense focus.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you more, Akila,” she whispered, her dark eyes looking straight into mine, her lips parting slightly as she tilted her head up, her hands sliding into the hair at the back of my neck.

“I love you and I missed you so much.”

The space between our lips dissolved until it was nothing but a fraction of an inch.

I could feel the heat of her breath, the soft, inviting pressure of her presence, and my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I missed this woman so much. I missed her and i did not know what to do with the feelings in my heart. It was intense. i began to close the final distance, my eyes shutting as I leaned down to claim her mouth,

“Eheeeeee!”

A sharp, loud, incredibly deliberate throat-clear echoed from the kitchen doorway, instantly freezing both of us in mid-air.

“Welcome back, Yaro,” Naya’s voice boomed through the parlor, dripping with pure, unadulterated amusement.

She was standing there with a dishtowel draped over her shoulder, a wooden stirring spoon held in her right hand like a microphone.

“You people have started their oppression again, oo! Barely two minutes inside the house and you are already trying to oppress me.”

Soteria’s face turned an immediate, deep shade of crimson.

She buried her hot face back into my chest, a small, embarrassed laugh escaping her lips as she hid from her sister’s gaze.

Thank God Naya came out. I wasn’t sure i would have been able to stop myself.

I let out a long, heavy sigh, my eyes opening as I looked over Soteria’s head at my sister.

“Naya,” I barked softly, a warm, relaxed rumble.

“How are you?”

“I am fine!” Naya cackled, walking fully into the room and setting the spoon down on the side table.

“I missed you, big bro.” She said as she side hugged me with Soteria still clinging on to me.

“Go back to your stew, Naya, biko,” Soteria whined from the safety of my t-shirt, her hand reaching up to remove the baseball hat on her head.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Naya laughed, raising her hands in surrender as she backed away toward the kitchen.

“Let me leave the lovebirds to finish their conversation.”

The door to the kitchen swung shut, and the parlor settled back into a quiet, grounded frequency.

I gently guided Soteria toward the sofa. I sat down first, and before I could even adjust my position, she slid right into my space, tucking her legs underneath her and resting her back against my chest, her head settling perfectly into the hollow of my shoulder.

My right arm came around her automatically, my fingers tangling in the soft fabric of her loungewear, anchoring her against me.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly, my chin resting against the top of her head.

“I am now,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the faded seam of my trackpants.

She let out a long, peaceful sigh that seemed to empty her lungs of all the residual panic of the past week.

“We need to talk properly, Akila.”

“Yes,” I agreed, my hand moving in a slow, reassuring circle against her upper arm.

“My retreat was more of an eye opener. I sat under a word about unbroken strength, and it felt like a mirror was held to my face. I realized that when you challenged my leadership, my immediate instinct wasn’t to look inward; it was to protect my ego. I used my background as an excuse to remain unyielding, to act like a law unto myself.”

Soteria shifted slightly, turning her face up so she could look at my jaw.

“Pastor Olive told me something similar. She said you are a protector by nature, and that your instinct was fleshly, but it came from a place of wanting to protect me. But she also told me that I used my tongue like a sledgehammer on a granite foundation. Babe, when I said you weren’t a good leader, I knew it wasn’t true. You’ve been the pillar for your whole family since your father died. You carry so much weight, and instead of being a helper who provides a soft landing, I added to the pressure.”

I squeezed her arm, my chest swelling with a deep, reverent appreciation for the maturity in her voice.

“We both faltered, baby. My intervention with Julian... it was a breach of your professional boundary. By beating him up, I didn’t just disobey God; I signaled to you that I didn’t trust your capacity as a professional to secure your own workspace. I minimized you because of my own jealousy.”

“And I left the window open too long,” she countered softly, her fingers tightening around mine. “I kept those text messages from him because I was terrified of losing the contract. I thought I was being a modern corporate woman, but I was letting filth linger. I see it clearly now. If I want a man who bends to Christ, I must also learn how to yield to the same altar.”

SOTERIA’S POV

We sat there for a long time, the dialogue flowing between us with a fluid, unforced honesty that felt entirely different from our past conversations.

We were not trying to win. We were only having a genuine conversation.

I shifted slightly against the solid plane of Akila’s chest, the soft knit of my loungewear bunching comfortably under his arm.

My thumb was still tracing the faint, repetitive circle on the back of his hand when his chest heaved under me with a slow, deliberate breath.

“Baby,” he began, “I think we need to formally sit down and speak to Pastor Uzor about our relationship. Openly. We need our spiritual head to be officially aware.”

I paused, my fingers freezing mid-motion against his skin.

My heart did a sudden, erratic skip against my ribs, and my mind instantly went into a dizzying tailspin.

Pastor Uzor!!!.

For a man like Akila, a man who calculated every move with chess-like precision, suggesting we speak to our pastor about our relationship wasn’t just a casual step.

He’s thinking about proposing.

The realization hit me like a sudden flush of heat under my cheeks.

This man wants to propose.

I tilted my head back against his shoulder, looking up at the sharp line of his.

I tried to keep my voice light, but the sudden flutter in my stomach leaked through.

“Pastor Uzor? Baby... we are barely six months into this relationship. Don’t you think it’s a bit too early for us to meet the pastor? People will think we are rushing the layout.”

Akila let out a soft rumble of a laugh, his hand tightening around my waist, pulling me securely against his side.

“Nope. Nothing is too early, Ziniya. It’s not like we are kids playing games in the park. I turn 31 soon, and you are not a child either. We know exactly what we want from the onset?”

A fierce, radiant warmth bloomed inside my chest.

Hearing him speak with such absolute certainty about our future, without a single shred of hesitation or “we will see how it goes,” made me want to melt straight into his skin.

I kept my face neutral to tease him, but inside, I was a completely finished woman. I was so incredibly happy that his mind was already travelling that far down the road.

“Okay, Captain,” I murmured, a soft smile breaking across my face, showing my gap tooth.

“If you say so. But you know if we open that door, my mother will hear about it, and she will start asking for fabric choices for the wedding.”

Akila’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

“Speaking of Mommy... what’s the update? Is she still planning to come back to Nigeria?”

I sighed.

“No, oo. Mommy doesn’t want to come back yet. She’s taking her time over there. After everything that happened with Dad and the extended family drama, she just feels safer keeping her distance for now. She needs to fully heal before she can face Nigeria again.”

“I understand,” Akila said softly.

“No pressure.”

I tucked my chin back down, but then a sudden thought hit me. I counted the days mentally, mapping out the weeks left in the month.

“Wait, baby... speaking of dates. Your birthday is in a few weeks. And it’s also...” I paused, my voice dropping an octave, “it’s also your dad’s remembrance anniversary, right?”

Instantly, the atmosphere changed. I felt the muscles in his chest tighten, turning back into that rigid territory. His eyes shifted away from me, focusing hard on the empty television screen across the parlor, his face turning into a closed, defensive book.

He cleared his throat, his hand shifting on my waist as if he wanted to sit up and evade the question entirely.

“Yeah. But it is just another day,” he muttered, his voice turning cold. “We don’t need to plan anything.”

“Babe,” I said. I would not let him retreat into his shell.

I shifted my weight, turning fully on the sofa until I was facing him squarely. I reached up with both hands, my palms framing his rough, stubbled jaw, forcing him to look back down into my eyes.

Before he could say another word, I leaned up and pressed a firm, lingering, sweet peck straight against his lips.

Akila’s dark eyes widened in absolute surprise, the sudden warmth catching him completely off guard.

A low, breathless sound escaped his throat, and his hands instantly came up to grip my wrists.

He let out a deep, defeated laugh, his shoulders finally dropping as his stone face cracked.

“Baby, please... don’t tempt me, I beg you.” he warned with a playful glint in his eyes.

I laughed, my shoulders shaking as I kept my hands on his face, my thumb smoothing the tight line between his eyebrows.

“Consider that a high-level bribe for you to open up to me. We’ve already agreed we are not perfect, AkilaHyel. Talk to me. How do you really feel about this birthday?”

He looked at me for a long, heavy moment, his dark eyes tracking the seriousness in mine until he finally let out a long, ragged sigh that came from the very bottom of his lungs.

“I have never celebrated my birthday since Baba died,” he confessed, his voice dropping into a raw, hollow space that made my heart ache for him.

“The two events are tied together. How can I be popping champagnes or eating cake when it’s a day after everything went cold for us? This year makes it exactly ten years since he passed. It’s the tenth anniversary, and Wandi and my mom have been planning a family reunion back in Adamawa to mark it. But... I haven’t even called them once to ask how things are going. I’ve just been avoiding the whole thing.”

“No, my love,” I said softly, my heart breaking for the little boy inside this massive soldier who was still carrying the guilt of survival.

I leaned closer, my forehead resting against his chin.

“You are completely wrong, baby. Your father loved you. And the fact that he passed away a day before your birthday doesn’t mean your own life shouldn’t be celebrated. You deserve to be happy, my love. You deserve to witness the joy of your own birth without feeling like you are disrespecting his memory. Your family needs you for this reunion, not as a rigid pillar who handles everything, but as a son and a brother who is present.”

“Call sister Wandi and find out what the plan is for the tenth anniversary. It’s in less than three weeks, papa. No more running away.”

He stared down at the screen in his hand, then up at me, seeing the absolute, unyielding love and determination in my eyes.

He heaved another deep sigh, but this time, it didn’t feel heavy, it felt like a release.

“Okay,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around his phone.

“I will call her this evening. I promise.”

Akila suddenly looked up at me, a mischievous, incredibly handsome glint returning to his eyes as his arms wound back around my waist.

“But wait... speaking of milestones. Do you know that next week makes it exactly one year since our paths crossed?”

I burst into a rich laugh, my hands sliding back down to rest on his chest.

“Oh my god! Oh yes! Next week makes it a whole year since I embarrassed myself but got to meet the love of my life!” I shook my head, my mind flashing through the timeline of the past twelve months.

“Wow. What an absolute roller coaster ride it has been with you, Captain.”

“A very wild ride,” he agreed, his face softening into an expression of such deep, unfiltered adoration that it made my breath hitch. He pulled me up until I was completely wrapped in his embrace again, his face buried in my hair.

“How you were able to crush down my walls, grow better and stronger in less than a year, I still cannot fathom. But I am so incredibly grateful to God that I met you, Ziniya. I am so happy you are mine.”

“I am happier, baby” I whispered into his neck, squeezing him with everything I had. All my feelings, going into that hug.

Akila suddenly lifted his head, his face turning toward the kitchen door as his stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl. He burst out laughing and shouted, “Naya! Naya, please bring food for me and my baby!”

The kitchen door flew open instantly, and Naya stood there with her hands on her hips, glaring at the two of us on the couch.

“Ehhh!!! No oo. You and your baby should please go and eat your love, joor! I really cannot wait to leave this country. I don’t know which is worse, Tinubu being a very annoying president and stressing me out, or both of you oppressing me. God go do am for me sha.

We both burst into shared, ringing laughter, the sound filling the corners of the bungalow until the last remnants of the past week’s winter were completely melted away.

We hit our target yesterday🤭🤭. Thank you, babiessss.

I love you guys…

Today’s target — 160 likes, 60 comments and 60 restacks.

We can do this😍

AkilaHyel’s POV

The next day, as the early Abuja sun began to cut a dull golden line through the dust hovering over the hills, the instruction in my spirit was as sharp and clear as a bugle call.

Go on a retreat for one week. Total isolation. No work, no calls, no distractions.

Just me, a bible, and the altar I had neglected while trying to play god over my own life.

I packed a small canvas duffel bag with a few changes of plain clothes, mostly t-shirts and trackpants.

I moved across the floorboards to Naya’s room.

The door was slightly ajar. I peeped inside and saw her seated on the bed with her devotional in hand.

“Good morning, Naya”

She immediately looked up.

“Yaro! Good morning. Thank God you are here. I’ve been holding my breath since yesterday, wondering if I should come and check on you.”

“I am fine, Naya,” I said, my voice carrying that rough, low scraping sound from the hours spent on my knees the night before.

“I actually came to inform you that I’ll be going on a retreat outside town. If anyone from looks for me, tell them I traveled.”

“Oh, wow.” Naya said, adjusting her reading glasses.

“It is well. Take all the time in the world. You need it. But wait... what about Soteria? Have you spoken to her?”

I paused, my thumb resting heavily on my phone.

A sudden, deep urge to text Soteria hit me right in the pit of my stomach.

I wanted to type out a brief message telling her I was going on a retreat, but a small, petty corner of my masculine pride — the part that hadn’t fully died yet, secretly wanted her to wake up, see the absolute silence on her phone, and worry about me a little.

I wanted her to feel the heavy vacuum of my absence.

I caught myself and let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh.

I sighed.

“Naya, please... just inform her. Let her know where I went so she doesn’t think I’m just vanishing out of spite. Don’t give her too many details, just tell her I am on a retreat.”

Naya looked at me calmly. .

“Okay. I will inform her. Safe journey.”

“Thank you, Naya.”

The “Alone with God” camp in Gwagwalada sat on the quiet, rocky outskirts of the Federal Capital Territory, far away from the polished tarmac, and the noise of the city center.

It was a vast space with concrete chalets with peeling paint, red earth paths, hostels and a massive, open-air auditorium that smelled permanently of old hymnals, plastic chairs, and morning dew.

I had taken a formal one-week casual leave from the office.

Nothing critical was happening on the operational grid, and my commanding officer approved it without asking a single question.

My daily schedule was rigid, a timetable I enforced to seek God intentionally.

Day one was beautiful, but it felt like stepping out of a heavy iron suit that had grown into my skin.

I spent the hours walking the gravel paths, praying in my understanding and groaning in tongues.

There were books I had browsed online about vulnerability and bettering of my walk with God.

I read them after my prayers and bible study.

By day two, the prayers became intense. I fasted from 6am hours to 6pm, my knees wearing out the small woven rug in my hostel.

During the noon session, I plugged in a sermon by a certain Pastor Timehin titled The Danger of an Unbroken Strength.

In the sermon, he said

“Strength is a gift from God, but unbroken strength can become dangerous. A person who has never been humbled, corrected, or surrendered to God can become a danger to themselves and to their destiny.”

He paused and continued,

“When we think about strength, we often celebrate it. We celebrate talent, intelligence, beauty, influence, and spiritual gifts. But God is not just looking for strong people; He is looking for broken and yielded vessels.”

“Take the life of Samson in Judges chapter 16 verse 15 to 21, Samson was physically strong, but he was weak in character. He could defeat lions and armies, yet he could not conquer his appetites and emotions. His strength was never fully broken before God, so it eventually led him into carelessness, pride, and compromise.”

“An unbroken strength often produces:

1. Pride- When strength is unbroken, we begin to think we can do life without God. We become self-sufficient and stop depending on Him.

2. Carelessness- Samson kept playing around with his anointing because he assumed his strength would always be there. Many people lose what God gave them because they become casual with sacred things.

3. Resistance to Correction- An unbroken person struggles to receive instruction. They trust their own abilities more than God’s wisdom.

4. Hidden Weaknesses- The strongest people often have the deepest unaddressed weaknesses. What you refuse to surrender can become the doorway to your downfall.

God often allows seasons of breaking, not to destroy us, but to refine us. A broken strength becomes a surrendered strength. It becomes power under God’s control.

The strongest prayer you can pray is not, “Lord, make me powerful,” but, “Lord, break everything in me that refuses to submit to You.”

Because a strength that is unbroken can destroy a destiny, but a strength that is broken before God can transform generations.”

The word hit me so hard that dropped my notebook, slid out of the plastic chair, and lay flat on my face.

“Father, every gift, ability, and strength You have given me, I lay at Your feet,” I wept, the words tearing out of my chest in rough, ragged gasps.

“Break this granite. Wash the soot from my eyes. I have used my attitude and my scars to build a fortress where even Your Spirit cannot talk to me. Teach me how to bend before I break the people you gave me to cherish. Break my pride, humble my heart, and teach me complete dependence on You. Let my strength never become my downfall, but let it become a tool for Your glory.”

But by night, I joined a church’s worship session in the auditorium. They were having their annual camp meeting.

Afterward, I went back to my room. The silence in my room became too wide, too heavy to hold. I missed her.

The ache in my chest shifted into an agonizingly physical longing for my woman.

I sat on the edge of the camp bed, my thumb hovering over her contact on my phone, fighting the absolute urge to remove it from airplane mode and just dial her line even if it was to hear her breathe.

On day three, after the night prayers had concluded around 11pm, I broke my fast.

I went ahead to look at our WhatsApp chats.

I spent two hours lying on my side, reading through our old messages from few months ago back when everything was light, back when she would text me random pictures of fabric choices from her vendor with captions like

“Baby, look at this Ankara, doesn’t it match my skin? Amara keeps arguing with me that it’s not fine.”

I found a voice note she had sent me after a long, exhausting day at work one day. I pressed the phone against my ear, turning the volume down low so I could feel like she was near me. .

“Babyyyyyyyy, mbok, tell your orderly to buy me roasted plantain and bring to this site, my stomach is doing things... and don’t look at me with that your strict, serious face when you see this message oo! I love you, shugaaaa!”

Hearing her voice, the slight, playful lilt, the pure, unforced warmth of it, made my throat tighten so hard I struggled to swallow.

I laughed softly in the dark, remembering how I had actually stopped by the roadside myself to buy that plantain just to see the bright smile on her face when I delivered it.

As I scrolled further up, a specific memory from a rainy Tuesday night last month hit me, flooding my mind with vivid detail.

We had been on a night call that lasted until 2am. I was lying in my bed and she was wrapped in her duvet at her place, her voice sleepy and low over the line.

“Babyyy,” she had murmured, her voice dripping with warmth.

“I was thinking about when we get married. I want to have four beautiful kids for you. Two boys that look exactly like you with your cute face, and two girls that look like me.”

I had choked on my water, sitting up instantly in the dark.

“Four? Haba, Ziniya. Four is a whole fireteam. No, oo. I want two. Maximum two.”

“Why two na?” she had whined playfully, the sound of her shifting under her sheets coming through the speaker.

“Don’t you want a big, noisy house full of love?”

“It’s not about the noise,”* I had replied, my voice dropping into that deep, serious register that usually made her tease me.

“If we have four kids, you will spread all your attention to them. I want two so that we can balance the love and no one will take my place in your life. I am a very jealous man, baby girl. I want to make sure I still have the largest share of your heart.”

She had burst into a rich, beautiful laugh that echoed in my earpiece.

“Oh my gosh. You’re so cute. Look at you being jealous of his own unborn children! You are unbelievable. You will always be my number one, baby. Always.”

Remembering that conversation in the dark of the camp made me miss her the more.

The woman made my world go round, and my uptight nature had almost shattered what we shared.

For the full seven days, God broke me down and put me back together piece by piece. It wasn’t a swift magic trick; it was a deep, painful peeling away of the defense mechanisms I had worn like body armor since my youth.

I learned how to surrender my natural strength. I learned that having authority over my head wasn’t a threat to my manhood, but a covering for my soul.

On the morning of the eighth day, after a final communion session with the camp pastor, I packed my canvas duffel bag and dialed Effiom.

“My guy,” Effiom’s voice boomed through the line, instantly bringing the raw, chaotic noise of the city back into my ears.

“So you are alive? Naya said you travelled.”

“I am on my way back,” I said, a genuine, relaxed smile touching my lips for the first time in a week.

“Come and pick me up from Gwagwalada..”

“Gwagwalada keh?” Effiom groaned loudly, the sound of his car horn blaring in the background as he navigated through traffic.

“Ah, Guy, Gwags is too far na! Use Uber oo. I no fit burn that kain fuel.”

“My guy, common come here,” I barked softly, laughing into the receiver.

“I will buy you fuel.”

“All right, all right, I dey road. Make I just drop something for office.”

An hour and a half later, Effiom’s black car pulled up by the dusty red road.

I threw my duffel into the back seat and climbed into the front, the cool air conditioning of the car instantly hitting my face, washing away the dust of the camp.

We drove in silence for the first twenty minutes, leaving the outskirts and hitting the smooth, wide expanse of the Airport Road.

Effiom kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

“So,” Effiom started, clearing his throat as he shifted lanes past a commercial bus.

“You and my sister had a very massive fight. She gisted me everything that happened after she left your house that evening. She has been so worried these past few days, Akila. The girl misses you a lot, even though I know she can be extremely annoying sometimes. Kaiii! My sister is very annoying, I won’t lie to you.”

I smiled.

Effiom shook his head, letting out a loud laugh.

“I’ve always said that the man who will finally marry Soteria will try so hard. The man must have double patience. I didn’t know it was my own main guy that would come and enter this kind of heavy wahala.”

“Ehhh ehhh,” I said, turning my head to glare at him playfully.

“Don’t call my baby annoying. Abeg, abeg. Forget say she be your sister. My baby is the sweetest soul on this earth.”

Effiom burst into a loud, mocking laugh, slapping his hand against the steering wheel.

“Heheee! God abeg oo! Person no fit even chook mouth inside lovers’ fight again? No vex . I don’t even know who sent me to come and pick you up all the way from Gwagwalada.”

“I didn’t ask for your input in my relationship,” I said.

“You can give advice as my friend, but don’t insult my woman. Abeg, abeg.”

“I don suffer. Ah, sorry boss!” Effiom laughed, raising his left hand in mock surrender while keeping his right on the wheel.

“Na me find trouble. Forgive me, sir.”

I turned back to look out the window, a genuine smile breaking through my features as the green landscape of the city bypass rolled past.

Hearing her name, even in his teasing, made my chest swell with a sudden, sharp longing.

I missed her so much it felt like a physical weight.

I missed her sharp mouth, the little gap between her front teeth that showed when she was genuinely laughing at me, her glowing, flawless skin, and that beautiful face that always made me pause every single time she walked into a room.

I even missed her sweet, distinct body scent, that mix of vanilla and cocoa butter that always stayed in my mind long after she left.

I hated the fight we had. I hated the harshness of the words, the distance we had put between ourselves out of pure ego.

I just wanted to walk into her arms, drop my head against her shoulder, and remain there.

Effiom dropped me off at my compound. I thanked him, gripped his hand in a brief brotherhood shake, and walked up the concrete steps with my duffel bag slung over my right shoulder.

My heart was beating a strange, frantic, expectant rhythm against my ribs as I turned the key in the lock.

The brass knob felt cold in my hand. I opened the door quietly, stepping inside the cool, air-conditioned space of my parlor.

I expected to see Naya, instead it was someone else.

Soteria was sitting on the long gray sofa, her legs tucked neatly underneath her frame.

She was wearing one of those soft, blue-colored two-piece loungewear sets I had bought for her during one of my brief trips to Lagos, the knit fabric clinging softly to her skin.

And on her head, pulled down low over her eyes, was my old, black canvas baseball hat.

The sight of that cap instantly made my mind flash back to our third date at the Millennium Park.

It had been a Saturday afternoon, the heat thick, and she had reached over while I was driving, plucked the hat right off my head, and placed it over her own hair, laughing as it covered her ears.

I had spent twenty minutes begging her to return it because it was my absolute favorite tactical cap, a piece of gear I carried everywhere, but she had walked right up to my chest, grabbed my shirt, and looked up into my eyes with those wide, innocent lids, saying in a tiny, exaggerated baby voice:

“So you don’t love me enough to give me your hat? Wow, baby. Is this how you use to do?” I laughed, completely defeated by her softness, and told her to keep it forever.

Seeing her sitting on my chair today, looking so incredibly cute, fragile, and familiar in my cap, completely dismantled the last remnants of my defense.

The sound of my heavy boots against the floorboards made her head snap up.

The moment her eyes met mine, her chest heaved in a sharp, sudden gasp, her lips parting slightly as she sat up.

Her eyes were completely filled with a raw, breathless surprise. Naya hadn’t given her the exact timing of my return. She didn’t know I was coming back today.

She just sat there, frozen on the cushions, staring at me as if I were a ghost that had walked straight out of the hills.

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SOTERIA’S POV

I left Pastor Olive’s house completely broken and weka. My hands were still loose on the steering wheel, my palms damp against the leather.

I wanted to drive to Akila’s house. Every muscle in my body, every frantic pulse under my skin, was screaming at me to go and find him, to override the memory of our shouting match with the sheer weight of my presence.

But as the traffic light flickered from red to green, Pastor Olive’s words echoed through the quiet of my mind with the heavy, unyielding strike of a gavel:

“Your assignment is not to wait for him to bend first. Your assignment is to ensure your own garment is white before the altar.”

If I went there now, hot-faced and trembling from the revelation of my own errors on that balcony, I would go with an agenda.

I would go expecting him to match my vulnerability instantly, and if his armor was still up, the clash would dismantle whatever structure we had left.

With a ragged sigh that caught in my throat, I flicked the indicator to the right. I turned the wheel toward my own house, the tires gripping the asphalt as I fled from the temptation to force a resolution before the soil was ready.

The next morning, I sat on the edge of my kitchen island, a mug of black coffee growing cold between my hands.

My mind kept looping back to the ledger of the past week, specifically to the sharp, dismissive way I had handled my line of communication. Before the fire with Akila broke out, there had been other casualties of my temper.

I picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over Amara’s name.

The guilt was a heavy, dull ache in my chest.

I dialed the number before I could talk myself out of it.

It rang three times, the hollow tone clicking before Amara’s voice came through, sounding bright against the background noise of her own office.

“Good morning, Soteria.”

“Amara,” I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, tentative register.

I cleared my throat, leaning my forehead against the cool surface of the marble island.

“Amara, I’m calling because I need to apologize to you.”

The line went silent for a beat, the background rustle of papers stopping.

“Apologize? For what?”

“For yesterday,” I whispered, the words heavy with genuine regret.

“When you were trying to talk to me about Akila and Julian ... I was rude to you. I snapped at you out of my own frustration, and it wasn’t fair. You were only looking out for me, and I acted in a very bad way. I’m so sorry.”

A soft, familiar chuckle came through the earpiece, instantly breaking the tension.

“Ah ah, baby girl. It’s fine! Biko don’t overthink it. I wasn’t even upset with you like that. I knew you were under pressure. We are sisters, joor. Drop the apology, it’s completely fine.”

A small, watery smile touched my lips.

“Are you sure? Because I felt so terrible yesterday.”

“I’m more than sure,” Amara said.

“Did you speak to Akila?”

The mention of his name made my heart do a hard, painful flip under my ribs.

“Yes,” I confessed, my fingers tight around the coffee mug.

“We had a... we had a very huge fight, Amara. It was bad. I went to his house, and things got completely out of hand. I said some things I shouldn’t have said and we ended up having an argument.”

“Oh, wow,” Amara sighed, a long, drawn-out sound.

“Two strong heads hitting each other. Babes, you need to understand Akila. That man loves you, but he doesn’t know how to play games. Have you gone to see him afterwards? Did you guys talk things through?”

“I’m actually about to go to his house,” I said, standing up from the barstool, a sudden surge of determination overriding my hesitation.

“I need to see him. Even if he’s still angry, he needs to see that I’m not running away.”

“Oya nau,” Amara said firmly. “Take care. Call me when you leave there. And biko, use wisdom.”

Twenty minutes later, my car pulled up outside the familiar black gates of Akila’s compound.

The sun was high now, casting sharp, editorial shadows across the concrete driveway. I climbed out of the car, my shoes clicking against the stones as I walked up to the door of the house.

I reached out and knocked. Three sharp raps.

Silence.

I waited, my breath held in my throat, before knocking again, harder this time.

“Akila?” I called out, pressing my ear against the wood.

There was no sound coming from the hallway.

No murmur of the television from the parlor.

The entire house felt completely hollow.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I dialed Naya’s number.

“Soso baby!” Naya picked up on the second ring, her voice competing with the loud, rhythmic whirring of standing dryers and the overlapping chatter of women.

“Where are you? I was just about to text you.”

“Naya, I’m standing outside your gate,” I said, a knot of panic tightening in my throat as I looked at the padlocked side entry.

“Where are you guys? Where is your brother? The house is completely locked.”

“Ohh! You’re at the house?” Naya called out over the noise of the salon.

“Ehya. I went to the salon to make my hair. Come and meet me at Wuse 2. The place is just behind the Amigo supermarket block.”

“Is Akila at work?” I pressed, my heart hammering.

“Did he go to the barracks?”

“Just come to the salom. I’m waiting for you.”

I drove down the lane toward Wuse 2, the midday traffic on the corporate avenue was a mess, but I didn’t even notice the erratic driving of the delivery bikes around me.

My mind was focused entirely on seeing my man.

When I stepped into the brightly lit luxury salon in Wuse 2, the smell of hair relaxer, burning curling irons, and expensive weaves hit my nose.

I spotted Naya immediately.

I walked over, my shoulder bag swinging, and the moment she saw me, her face lit up.

She stood up from the chair, the stylist stepping back with a comb in hand, and pulled me into a tight, warm hug, pressing a soft peck against my cheek.

“Kai, my baby, it’s been a while,” Naya said, pulling back to look at my eyes.

“You look like you haven’t slept. Sit down.” She pointed to an empty swivel chair next to her.

“I brought food,” I said, setting a neatly packed container of peppered chicken and jollof rice from a spot down the road onto her station.

“I figured you’d be hungry if you’ve been here since morning.”

“My love! God bless you!” Naya gasped, her eyes widening as she took the container.

“You truly know the way to my heart. This hunger was already killing me. Nagode .”

“You’re welcome, baby,” I murmured, sitting down and smoothing my skirt over my knees.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I leaned closer to her, my voice dropping so the other clients wouldn’t carry our business.

“Naya, where is Akila? Why is the house locked?”

Naya’s expression shifted, the playful energy in her eyes settling into something more sober.

She took a small fork from her bag, opening the container, but she didn’t eat immediately.

“Akila traveled, babes,” she said softly.

The word hit me like a physical blow to the sternum.

Traveled.

“Traveled?” I repeated, my voice rising slightly before I caught myself. My throat felt instantly dry.

“Without telling me? He just packed his bags and left Abuja without even a single text message? Was it because of our fight?”

“Ah-ah, no oo. Calm down,” Naya said, reaching out to pat my knee.

“He didn’t travel too far sha. He went on a retreat.”

I sat back against the leather of the swivel chair, my mind spinning.

A retreat.

“He actually asked me to inform you,” Naya continued, shaking her head as she took a bite of the rice.

“He left early this morning. He said I should tell you where he went because he didn’t want you to think he was just vanishing out of spite. I guess he tried to reach you but maybe your line didn’t go through.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“Ehenn... Maybe I was sleeping then. I turned off the phone because my head was pounding.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Naya said, leaning her head back as the stylist returned to work on her tracks.

“He sha told me to give you the message.”

I looked down at my manicured nails, the sting of the distance between us settling deep into my marrow.

“We had a very terrible fight, Naya. I’ve never seen him look at me the way he did. I said some things and I feel bad.”

Naya let out a loud, dramatic sigh that had the stylist looking at her in amusement.

“ Kai, I wish I was at home to hear the whole thing. If I was there, wayooooo I swear I would have recorded the fight on my phone. It would have been the best evidence against both of you!”

I couldn’t help it. A small, involuntary laugh broke through my anxiety, and I slapped her arm lightly.

“Naya, mbok! This is serious. Why would you record your own brother fighting his woman?”

“Because you people are always oppressing my life in that house!” Naya laughed, her shoulders shaking as she chewed her chicken.

“Every time I look at you two, it’s always ‘My baby this, my baby that,’ holding hands, whispering up and down, making me feel like a very single woman. So yes, seeing my brother get his feathers ruffled would have been beautiful. It would have been good evidence to use against him whenever he starts acting like a strict commander around me.”

We sat there for another hour, gisting about the stress of the past month and how much she hated the dry Abuja weather before her hair was finally done.

After we left the salon, I drove her back to the house, dropping her off at the gate before heading back to my own apartment.

By day four of his absence, it felt like I was running entirely mad.

The silence in my own space was no longer a sanctuary; it was an interrogation room.

Every corner of my apartment reminded me of how deeply Akila had integrated into my life.

We had never gone a single day without speaking since we started dating.

Even when he was out working, my phone would always buzz with that characteristic, brief text: “Make sure your lunch, Ziniya.”

I sat on my bed, scrolling through my Instagram feed with a hollow look in my eyes.

I opened my direct messages, looking at the long, one-sided chain of reels I had been hounding his account with over the past months.

I had literally forced him to open an Instagram account just so I could send him cute couple videos and funny memes.

He had resisted it for weeks, always saying in that deep, hausa tone:

“Ziniya, you and this your Instagram. I am a whole soldier, I don’t have time to be scrolling through video clips of people dancing or loving up on themselves. What do I need an account for?”

But because he loved me, he sat down, allowed me to take his phone, and watched me open an account for him.

He never posted a single photo, but every single night before he went to sleep, he would log in just to view the links I sent, replying with brief, dry commentary like

“What are they even dancing to?”

“This man looks like his wife forced him to make contents.”

I missed his voice. I missed the specific way he held me whenever I was feeling sick or overwhelmed.

Akila had a lot of edges. He was a hard man to the rest of the world, but with me, he had never spoken a single harsh word.

He was always pampering me, treating me like something fragile that needed constant protection.

By the afternoon of that fourth day, I couldn’t take the isolation anymore. I packed a small overnight bag, threw it into my trunk, and drove back to his house under the guise of keeping Naya company.

When Naya opened the front door and saw my bag, her eyebrows shot up, a knowing, mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Heheee! Sister Soteria, welcome. So you cannot even stay in your big house alone again?”

“Shut up, Naya, abeg,” I muttered, my cheeks flushing hot as I brushed past her into the parlor.

“I came to keep you company so you don’t get lonely in this big compound. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Standard story,” Naya cackled, closing the door behind me.

“But since you are here, please... go and stay in your baby’s room. If you stay in the guest room, your spirit will not find rest, and I know that you came here because you miss him”

I didn’t argue with her. I walked straight down the hallway, turning the brass knob of Akila’s master bedroom.

The moment I stepped across the threshold, his scent hit me like a physical wave.

It was an intoxicating blend of old leather, clean cedarwood, and the specific vanilla-scented candle I had bought for him from a boutique in Wuse last month.

The room was immaculate — a spartan, organized dream.

Akila was a man of absolute structure. His shoes were lined up according to color, his shirts were hung with precision, and the sheets on his massive king-sized bed were tucked in so tightly you could bounce a coin off the surface.

I walked over to the nightstand.

The little wooden alarm clock I had bought him to replace his old digital timer was sitting right by the lamp.

Next to it was a small group of picture frames. One was a faded portrait of his family. Another frame held a picture of Sister Wandi’s twins, laughing on a playground.

And right in the center, housed in a sleek silver frame I had selected myself, was a photo of the two of us.

It was taken during our date at the conservatory — he wasn’t looking at the camera; he was looking down at me while I was talking, his eyes holding a softness that most people would never believe existed in his stone face.

I looked at the frame, I realized, my chest aching with the absolute magnitude of my love for him. I love this man so deeply it terrifies me.

I walked over to his mahogany wardrobe, opened the door, and pulled down a soft t-shirt that still carried the distinct warmth of his body scent.

I climbed onto his bed, ignoring the neatness of the tucked sheets, and curled into a tight ball, hugging the shirt against my chest like a lifeline.

I pressed my nose into the fabric, kissing the cotton, and let the scent anchor my frantic mind.

I didn’t even know when the exhaustion of the past four days finally caught up with me. I slept off right there in the middle of his bed, tucked away from the rest of the world, until Naya knocked softly on the door three hours later to wake me up for dinner.

“Soso baby, wake up,” Naya’s voice came through the door, followed by the sound of her turning the knob.

“The coconut rice is ready. If you don’t come out now, I will eat all the dodo, and you know how I am when it comes to fried plantain.”

I groaned, shifting against the pillows and rubbing my eyes.

The shirt was still clutched tightly in my right hand.

“I’m coming, Naya. Give me five minutes.”

After we ate dinner at the dining table.

I looked at her across the empty plates.

“Naya.. I think I am going to stay over until he comes back. I’ll drive home to bring more clothes, but I’m sleeping in his room.”

“You think I didn’t know that before?” Naya laughed, clearing the dishes.

“I know you were just disgusting. Please stay. At least with you here, the house feels alive. And you can help me fight with the estate security guard about the water pumping schedule.”

That was how my routine for the next few days became anchored in his absence.

I went to work from his house every morning, my assistant Tobi running through project blueprints with me via email, but every evening, I was back in Akila’s bedroom, surrounded by his scent.

On day six, Amara came visiting. She had driven over to the house, her arms full of snacks and a bottle of wine.

“I knew I would find you here,” Amara said as she stepped into the parlor, looking at me with a smirk.

“Amara, abeg, don’t start,” I said, laughing as I took the bottle of wine from her.

“I’m just keeping Naya company so she doesn’t feel lonely in this big compound while her brother is away.”

“Yes, o! That’s my official defense statement,” Naya called out from the kitchen, her head popping out of the doorway.

“She is doing the Lord’s work!”

We ended up having a massive movie night in the parlor.

Naya, who was a complete chef at heart when she wasn’t shopping for school, had spent the afternoon making homemade vanilla and strawberry ice cream from scratch.

She brought out a massive bowl, topped with crushed cookies and fresh berries, and set it between us on the rug.

We sat there in our loungewear, the television playing some romantic comedy we weren’t really paying attention to, talking and laughing until midnight.

It was the first time in a week that my chest didn’t feel constricted.

By afternoon of the eighth day, the air in the house had turned warm and still.

I was sitting on the long gray sofa in the parlor, the laptop resting on my knees as I typed out a long, detailed response to Tobi regarding the structural changes a hotel client wanted for the lobby partition.

From the kitchen, the rich, savory aroma of fresh pepper, onions, and beef was wafting through the house.

Naya was standing by the stove, cooking a fresh pot of stew, her voice carrying over the sound of the sizzling oil as she gisted me about some old family drama.

“I’m telling you, baby na!” Naya shouted over the noise of the extractor fan.

“The day Wandi told Baba she was going to study accounting instead of law, the whole house went dead for three days! Baba was very strict. But Wandi just stood her ground. Akila was the one who finally went to meet Baba in the farm to calm his temper down.”

“Akila has always been the mediator for the family, then?” I called back, my fingers pausing over the keyboard.

“Gaskiya! Even though he acts like a hard man, his heart is the softest among all of us,” Naya said, stepping out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand, wiping her brow with a towel.

“He just carries this hard guy exterior because of the things he’s seen. But once he loves you, he is finished.”

I smiled, looking down at my clothes. In my own defense against the longing that had been consuming me, I wore a matching blue two-piece loungewear set he had bought for me a few months ago. The knit fabric was soft against my skin, wrapping me in a familiar comfort.

And on my head, pulled down low over my eyes, was his favorite black canvas baseball hat — the one I had stolen from him during our third date at the Millennium Park.

I remembered the exact way he had looked at me that afternoon, his stone face cracking into a wide, genuine laugh as I refused to give it back, telling him in that silly baby voice that if he loved me, his favorite hat was now my property.

I wore it today because I just wanted to feel his presence around me, a physical shield against the anxiety of his silence.

“Tobi is a life saver. He makes life easy for me fa,” I muttered to myself, turning my focus back to the screen as I formulated the email response.

The heavy brass lock of the front door suddenly clicked.

My fingers froze above the keyboard. The lock turned fully, the security bolts sliding back with a deep metallic groan, and the front door swung open.

I looked up from the screen.

AkilaHyel stepped across the threshold.

He was carrying a dark canvas duffel bag slung loosely over his right shoulder, his tall, muscular frame filling the entryway instantly.

He was wearing a plain t-shirt and dark trackpants, his skin looking smooth and deep under the afternoon light filtering through the windows.

His shoulders were relaxed, his face carrying a serene, unshakeable peace that I had never seen on him before.

He looked so incredibly fine — stripped of the commander persona, looking raw, solid, and breathtakingly handsome.

Our eyes locked across the space of the parlor.

The moment his dark gaze hit my face, his chest heaved in a sharp, sudden gasp, his boots coming to an absolute halt on the floorboards.

His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening with a profound, breathless surprise that turned into something deep, intense, and completely overwhelming.

He hadn’t known I would be here.

He didn’t know I had turned his bedroom into my sanctuary for the past four days.

The laptop on my knees felt instantly weightless.

My heart did a violent, frantic leap against my ribs, the entire architecture of the room fading into a blur until there was nothing left but the sight of him standing by the door.

My baby was finally home.

Hi babiessss!!!

We did not hit our last target but here we go.🤭🤭

The target remains at 150 likes, 50 comments and 50 restacks.

Thank you for your love and support🥹🙏❤️

AKILAHYEL’S POV

I stared at the phone screen, my arm still slung heavily over my forehead, watching Wandi’s face.

She always has this specific sharpness in her eyes — the kind of look that reminds me of our mother. It was a gaze that didn’t just see you; it unraveled you.

“Wandi,” I began, my voice breaking over the syllables.

“I had a fight with my girlfriend, Soteria and she said some things to me that…. I.. I don’t even understand. I don’t know if it’s a good time for us to talk. I really need to talk to someone.”

Wandi didn’t say anything immediately.

She looked up, her focus shifting to someone just outside the camera frame.

“Success,” she called out softly, her voice muffled slightly as she directed her house help.

“Continue blending the tomato and pepper for the stew. Use the small pot for the fish. I’m coming.”

She picked up her phone, the camera tilting in a chaotic blur as she walked out of her kitchen, navigating the familiar hallway of her home.

In the background, I heard the distant, low murmur of her husband’s voice from their master bedroom, but Wandi kept moving past it, slipping quietly into the children’s room.

It was completely silent inside, the bright afternoon sun filtering through the patterned curtains.

“Where are the twins?” I asked, my voice barely a rough whisper against the speaker.

“They’re still at school, Yaro,” she said gently, closing the wooden door behind her.

She sat on the edge of one of the small beds, adjusting her wrapper with a practiced ease before propping the phone securely against a stack of storybooks so she could face me squarely.

“They won’t be back until evening. Now, what’s up? Tell me what happened. From the very beginning.”

I let out a ragged breath that felt like gravel grinding in my lungs.

I didn’t even know how to frame it without sounding like a broken man.

“She called me proud, Wandi. She said I was stubborn, full of myself, and that I don’t listen to anybody. She said that nobody has any real drop of influence over my life. She even said she doubts if I bend to the leadership in church. She said a man without authority over his head cannot lead a home... that I’m not a good leader.”

As the words tumbled out, the vacuum in my chest expanded until it felt like a hollow, aching cavity beneath my ribs.

I sounded entirely defeated. I knew it, and she could see it through the lens.

“Wandi... am I really that bad?” I asked, the vulnerability cutting deep.

“Am I that terrible of a person? The funny thing is that this fight happened because I was trying to protect her. I was only trying to stop someone from harassing her. Everything I did, I did to keep her safe.”

Wandi heaved a deep sigh.

“Before I say anything, tell me what actually happened, because you’re only saying the aftermath. What led to this argument you guys had?”

I told her of Julian, his persistent troubling of Soteria, how he called me a boy toy. Then I went ahead to tell her that I tracked him down, caught him and beat him up.

“Habaaaa!!! Yaro!!” She exclaimed.

“Wandi, he deserved it. I did not even beat him the way I desired.”

For a few heavy seconds, she just looked at me, her eyes tracking the dark circles bruising the skin under my eyelids and the stiff, defensive way I was looking at her.

“AkilaHyel,” she started, her voice dropping into that heavy, grounding tone.

“First of all, I want you to hear this from me clearly: I am so incredibly proud of the man you are. You have been a warrior since the day you were born into this family. When Baba died and everything went cold around us, you became the pillar. You carried our weight on your small shoulders. You grew up to be a very fine man of discipline and prowess. A man this entire family respects. Nobody can ever take that away from you.”

She paused, letting the validation settle into the quiet of my heart before her features shifted.

“But you see, in relationships... wisdom is needed, Akila. It’s not about tactical maneuvers. Disrespect is a terrible thing in life, talk more of a relationship. No one should ever look at their partner and treat them with levity. But your approach might have been entirely wrong too.”

“Knowing the way your mind functions, the moment she walked in fuming, you probably spoke to her in that your cold, unyielding commander tone that makes people feel like they are facing a firing squad. You probably said something harsh that made her flare up.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the cushions, my jaw tightening as the sting of her words hit home, but I didn’t try to defend myself.

“We will come back to how you two communicate,” Wandi continued, her eyes narrowing as she focused heavily on the screen.

“Now, to the main reason for the fire in your house. Why did you go and beat up a client, Akila? Her client for that matter?”

“I didn’t beat him up, Wandi,” I muttered, shifting my gaze up to the white ceiling boards to avoid her eyes.

“I wanted to. I was fully ready to mend his brain, but my spirit did not allow me. I didn’t even touch him like that. Just one slap to shut his arrogant mouth.”

“Hmmm. But you caught the guy? You waylaid him abi?”

“Yes.”

“And your woman... Soteria... did she ask you not to do anything to him initially? Before this night?”

I swallowed hard, the sharp memory of our conversation flashing through my mind.

“Yes. She said I should leave him alone, that she would handle things but she didn’t.”

Wandi shook her head, a small, sad smile touching her lips.

“Then you see, Akila, you first disrespected her. That is the simple truth. You did not value her business. You did not trust her capacity as a professional woman to protect her own workspace.”

“No, Wandi, I do value her business,” I protested.

“I respect her work completely. I just couldn’t stand the boy insulting her. I couldn’t sit back and let him make her uncomfortable while working.”

“That is not how Soteria would see it, my brother,” Wandi said, her voice remaining entirely calm and steady.

“The lady, as Naya has gisted me before, is from a very wealthy home. She has lived a very flamboyant and rough life in this before she even met you. She knows exactly how to navigate these Abuja boys and their arrogance. She has connections nau“

I groaned loudly, running my right palm over my face in pure frustration.

“Arghhh... Naya and her big mouth. What else did she tell you?”

Wandi laughed, a light, airy sound that broke through the heavy tension in the room for a fraction of a second.

“Kaiii, leave Naya alone. It’s nothing serious. Naya just updates me on Soteria from time to time since you never call to tell me anything about your life. You are too uptight, Akila. I’m your elder sister, but sometimes I even feel like I have to tread carefully around you.”

“Am I really that uptight?” I asked, my voice dropping back into that hollow, vulnerable register.

“Yes, you are. Even around family,” she said, her eyes softening.

“You need to loosen up, AkilaHyel. Soteria might not have said it with the right vocabulary. Her words might have been too rude but she was pointing at a very real deficiency. You need to be under someone. Not just your military commanders, not just your superiors at the brigade. You need a spiritual head.”

She leaned closer to her camera, her tone becoming deeply earnest, stripping away any room for my pride to hide.

“Soteria is someone who is just coming to Christ. She is still learning how to navigate the kingdom. She needs a man she can submit to, a man who knows how to bend his knees. And she can only submit to you if she sees that you are completely yielded to Christ. If you are a law unto yourself, answering only to your own internal radar, how can she trust you to lead her?”

Wandi took a deep breath, looking out the window of the kids’ room for a moment, before looking back at me.

“You remember some years ago, when Timi and I almost got divorced?”

I nodded slowly.

“Timi never used to listen to anybody,” Wandi said, her voice filled with the raw weight of lived experience.

“He would sit down in the parlor and tell me the Bible is his standard alone, that he doesn’t need any pastor, mentor, or church structure to tell him how to run his home. He always listened to his own head alone. It took the pain of almost losing our home, almost getting a divorce, to bring his head back on track.”

She paused.

“He finally broke down, submitted himself under our pastor fully, and allowed himself to be truly accountable. That was when our home found peace. Akila, it won’t be easy, and it won’t be swift, but you must learn how to be vulnerable. You must learn how to let someone hold your spirit accountable.”

I let out a long, ragged sigh, my head dropping heavily into my hands.

The emptiness inside my chest was screaming now, a loud, terrifying confirmation of my error.

“Wandi... I feel like I’ve completely messed up that part already.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Holy Ghost,” I whispered, the tears finally burning the back of my eyelids, scorching my throat.

“Before I went out to pick up the guy that night... He told me. He told me explicitly not to touch him. He said, ‘If you love me, keep my commandments.‘ He asked me if it was my pride speaking. And I still went. Though I ended up not beating the guy because of that. Now it feels like I’ve completely lost the Holy Spirit.”

Wandi’s face softened.

“Akila. Partial obedience is still disobedience. You remember King Saul in the bible? God told him to destroy everything, but he decided to spare the king and the best of the sheep, thinking he was doing something wise and calculated. He did part of what God asked, but it was not counted unto him as obedience. God rejected his leadership because of that partial compliance. You cannot negotiate with a direct instruction from the Spirit.”

“But you see, the beautiful thing is that our God is not a wicked father,” Wandi said, her voice rising with a knowing.

“He is never a wicked father, Akila. You can always find your way back to the secret place. Let me ask you: if someone splashes mud all over your clean white clothes, what would you do? Would you run back into the mud to get more stained, or would you run straight to a running tap to wash it off?”

“The tap,” I muttered into my palms, my voice trembling.

“Good. That is exactly how it is when we wrong God by sinning. When we disobey, we don’t run away from Him because of guilt. We don’t go back into the mud of our pride to justify ourselves. We run straight to Him to wash us. He is the living water, Akila. Allow Him to clean you and give you life again. Drop the uniform, drop the hard-man thing, and just go on your knees as a son who needs his Father.”

She cleared her throat softly, looking toward the door of the children’s room.

“The kids are almost back from school and I need to go pick them up. Can I call Timi so he can say a word of prayer with you?”

I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat, the last remnants of my resistance dissolving, and nodded.

“Yes.”

Wandi picked up the phone, the camera moving as she walked back toward the master bedroom.

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I heard the door click open, and then the screen shifted to show her husband, Timi, sitting at his small work desk, studying some documents.

He looked confused at first as Wandi handed him the phone, whispering into his ear,

“Honey, please say a word of prayer for Akila as the Spirit leads you. He needs it right now.”

Timi looked at my face through the screen.

He didn’t ask a single question.

He just closed his eyes, leaning toward the camera, and raised his right hand toward the lens.

“Holy Spirit, help me,” Timi murmured softly.

“Father, I lift up my brother AkilaHyel before you this afternoon. Lord, you see the heart of a soldier, but right now, he is standing before you simply as a son. I pray that the thick blanket of your mercy will cover him in this room. Break every hold of the enemy over his heart.”

Timi took a deep breath, his prayer becoming incredibly specific as the Spirit led him.

“Give him the grace to yield completely, to submit his natural strength under your divine authority. Father, silence the voice of accusation over his mind, and we call forth the comfort and the restoration of the Holy Ghost. In Jesus’ mighty name we pray.”

“Amen,” I choked out.

Wandi took the phone back, giving me one last encouraging, deeply loving look.

“Go and talk to your Father, Akila. I love you.”

“I love you too, Wandi,” I said, and the line went dead.

The silence returned to my house, but it didn’t feel as cold or hostile anymore. It felt heavy with an expectant presence.

I set the phone down on the glass table.

Slowly, deliberately, I slid off the edge of the sofa and let my knees hit the hard concrete floorboards. I buried my face deep into the cushions, my chest heaving as the dam broke apart.

I cried. I cried like a child who had been lost in a dark forest, the tears soaking into the fabric of the sofa as I let out all the accumulated baggage, the hidden anger, the structural pride, and the absolute exhaustion of being the strong man for everyone else while I starved inside.

I reached for my phone with a shaking hand, navigating to my audio player with blurred vision, and selected a track that had always pierced through my defenses.

Broken by Kaestrings.

The soft, ethereal keys began to float through the empty parlor, the gentle, acoustic melody filling the spaces between my ragged sobs.

In the stillness of my soul

Is a loud cry to you

Before you i stand

Helpless, vulnerable

………

Unworthy is my state

But your love says to me

Child, be bold and come

Father, here i am

………

Gyara ni Ya Yesu na (please fix me Lord)

In zama kamar da kai (that i may become more like you)

Gyara ni Ya Yesu na (please fix me Lord)

Gyara ni ma ai’kin ka (fix me for your service)

As the song played over and over again on a continuous repeat, the atmosphere in the room began to shift completely.

Gyara ni Ya Yesu na (please fix me Lord)

In zama kamar da kai (that i may become more like you)

Gyara ni Ya Yesu na (please fix me Lord)

Gyara ni ma ai’kin ka (fix me for your service)

The aching vacuum under my ribs was being filled by a heavy, beautiful weight of genuine repentance.

I stayed there on my knees for hours, the music washing over my bare back like a cleansing stream.

“Fix me, oh God,” I wept into the darkness of the cushions, my hands spread open on the floorboards in total, absolute surrender.

“Fix me. I am entirely tired of doing my own thing. I am tired of my pride. Wash me, Lord. Just fix me.”

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SOTERIA’S POV

The iron gates of Pastor Olive’s residence in Jahi swung open with a quiet, automated groan, allowing my car to crawl onto the interlocking paving stones.

The drive from Akila’s house had been a blur of windshield wipers and hot, stinging tears that kept obscuring the traffic lights.

My chest still felt hollow, aching from the sheer velocity of the words I had thrown at Akila, and the heavy, silent weight of his face when he stepped away from my touch was still flashing behind my eyelids.

The housekeeper, a middle-aged woman named Martha who knew my face from my frequent visits for house fellowship meetings, opened the front door before I could even ring the bell.

“Good afternoon, Sister Soteria,” she said, “Welcome. Come inside.”

“Good afternoon, Aunty Martha,” I whispered, stepping into the cool, air-conditioned expanse of the marble foyer.

Pastor Olive’s twelve-year-old daughter, Michelle, was sitting on a bench in front of a sleek digital keyboard.

A young man with thin spectacles who I guess was her music instructor, was leaning over the music sheet, tapping a pencil against the wood to keep the tempo.

Michelle glanced up as my heels clicked against the marble, her face breaking into a wide, innocent smile.

“Hello, Aunty Soteria!”

I forced a small, fragile smile onto my face, waving my hand slightly.

“Hi, Michelle. Well done.”

“Good afternoon, sir” I greeted the teacher.

He instructor nodded politely, and Michelle plunged back into her scales, her small fingers hitting the white keys with a clumsy, earnest focus.

I watched her for a brief second, envying the simple, uncomplicated rhythm of her afternoon, before Aunty Martha led me toward the glass doors leading out to the rear balcony.

“Pastor is still upstairs, ma,” Martha explained, pulling out one of the cushioned wicker chairs for me.

“She said I should tell you to give her fifteen minutes. She is wrapping up a meeting online.”

“It’s fine, ma. I’ll wait,” I said, dropping heavily into the seat and resting my handbag on the glass tabletop.

The balcony looked over a neatly manicured lawn lined with potted ferns and white hibiscus bushes.

I leaned my elbows on the table and buried my face in my palms, the silence of the backyard letting the echo of the fight back into my head.

Some minutes later, the glass door behind me slid open with a soft hiss.

I straightened up quickly, wiping the corners of my eyes with my thumb just as Pastor Olive walked out.

She was dressed in a simple, elegant kaftan, her hair wrapped in a silk scarf, her face completely bare of makeup but radiating that deep, unshakeable authority that always made her presence feel like a sanctuary.

She didn’t say a word at first. She walked straight to my chair, and as I stood up, she opened her arms and pulled me into a long, firm embrace.

The moment her arms wrapped around my shoulders, a small, ragged breath escaped my throat, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep from sobbing again.

She held me until my shoulders stopped trembling, then gently guided me back down into my seat before taking the chair directly opposite me.

“I am so sorry for keeping you waiting, my darling,” she said, her voice a warm, soothing balm.

“The regional board meeting with Pastor Uzor ran over time. But I am here now.” She reached across the table, her soft fingers folding over my cold hands.

“Now, tell me. What is the problem?”

The dam broke.

The words came pouring out of me in a frantic, chaotic stream, my voice cracking as I tried to lay out the ledger of the past week.

“Mama, Akila and I had a fight. There is this client of mine that has been making advances at me. Honestly, it has been annoying and very irritating. I have been trying my best to contain it. One day, I was on a call with Akila when this guy called Akila a boy toy and he heard it. A few days later, he asks for his contact, tracks him and goes ahead to beat him up. Actually beat him up” I gasped out, my hands gesturing wildly.

“He... he didn’t just beat him up, he did not even regret it, mama!”

Pastor Olive listened quietly, her face calm, her intelligent eyes tracking every line of distress on my features.

She didn’t interrupt, didn’t gasp, didn’t offer a premature judgment. She just let me empty the vessel.

“I was so upset,” I continued.

“I drove straight to his house to confront him. I was shouting, mama, I won’t lie. I asked him why he had to resort to brutality, why he couldn’t just have a normal, cordial conversation like a civilized man. And instead of apologizing, he flared up at me! He told me not to disrespect him in his house. He looked into my eyes and asked me if I kept the contract because I wanted the boy’s attention! He asked me if I was a flirt or a cheat!”

My voice hitched, a hot tear spilling over my cheek.

“I don’t know what to do with him anymore, mama. He is so annoying. He carries himself like a complete loner, like nobody on this earth has any right to speak to him or influence his decisions. He acts like his own god.”

Pastor Olive remained silent for a long moment after I finished, the soft sound of Michelle’s piano keys floating out from the living room.

She heaved a quiet, measured sigh, her thumbs tracing the back of my knuckles.

“What exactly did you say to him, Soteria?” she asked softly.

“After he said you were being disrespectful. Tell me your exact words truthfully.”

I swallowed hard, looking away from her searching gaze toward the white hibiscus bushes in the garden.

“I... I told him he needed to work on himself. I told him he was too proud, too uptight, and too stubborn. I said he doesn’t listen to his family, and that I doubted if he even bends to the leaders in church. I told him... I told him a man without authority over his head cannot lead a home, and that he isn’t a good leader. I told him I couldn’t be with a man like that.”

Pastor Olive’s face didn’t harden. Instead, a very small, incredibly gentle smile touched the corners of her lips.

She let go of my hands and leaned back against the wicker frame of her chair.

“Soteria baby,” she said softly.

“Yes, ma,” I murmured, my head dropping slightly.

“The book of Proverbs tells us that a wise woman builds her house, but a foolish one plucks it down with her own hands,” she started, her tone light.

She raised her palm immediately as she saw me about to speak.

“Now, hold on. Do not conclude on that scripture yet. Don’t look at me with those defensive eyes.”

She leaned forward again, resting her forearms on the glass table.

“A wise woman is not a perfect woman, Soteria. A wise woman is simply one who knows how to handle the affairs of her home, whether she is legally married or still in the season of courtship. A wise woman seeks counsel — just as you have done today. A wise woman would not see a wrong thing in her partner and call it a right thing. You saw that Akila’s approach to your client was illegal, violent, and dangerous for your career, and you refused to look the other way. That is wisdom, my darling. A wise woman advises her partner when he falters. And what you did by identifying his blind spot was amazing.”

She paused, letting the affirmation settle into my chest before her expression turned deeply instructive.

“But you see, Soteria... a wise woman also knows how to go about that advice. A wise woman understands times, and she understands seasons. She knows when to bring up certain conversations, and more importantly, she knows how to handle the tool of truth.”

She gestured toward the open doors of the house.

“You, as a woman, are a builder. One thing I love and admire so much about you is your resilience and your wisdom. You are very young, but you are mature, extremely mature for your age. But as a builder, you must understand that different buildings sit on different foundations, and you cannot use the same sledgehammer on a granite foundation that you use on soft clay.”

“You must note something very critical, Soteria. You are dating a man who is not only a soldier, but a man who is actually far older than you. He has commanded men in battle, he has survived seasons of total desolation that would break an ordinary spirit, and he has spent years functioning as his own defense mechanism because life took away his cover at a very young age.”

She leaned closer, her eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding intensity.

“Men love respect, Soteria. Oh, they don’t just love it, they thrive on it. It is the oxygen of their masculine identity. Does that mean you should remain silent when they are stepping into error? Never. A woman who loves her man will hold up a mirror to his face when he is straying. But you must do it with wisdom, not with the weapon of your tongue.”

I lowered my eyes, my fingers folding my handkerchief into small, tight squares.

“When you are hurt, your feelings will always try to dictate for you,” Pastor Olive said, her voice dropping into a tender, cautionary frequency.

“Emotions are terrible leaders, baby girl. They lead us wrongly. They make us see things through a distorted lens of panic and self-defense. Whenever you find yourself in a misunderstanding with Akila, your very first conscious thought must be this: ‘He is not the enemy. I am not speaking to him from a point of hate, but from a point of absolute love.’”

“This single scriptural positioning helps to realign your mind. It changes your tone from an executioner’s ax to a surgeon’s scalpel. Akila is not your enemy here, Soteria. He was a man trying to protect you, even if his execution was entirely fleshly.”

She paused, her expression turning slightly stern as she shifted the weight of the counsel.

“And we must talk about that client. Let us be entirely honest with ourselves before God. You allowed that boy’s inappropriate advances to slide for a long time. His advances were a direct violation of your sanctity, and you kept it quiet because you wanted to protect a contract. That was totally wrong, Soteria.”

A sharp pang of guilt hit my stomach, and I looked down at the table.

“You thought you were being professional,” Pastor Olive said, her voice gentle but unyielding in its correction.

“But by allowing him have access to you without shutting it down it taking actions, you left a window open in the spirit. You allowed the boy to have access to you for too long. Akila felt threatened. He sensed the intrusion, and because he is a protector by nature, he reacted the only way his flesh knew how which is to neutralize the threat.”

She reached across the table again, lifting my chin until I was looking back into her warm face.

“Soteria, you cannot use your sharp tongue to dismantle the leadership of a man you intend to submit to. When you told him he wasn’t a good leader, when you told him he had no authority over his head, you didn’t just correct his actions, you castrated his spirit. You took his deepest vulnerabilities, the things he is silently wrestling with before God, and you used them as stones to pelt his chest. That is why he said those words to you. Not because he hated you, but because he was bleeding from a wound you inflicted.”

The tears came back, but this time they weren’t hot with anger, they were cold with a deep, crushing realization of my own error.

“Mama...” I choked out, my voice trembling.

“What do I do? I was just so scared. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I know, my darling, I know” Pastor Olive whispered, her eyes full of a mother’s compassion.

“That is why we are here. The scripture says in James 1:20 that the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God. You will go back to him, Soteria. You will apologize for the manner in which you delivered the truth. You will apologize for attacking his identity as a leader.”

I stiffened slightly, a small remnant of my pride resisting the directive.

“Mama... it might not be that easy to just walk back in there and bow my head. He also hurt me. He questioned my loyalty. He hurt me deeply too.”

Pastor Olive smiled, a beautiful, knowing expression that carried the wisdom of decades of marriage.

“Then you must pray that God gives him the wisdom to apologize to you too. The AkilaHyel I know is a wise man, a man who truly fears the Lord beneath that heavy armor. He is not a fool. When the Holy Spirit is done breaking the granite in his heart, he will know exactly what to do as God leads him. But your assignment is not to wait for him to bend first. Your assignment is to ensure your own garment is white before the altar.”

She stood up from her chair, extending her hands toward me.

“Come. Let us take this layout to the One who knows how to mend broken foundations.”

I stood up slowly, my heels clicking softly against the balcony floorboards as I reached out and took her hands.

We stood, our fingers locked together, and as Pastor Olive lifted her voice in a soft, powerful stream of prayer, I closed my eyes and allowed the living water to begin washing away the soot.

We hit yesterday’s target. Thank youuuu..🙏

Today’s target remains the same— 150 likes, 50 comments and 50 restacks.

See you tomorrow.

Soteria’s POV

The hurt in my chest had moved past a simple simmer; it was a violent, suffocating burn that made the air inside the vehicle feel too thin to breathe.

I didn’t even bother locking the car. I slammed the door shut, marched up the short concrete steps to his front porch, and twisted the handle with enough force to break the latch.

The door wasn’t locked. It never was when he was home, as if he dared the whole world to try crossing his threshold.

Akila was sitting on the edge of the single armchair in the center of the parlor, a small brown bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton wool resting on the glass table in front of him.

He had his shirt off. He was using his right hand to clumsily dab at the edges of the white dressing covering his left shoulder, his movements stiff and deliberate.

When the door slammed against the wall, his head snapped up.

Those dark, piercing eyes instantly locked onto my face, tracking the raw, red margins of my eyelids and the pale, trembling set of my mouth.

“Babe….”

“Don’t ‘Babe’ me, Akila! Don’t even start!” I shouted, the sound of my voice bouncing sharply off the bare walls.

My hands were shaking I had to ball them into tight fists against my sides to keep from falling apart right there.

“Why did you do it? Why on earth did you beat up my client?”

Akila’s hand froze mid-air, the cotton wool hovering a fraction of an inch from his brown skin.

He let out a low, slow breath through his nose — a controlled, disciplined expansion of his chest that flattened his features into that familiar, unyielding look.

He dropped his hand slowly.

“Baby, listen to me. I didn’t…”

“Don’t do that, babe!” I cut him off, my words slicing through his defensive structure like a blade.

I stepped deeper into the room, looming over where he sat, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs.

“Don’t even try to formulate an explanation for this madness. You promised me it was just going to be a civil conversation between two men! You gave me your word! And then you went behind my back, carried my brother, and went to waylay a civilian on the road? Are you out of your mind?”

Akila slowly rose from the armchair. His towering frame completely took over the small space between us, casting a long, heavy shadow over my face as he dropped the cotton wool onto the table.

His chest heaved under the steady counts of his breathing, his dark eyes narrowing as a hot, dangerous edge began to rise beneath his stony expression.

“Woman, watch your mouth,” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, threatening register that vibrated through the floorboards.

“Do not come into my house and disrespect me. I won’t take it from you.”

“Disrespect?” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, the tears of pure frustration finally springing to the corners of my eyes.

“Oh, wow! Fascinating. So you know the word disrespect? But you completely disrespected me when you went to beat up my client! You beat up a man that I work for! A client whose project is tied to my firm’s name! You didn’t think about my reputation, you didn’t think about my job. You just went ahead to flex your muscles.”

Akila’s face hardened into solid stone, his jaw clenching so hard. He took a heavy, imposing step toward me, closing the distance until I could feel the intense radiant heat coming off his bare skin.

“If you were really this upset with the guy, Ziniya, why didn’t you cancel the contract?” he retorted, his voice a harsh, gravelly whisper that cut straight through my shouting.

“Why didn’t you just refund his money and walk away from the project? Why did you keep allowing him to have access to you for that long? Or is it that you didn’t actually mind him? Did you like the attention he was giving you? Did you want him to keep running his mouth around you?”

The words hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus.

The parlor seemed to tilt for a second as a wave of pure, unadulterated shock washed over me, draining every drop of blood from my face.

“Nooo,” I breathed, my voice dropping into a ragged, broken whisper as I took a full step back, staring at him as if the man I loved had just been replaced by a monster.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Akila. What exactly do you mean by that? Are you trying to imply that I am a flirt? That I am a cheat? After everything I have done to show you that you are the only person I see? You think I kept that contract because I wanted his disgusting attention?”

Akila blinked. He shoulders rigid, his expression cold and his chest heaving under the strain of his own rising emotions.

“Ohhh. We are now on first name basis? I will act as though I didn’t hear that.”

I ignored him. He continued.

“Well, You tell me. Why would you tolerate a boy calling your man a boy toy if you’re not accommodating him or enjoying his attention?”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room.

The tears finally spilled over my cheeks, hot and bitter, burning my skin.

I could see a flicker of regret pass his face as he tried to touch my face but dropped back his fingers, clenching then tightly.

“You know what?” I whispered, my voice suddenly dropping into a flat, icy frequency that felt dead.

“I won’t waste my time here with you. I am not even going to sit here and defend my integrity to a man who thinks this lowly of me.”

I took a step closer to him, ignoring the warning stiffness in his posture, my finger pointing directly at the center of his bare chest.

“You need to work on yourself, Akila. You seriously, desperately need to work on yourself. You are too proud, too uptight, and too stubborn. You don’t listen to anyone at all, and it is really, really bad! You are a danger to yourself and everyone around you!”

“And you are being childish about this whole thing right now? Why are we even fighting about this?!” he rubbed his hand over his face, his voice slamming against the walls.

“I am not being childish about anything. We are fighting because you are protecting your ego!” I answered, the emotion tearing out of my throat.

“You don’t listen to me when I ask you to rest. You don’t listen to the doctors when they tell you your body is breaking. You don’t listen to your own family when they try to reach you from home. Nobody at all has a single drop of influence over your life, Akila! Nobody! You are your own god!”

The words were pouring out of me, each one stripping away another layer of the skin he used to shield himself from the world.

“I cannot be with a man who has this much pride,” I whispered, my voice cracking, the weight of the realization fracturing my heart into a thousand jagged pieces.

“A man who doesn’t have one single person on this earth that he can bend to. I seriously doubt you even bend to the leaders in church. You think your uniform and your strength make you above counsel. And a man without an authority over his head cannot be a good leader. You cannot lead a home like this. You cannot lead me. You need to loosen up, drop this hard-man act, and be a better man, a better leader, for this relationship to even stand a chance of working out.”

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AkilaHyel’s POV

The word hit my chest like a lead fragment tearing through soft tissue.

Pride. A man without authority.

My face faltered, the hard front completely breaking apart in front of her.

A sharp, physical ache bloomed right in my chest.

I stared at her, she looked flushed but utterly gorgeous. My hands dropped limply to my sides, the skin on my knuckles suddenly feeling completely cold despite the heavy evening heat in the parlor.

Gosh!! I love this woman so much that even when I’m mad at her, I still can not afford to hurt her with my words. I chose my next words carefully.

“Because of my ego, you say?” I whispered, my voice sounding rough and hollowed out.

“I did this to stop a man from being pushy and abusive to my woman. I did this to make sure he never looks in your direction or makes you panic. I went out there to secure your place and value. And here you are, telling me it’s for my ego?”

I took a slow, heavy step back, the floorboards beneath my bare feet feeling like ice.

My breath was stuck somewhere in the dark margins of my throat.

“Is that what you think of me, Ziniya? That’s who I am to you? A proud, stubborn animal who just wants to flex muscle?”

Soteria’s face went bland for a fraction of a second, a sudden flash of panic or regret crossing her eyes as she saw the damage her words had caused, but she quickly tightened her jaw, covering it up with another layer of stubborn, protective anger.

“I don’t care what you think right now,” she said, her voice shaking but unyielding.

“I think you need to figure out who you are when you aren’t holding a weapon or a badge. Because right now, you are just a wall. And I am tired of breaking my fingers trying to touch you.”

The room felt entirely naked, completely shaken to its very foundation.

Every word she had spoken was a direct hit.

Soteria looked at me. The harshness in her eyes suddenly softened, her small shoulders dropping as she realized the sheer mass of what she had just unloaded. She wanted me to understand. She wanted the truth to bridge the gap, not widen it into an abyss.

She took a slow, tentative step forward, her smaller hands reaching out, her fingers trembling as she tried to grasp my right wrist to draw me back into her space, to soften the blow.

“Baby, look at me... I’m just trying to explain…..”

The moment her skin touched mine, my body reacted on instinct.

I pulled my arm back sharply, stepping away from her touch as if her fingers were made of liquid fire.

“Really?” I whispered, my voice barely audible against the low hum of the standing fan in the corner.

“There is no point explaining yourself further. I think I get all you said. I am a man without authority, a bad leader, right?”

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Soteria’s POV

He moved away from me as if my touch were a violation.

“Babe, wait,” I said, my voice breaking as I stepped closer again, my palms open, begging him with my eyes to stop locking himself behind that wall.

“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out now. Look at me.”

“Don’t touch me,” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a flat, dead frequency that didn’t carry any anger at all, just a vast, freezing distance that terrified me more than his shouting ever could.

He didn’t lift his eyes to meet mine; he just stared fixatedly at the space between our feet.

I let out a long, ragged sigh, my chest aching so badly I could felt a physical weight pressing down on my lungs.

“I am not saying this to hurt you. I swear to you, before God, I’m not. I’m saying it because you need to change. Maybe I’m not saying it the right way... maybe my mouth is too sharp right now because of the panic and the shock of seeing what you did to Julian, but it is the truth. You need help, baby. Total surrender to God. This is not just about the fight with Julian. It’s about everything. It’s about how you carry the weight of the whole world alone without letting anyone help you hold it.”

Akila didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just stood there, his shirtless frame looking like a carved piece of dark wood in the middle of his parlor, completely silent, completely removed from me.

The house felt entirely dead.

Realizing that the wall was fully up, and that any more words would only shatter what was left of our floorboards, I let my hands drop to my sides. The exhaustion was absolute.

“When you are ready to listen... you know where to find me,” I whispered, the final drop of my energy leaving my body.

I turned around, walked out of the front door, and closed it quietly behind me.

The minute my feet hit the gravel of the driveway, the front I had been putting up completely collapsed. The tears spilled over my cheeks in hot, heavy streams, blinding me as I scrambled into the driver’s seat of my car.

I started the engine and drove out of the compound, the tires kicking up dust as the tears choked my throat. I was so incredibly tired.

I love my baby so much it feels like an obsession, but this hard-man act, this constant carrying of baggages without bending, was hurting me too deeply. He was doing too much, and it was breaking us apart.

As I navigated through the traffic toward the junction, my hands shaking against the steering wheel, I pulled out my phone and dialed Pastor Olive.

“Hi, darling.”

Her voice came through the speaker. It was warm and instantly comforting. The moment I heard her voice, a loud, ragged sob broke through my lips, and I couldn’t even form a proper sentence.

“Mama...” I choked out, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve.

“Mama, it’s Akila... we had a terrible fight. I’m so lost.”

There was a brief, understanding silence on the other end, the sound of her shifting some papers.

“Calm down, Soteria. Where are you right now?”

“I’m driving out of Asokoro, ma.”

“Come to the house,” Pastor Olive commanded gently, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Don’t drive too fast. Just navigate calmly, okay? I’m waiting for you.”

“Okay, ma,” I whispered, ending the call and turning the car toward the northern bypass, the tears still falling silently into my lap.

AkilaHyel’s POV

The sound of her car engine faded into the distance of the street, leaving the house in an absolute, suffocating silence.

I didn’t move. I stood in the exact spot where I had pulled my hand away from her touch, my chest bare, the bottle of rubbing alcohol still sitting open on the glass table.

Her words were still hanging in the air like smoke after a discharge, burning my throat every time I tried to take a breath.

Proud. Uptight. Stubborn. A man without authority.

Was I all that? Was I really without authority?

Why would she say those things to me?

I was supposed to report to the brigade headquarters in Maitama immediately for a formal debrief with my team, but as I looked at the dark canvas jacket hanging by the door, I couldn’t bring myself to touch it.

My limbs felt heavy, drained of the discipline that usually ran through my veins.

I walked over to the sofa and collapsed onto it heavily, lying flat on my back, my right arm slung over my forehead to shut out the light from the window.

I just stared up at the white ceiling boards, my heart beating a slow, sickening rhythm against my ribs.

I was upset. Furious that she had dished out the words in such a sharp, merciless manner.

But deep down, in that quiet, empty space where it felt like the Holy Ghost had gone silent, I knew she wasn’t lying.

I knew every single thing she said was a direct reflection of the baggage I was carrying. I just hated how it tasted coming from her mouth.

Was she going to leave me?

The thought entered my mind like a stray round, completely shattering the last remnants of my composure.

My stomach twisted into a tight, agonizing knot.

Never.

I couldn’t even form the mental layout of a life without that sharp mouthed woman.

She was the only woman after Almeera that I had ever allowed into my heart.

She was the only person who had broken through the stone to find the flesh beneath.

If she walked away from me because of this, there would be nothing left of AkilaHyel but a uniform and an empty life.

I needed to call someone. I needed a line to the outside world before the silence in this house choked me completely.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered over Effiom’s name, but I immediately slid past it.

I couldn’t call him. He was my only real friend, but he would be of little help right now.

I was such a loner. I looked at Almeera’s contact card, my thumb lingering on the screen, wanting to hear the voice of the past, but I decided against it.

It wasn’t fair to her, and it wouldn’t solve the fire in my house.

With a long, ragged sigh, I scrolled up to the top of my registry and tapped a number I hadn’t called in months.

Wandi.

My elder sister. She was married with twins, living a quiet, orderly life, completely removed from the chaos of my life.

The line didn’t even ring twice before the screen lit up. She picked up on the first ring.

“Yaro?” Her voice came through sharp, instantly breathless with a sudden, sisterly panic.

“AkilaHyel? Ya ya?? Are you fine? What happened? Why are you calling me out of the blues?”

It was completely unusual of me to call her out of the blue like this.

For years, our communication was limited to short, functional text messages on holidays or the family group calls.

For me to dial her personal line meant something had happened.

I didn’t answer immediately. I just heaved a long, deep, and thoroughly

exhausted sigh into the receiver, the sound scraping against the microphone.

On the other end, the line went completely quiet for a second before I heard the rapid movement of her feet against tiles.

“No, wait... Akila, switch to video call right now. Switch the line. Gaskiya You are too quiet, and it’s scaring me. Switch it now!”

I groaned softly, lifting the phone away from my face, and tapped the camera icon, letting the interface reset as her face burst onto the screen.

Wandi was standing in her kitchen, her wrapper tied tightly around her waist, her eyes wide with a genuine terror as she stared at me and the dark set of my jaw through the lens.

“Akila,” she whispered, her voice dropping into a soft, frightened register. “Why are you looking this way? What is wrong with you?”

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AKILAHYEL’S POV

By Friday night, the plan was locked. Solomon flagged Julian’s car parked outside a high-end lounge in Wuse II.

Julian was inside, spending millions on champagne, surrounded by his friends and a crowd of women, completely unbothered by the fact that he had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

Effiom met me at the junction around midnight. He was dressed in plain, dark clothes, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but his posture was completely rigid with anticipation.

“We are doing this legally as soldiers,” Effiom said, leaning against the side of my truck as the cool night wind swept through the empty street.

“It is going to be structured as an official intercept. If his friends make any noise, we clear the grid with the tear gas. They won’t even know who handled them.”

“We move when he hits the bypass,” I said, my fingers tapping a steady, disciplined rhythm against the steering wheel.

The wire in my chest was pulling tighter and tighter, burning away the last remnants of the Holy Spirit’s warning.

For the past one week, my phone had been receiving a quiet stream of coordinates.

Solomon was thorough. Every evening, a fresh brief would drop in my DM.

Stamps of the Julian’s location and snapshots from social media location tags.

I knew when he ate, I knew where he parked, and I knew exactly which clubs he frequented when he wanted to spend his father’s money with his crowd.

But while planning the attack, there was another friction.

It wasn’t a physical ache like the tight pulling of the stitches in my left shoulder, which were already beginning to heal into a dark, puckered scar.

It was a weight in my chest, a persistent, quiet pressure that didn’t leave me alone.

I sat on the edge of my mattress, my phone screen illuminating the dark room, displaying the Julian’s schedule for the weekend.

“The violence taketh it by force. I am doing the right thing.” I muttered into the empty bedroom, my voice a rough, low whisper.

My knuckles were clenched against my knee.

“That boy has no mouth to call me a boy toy. He has no right to insult me. He deserves to learn a lesson.”

Is it your pride speaking, Akila, or is it the cross? He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city. Do you want to justify your own flesh, or do you want me to be your defense?

The voice came deep in my Spirit.

“I love you, Holy Spirit,” I said, shaking my head fiercely, trying to clear the quiet voice from my head.

“I love you. But in this case, I don’t think I am being proud. Right?”

I asked no one in particular.

“I promise, I’m not even going to do anything heavy to him. Just a little roughening up. Just to make his brain sit properly so he knows there are people you don’t mess with. It’s a matter of boundaries. I am doing this for other women he might want to abuse.”

“Lord, imagine me going back on my word as a captain after making Solomon go through all that stress. It won’t speak well of me and you always want me to be diligent and upright in all my doings. I would not do anything bad to him. Just a short meeting.”

The next phrase that dropped into my consciousness didn’t feel like a gentle nudge; it felt like a heavy, unyielding sheet of iron falling straight through my heart, echoing with the absolute weight of scripture.

If you love me, keep my commandments.

I sat there in the dark for a long time, the silence pressing against my ears.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my jaw tightening until a localized ache bloomed behind my temple.

“Yeah,” I muttered, my voice tight with resistance.

“I will keep them, Lord. I’ll keep them. It’s just a little roughening up. He won’t even bleed at all.”

I shoveled the voice into the lower margins of my mind, refusing to pay it any more attention.

Earlier that week, I had called Effiom.

“Wait, the boy actually said that?” Effiom’s voice had exploded over the line, followed by a sharp, furious bark of laughter.

“I been think say na joke oo. A whole you? Ah, no na. This Abuja money is making these small boys lose their minds. He called you what?”

“A boy toy,” I said, my voice flat.

“Eh! He just wants to buy beating with his own hands!” Effiom shouted, his tone dripping with pure, unadulterated irritation.

“Normally, the guy suppose collect solid mending. Amara was even telling me about it day before yesterday when she came to the house. She was so pissed on Soteria’s behalf. Look, my guy, don’t worry. When the time comes, let me know. We will go together and reset his head.”

Around 02:30am, his car finally crawled out of the club’s parking lot, its headlights cutting through the dusty Abuja air.

It turned onto the stretch of road leading toward a dark, quiet section of the asphalt where the streetlights were mostly broken.

“Go,” Effiom muttered.

I slotted the truck into gear, the engine roaring as I pulled out from the shadows, accelerating until I bypassed the car and swung the truck hard across the lane, forcing the car to slam on its brakes with a loud, screeching protest of rubber against concrete.

Before the driver could even lower his window to shout, Effiom and I were out of the doors.

Effiom moved with perfect tactical precision, pulling open the driver’s side and unleashing a thick, blinding cloud of tear gas into the front cabin.

Julian’s friends and the women in the back immediately erupted into frantic, coughing screams, spilling out of the vehicle onto the gravel in pure panic, their hands over their eyes.

In the middle of the smoke, Julian was trying to scramble out of the passenger door, his expensive designer jacket already stained with gravel as he tripped over his own feet.

I didn’t give him a chance to find his balance. I closed the distance in two strides, my right arm hooking under his collar, lifting him off the ground before he could even register my face.

“Hey! What is this? Do you know who I am?” he choked out, his voice high and thin with a sudden, suffocating terror.

Effiom was already behind him with a thick burlap hood, slipping it over Julian’s head in one smooth motion, shutting out the city lights.

We bundled him into the trunk of my truck, slammed the metal door shut, and left his car idling on the side of the bypass with his friends still wailing in the dirt.

We drove thirty minutes out of town, navigating toward an uncompleted building project tucked away in a hidden, desolate area near the outskirts of the capital.

The structure was nothing but raw concrete blocks and exposed iron rods, completely isolated from the rest of the world.

Effiom dragged Julian out of the trunk and dropped him heavily onto a wooden chair in the center of the dark room, binding his wrists securely behind the frame with a thick nylon cord.

“Unveil him,” I said.

Effiom reached down and ripped the burlap hood off.

The bright light from our tactical flashlights hit Julian’s face, and he immediately began to shake violently, his skin pale and slick with a cold sweat.

His expensive silk shirt was torn at the shoulder, his hair completely disheveled.

The smug, idiotic man who insulted me had vanished entirely; in his place was a terrified boy who looked like he was staring at his own grave.

Effiom didn’t wait.

He walked straight up to the chair and delivered a sharp, resounding slap across Julian’s face that echoed loudly against the concrete walls.

“That’s for being an idiot,” Effiom spat, wiping his palm against his trousers.

A wicked, cold smile spread across my face as I watched Julian’s head snap back.

I waited for that internal nudge, that quiet, familiar voice to rise up and challenge me again. I braced my spirit for the tug-of-war I had been having all week.

But nothing happened.

The silence inside my chest was sudden, absolute, and utterly deafening.

The Holy Ghost had gone completely quiet. I reached inward, searching for that gentle friction, searching for the judge that usually cleared my path or blocked my steps, but I found nothing.

Just a vast, cold expanse of empty space. It felt like walking into a room where the power had suddenly been cut, leaving me completely on my own in the dark.

A heavy, hollow ache immediately began to bloom beneath my ribs, but I forced my face to stay rigid.

I stepped forward, my heavy boots clicking against the dusty floor, stopping right in front of the bound chair.

“Please! Please!” Julian whimpered, his teeth chattering so hard he could barely form the words.

He looked up at me, his eyes wide and wild with a primitive fear.

“What did I do? Why did you kidnap me? I have money. I can give you anything you want. Just name the amount. Five million? Ten million? I will call my accountant right now, I swear!”

The sheer arrogance of his response. The fact that he still thought a checkbook could settle this, made something snap inside me. I raised my right hand and delivered a brutal, heavy-handed slap straight across his jaw.

The force of the blow tore through his lip. Julian let out a strangled cry, his head jerking sideways as a thick splatter of dark blood coughed out of his mouth, staining the grey concrete floorboards between his feet.

The sight of the blood hit me like a splash of ice water.

I froze, stepping back a full foot, my breathing coming in short, disciplined counts as I forced my hands down to my sides.

My emotions were trying to override my sense of reasoning.

He is not your enemy, Akila,

I told myself, my inner voice forcing the tactical commander back into control.

I took a deep breath, the hollowness in my chest expanding until it felt like a physical vacuum. I squatted low, bringing my face level with his shaking head, my dark eyes boring straight into his pupils.

“Do you know Soteria?” I asked, my voice a quiet, dangerous rumble.

Julian gasped for air, wiping the blood from his chin with his shoulder as he shook his head frantically.

“Who? Who is that? I... I don’t know any Soteria! Please!”

“Don’t play games with me. Think carefully,” I whispered, my voice dropping into that heavy, absolute finality.

A sudden, sharp realization hit his eyes, and his entire frame went completely rigid.

“Oh... oh, yes! Yes, I know her! The interior designer! But what does she have to do with this? I haven’t done anything to her! I swear!”

“Do you remember calling her man a boy toy over the receiver?”

Julian froze. Every ounce of color left his face, his eyes dilating until they were completely black in the flashlight glare.

The sheer terror of the realization hit him like a physical weight. He looked me.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he began to wail, the tears instantly spilling over his swollen cheeks as he started to weep like a child.

“I’m sorry for calling her man a boy toy! Please, tell Soteria to forgive me! I didn’t know! I swear to God I didn’t know!”

“No,” I said, my voice as cold as ice.

“Soteria is not involved in this. Leave her name out of your mouth. Because I AM THAT MAN.”

The words had barely left my throat when Julian’s body gave a sudden, violent shiver.

A dark, wet stain immediately began to spread across the front of his designer trousers, the sharp, unmistakable smell of urine filling the small concrete room as he literally peed on himself out of pure, unadulterated fear.

He began to sob hysterically, his entire frame straining against the nylon cords as he tried to slide out of the chair, eventually collapsing onto his knees on the dusty floorboards, his face pressing against the dirt near my boots.

“I am the boy toy!” he screamed, his voice cracking with a desperate, pathetic pleading.

“My boss! My oga! Biggest boss! I am the boy toy, sir! Not you! I am sorry, sir! Please don’t kill me! Please, I beg you in the name of God!”

The urge to raise my boot and give him one more solid reminder of his place was there, but it felt empty.

The silence in my spirit was too heavy now, a suffocating weight that made the victory taste like ash.

I held my ground, remaining squatted low as I stared down at his head.

“Look at me,” I commanded.

Julian lifted his tear-stained, bloody face, his chest heaving with short, pathetic gasps.

“Yes, sir. Yes, boss.”

“You are going to finish that contract with Soteria’s company,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, level threat that carried the weight of an execution order.

“And you will not owe her a single dime. You will pay every milestone on time, without a single delay. Do you understand me?”

“Yes! Yes, sir!” he cried, nodding his head so fast his hair flew into his eyes.

“I will even pay extra! I’ll double the fee tomorrow morning, I swear!”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“Yes, ma… Sorry, yes, sir! Yes, sir! I am sorry!” he whimpered, clamping his teeth together.

“And you will never say a single word to Soteria about this night,” I continued, my eyes narrowing until they were nothing but dark slits.

“You will not bother her for life. Even after that project is finished, if you ever look in her direction, if you ever cross her path or send her a single text, I will look for you. I will find you in whatever house your father bought you, I will beat you until you can’t recognize your own skin, and I will tie you inside a leather bag for days. Are we clear?”

“I clear, sir! I promise! I’ll be a good boy!” Julian whimpered, his face pressing back into the dust.

“I will never look at her again! I swear it!”

I stood up fully, the wire in my chest finally releasing its tension.

I looked at Effiom, who was standing near the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the entire display with a mixture of amusement and deep satisfaction.

“Loosen him,” I said to Effiom.

“Let him run.”

Effiom blinked, his jaw dropping in absolute shock as he stepped forward as whispered to me.

“Wait, Akila, you’re letting him go just like that? We haven’t even exercised any real muscle on the boy. A whole you? You’re just letting him walk away after one slap?”

“He’s not worth my time, Effiom,” I said, turning my back on Julian as I walked toward the exit of the uncompleted building. Effiom walked towards me.

“Soteria would be incredibly mad at me if she found out I did this. And besides... if I stay in this room any longer, I might actually kill the boy. I don’t want his blood on my hands.”

Effiom stared at me for a flat three seconds before a wide, teasing grin broke across his features. He let out a loud, dramatic sigh and shook his head.

“Heheeee... AkilaHyel. You are really a finished man. A whole you? The Captain? Woman has completely melted your iron?”

“Asides from that,” I muttered, my voice dropping into a quiet, hollow space as I looked out at the dark Abuja night, “my spirit is completely empty right now. I don’t feel good about it.”

Effiom walked over to the chair, slicing the nylon cords with his pocket knife before tossing the burlap hood at Julian’s feet.

“Ohhh. This spirit of yours is not a good one oo. I was fully ready to get some proper exercise tonight. But no yawa. Another time will come.”

“Run along,” I barked over my shoulder.

Julian didn’t need to be told twice.

He scrambled to his feet, his wet trousers clinging to his legs as he bolted out of the concrete structure into the darkness, running toward the main road without looking back once.

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The drive back to my house was completely silent. Effiom had caught a taxi near the junction, leaving me alone in the cabin of my truck as the first pale light of dawn began to break over the hills of the capital.

The heat of my pride had completely cooled, leaving behind a massive, hollow ache that settled deep into my chest.

I reached inward again, desperately searching for that nudge, for the correction, for the comfort of the Holy Spirit’s voice that I had taken for granted all week.

I wanted Him to tell me I was wrong. I wanted Him to argue with me.

But there was nothing. Just an empty, silent house inside my heart.

The truck’s engine rumbled steadily, but the sound was completely drowned out by the single, repetitive sentence that kept ringing through my memory like a localized alarm from the days before I stepped over the line.

If you love me, keep my commandments.

I gripped the steering wheel with my right hand, my left shoulder throbbing with a dull, rhythmic reminder of my own fragility.

I had set the boundary. I had protected my woman.

But as I looked at the empty road ahead, the victory felt entirely hollow.

The Holy Ghost had gone quiet, and the guilt was already beginning to settle into my bones like a cold rot.

I shoved the feeling down, forcing my face back into that hard baseline as I turned into my gate.

Soteria’s POV

For the past one week, my phone has been a battlefield.

Julian had shifted from his casual arrogance to a frantic, relentless barrage of late-night WhatsApp texts and highly inappropriate, unsolicited images that made my skin crawl with pure disgust.

I hadn’t told Akila. If I had dropped even a hint of those images to my man, the explosion would have leveled half of Abuja.

Instead, I quietly blocked Julian’s number entirely.

We were at the final phase of the interior design execution.

Everything was complete, the fabric swatches for the custom furniture were locked, and I just needed his physical signature on the final variations layout so we could round up the project.

When the elevator doors chimed and slid open directly into the private office, the place was completely silent.

“Is he not here?” I murmured, turning to Tobi, my assistant, who was carrying the heavy sample folders behind me.

“Let me call his line, ma,” Tobi said, pulling out his device.

“He mentioned he would be on-site by 2pm.”

I walked around, running my fingers over the polished concrete surfaces, feeling a profound sense of relief that the space was empty.

I didn’t want to see his face. It irritated me to my bones and there was little I could do. We were already at the last phase so it would be unwise of me to cancel now.

Tobi hung up his phone after a brief, quiet exchange.

“He’s downstairs in the compound, ma. He says he’s coming up right now.”

A few minutes later, the main double doors clicked open.

I turned around, adjusting my blazer, bracing myself for the usual arrogant grin and the greasy compliments.

But the man who walked in didn’t look like Julian at all.

He was wearing a dark, oversized hoodie pulled entirely over his head, a pair of thick, polarized black sunglasses that hid his eyes completely, and a heavy surgical face mask that covered his face from the bridge of his nose down to his chin.

He looked like someone trying to escape a biological hazard or a high-profile scan.

He didn’t look at me. The moment his boots hit the floorboards, his gaze remained glued entirely to the concrete near my sneakers, his shoulders hunched inward in a strange, defensive posture that looked entirely unnatural on him.

“Julian?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I took a step forward.

“Are you alright?”

He jumped back a full six inches, his hands flying into his pockets, his head shaking violently.

He didn’t say a word to me directly. He didn’t even acknowledge my question. He just gestured frantically toward Tobi, his breath coming in short, muffled gasps behind the blue fabric of the mask.

I stood there, completely stunned, my swatches halfway out of the folder.

Not like I cared. If anything, I was glad he didn’t not bother me today.

It was just that the man was acting completely weird. He looked like a wild animal that had just been dragged out of a snare, his skin where the mask didn’t cover looking oddly pale and slick with a sudden sweat.

“Okay...” I muttered, clearing my throat and deciding to ignore the bizarre display so we could just finish up.

“This is the final phase of the interior layout, Julian. Once you sign off on these fabric selections for the furniture, my team will execute, and our contract is officially closed.”

He nodded frantically, his head jerking up and down like a mechanical toy. He still refused to lift his face to meet my eyes, his glasses fixed firmly on the clipboard Tobi was holding out.

“I... I sent the balance,” Julian’s voice came out muffled, high, and completely stripped of that smooth, wealthy aura I hated.

He was trembling. I could see the fabric of his dark hoodie vibrating near his chest.

“I sent the full final balance to your corporate account this morning. I added an extra five million naira to the transaction.”

I paused, looking down at the digital banking alert Tobi had shown me earlier on the drive over.

“Yes, I saw the extra credit, Julian. But our contract doesn’t include any variations of that amount. There’s absolutely no need for you to send extra money to me. I’ll have my accountant reverse the excess back to your account before the close of business.”

“No! Please!” Julian suddenly shouted, his voice cracking into a high, panicked wail behind the mask.

He took another step back, his hands lifting in absolute, frantic protest.

“Don’t send it back! Please, no! No, no! Keep it!”

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open in pure bewilderment.

“Julian, why? Why are you shouting? It’s just a refund.”

“It’s an apology!” he gasped out, his chest heaving under the hoodie as he glanced toward the elevator doors as if checking his escape route.

“It’s an apology for... for coming on too strongly these past few weeks. I am deeply sorry, Soteria. I apologize for my behavior. I will never, ever do that to you again. I swear it. I will never disturb your line.”

I was entirely too stunned to speak. The arrogant trust-fund child who had spent weeks calling me at odd hours was currently standing in front of me, sweating beneath sunglasses and a face mask, begging me to keep five million naira as a penance.

“Is... everything okay with you?” I managed to ask, my internal instincts sending a strange, quiet vibration through my spirit.

“Everything is fine!” he whispered quickly, his hand shaking as he snatched the pen from Tobi’s hand, scribbling a chaotic, barely legible signature across the sign-off sheet without even reading the specifications.

He shoved the clipboard back into Tobi’s chest.

“From now on... I will communicate exclusively through your assistant. I don’t need to see the final delivery. Tobi will handle the keys. I’m leaving now.”

Before the pen could even settle back into Tobi’s pocket, Julian turned on his heel and bolted into the open elevator cabin, slamming his finger against the ground floor button until the doors slid shut, cutting off the view of his hunched, trembling frame.

“Ma...” Tobi whispered, looking at the signed paper in absolute shock.

“What just happened?”

“I have no idea,” I said, my heart doing a slow, strange twist as I looked at the spot where he had been standing.

“I truly have no idea.”

An hour later, I pulled my car into Amara’s residential estate in Guzape. Her apartment had officially become my second home.

When I pushed the front door open, the apartment was filled with the rich, unmistakable scent of freshly fried small chops and peppered gizzard.

Amara was sitting in the living room, a large, beautiful arrangement of exotic white lilies sitting on her coffee table, surrounded by boxes of luxury pastries.

“Ah, ah! Hot girl!” I squealed, tossing my handbag onto the sofa and dropping down beside her on the rug.

“Who is the toaster that sent all this? Amara, you are living large oo! See flowers, see food!”

Amara let out a loud, triumphant laugh, quickly pulling one of the boxes of puff-puff away from my reaching fingers.

“Eh ehh! Don’t touch the chicken yet! This one is from a very serious candidate.”

“Who is he?” I begged, nudging her shoulder with my elbow, a wide, lively grin breaking across my face.

“Told me! Told me nau!! Am I not a people? Since when did you start keeping secrets from your own friend? Mbok, Gist me!”

“No way, Nne,” Amara smirked, popping a gizzard into her mouth and shaking her head with an amused expression.

“It’s a secret for now. I will gist you when i am sure of him. Just know the bobo is sha fine ooo.”

“Okay oo! Na you sabi,” I laughed, rolling my eyes dramatically as I managed to snag a piece of peppered gizzard from the plate.

“If you like don’t tell me now. I’ll do my findings myself. No be this same Abuja we dey? Abuja is small. I go do my research.”

I said munching on the gizzard.

“But seriously, the guy tried. The flowers are beautiful.”

Amara smiled, her eyes softening as she looked at the lilies, before she turned her attention back to me.

“Thank you. Anyway, how did the final sign-off go? Did that Julian give you any more trouble today?”

“Ah, Amara,” I sighed, leaning my back against the base of the sofa, my expression turning serious.

“Hmmmmm.. the torii long. It is even weird. I got to the place, and Julian was a completely different person. The guy was wearing dark sunglasses inside, a heavy hoodie pulled up, and a full face mask.”

Amara paused, a piece of small chops halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening slightly.

“A face mask? In this heat?”

“Yes!” I said, gesturing with my hands.

“He wouldn’t look at my face at all. He was avoiding my eyes, trembling, and he didn’t say a single word to me directly. He only spoke to Tobi. And then, my guy, he paid the balance with an extra five million naira. I told him I was going to send it back. Oga started panicking and apologizing like a child. He said he was sorry for coming on strongly and that he will never bother me again. Then he ran into the elevator.”

Amara froze for a split second, a strange, knowing expression flashing across her features before she suddenly erupted into a fit of loud, hysterical laughter, clutching her stomach as she leaned against the coffee table.

“Ah! It serves him right!” she gasped through her laughter, wiping a tear from her eye.

“It completely serves him right!”

I blinked, my internal alarms going off as I watched her reaction.

“What serves him right? Amara, why are you laughing like that? Do you know something?”

“Uh... nothing oo!” Amara said quickly, her laughter dying down into a suspicious, airy chuckle as she tried to adjust her reading glasses.

“I was just saying... him avoiding you and running away serves him right. The guy finally realized he has no level.”

I stared at her, the smile leaving my face as a sudden, sharp realization dropped.

My thoughts flashed back to Akila.

“Amara, look at me,” I whispered, my voice dropping into a quiet, trembling frequency.

“I suspect something right now... but I really don’t want to believe it.”

Amara stopped chewing, watching me closely.

“What?”

“Maybe Akila beat him up.”

Amara’s eyes went wide, and she let out a dry, airy cough that lacked any form of integrity.

“Ehhh? Soso, Me, I don’t know anything about that one oo! Abeg, let me go and poo first, this peppered gizzard is doing something to my stomach.”

She made a frantic move to stand up from the floor, but I was faster.

I lunged forward, my fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist, and dragged her right back down onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Amara, look at me,” I said, my voice dropping into a dangerous, freezing frequency.

“I swear to God, if you know anything about this and you are hiding it from me, I will be so incredibly mad at you. Don’t play with me. Look at my face. Do I look like I’m joking?”

Amara tried to keep her face straight, her eyes darting toward the lilies on the coffee table as she tried to maintain her defensive stance.

“Soteria, let go of my hand joor! What is all this? How will I know if your man decided to do military training on Julian? Am I his P.A?”

“You are lying,” I whispered, the realization hitting my chest like a physical blow.

The way she had laughed, the sudden urge to go to the bathroom, the knowing look, it all aligned perfectly.

I let go of her wrist, stood up from the rug in one swift, angry motion, and snatched my handbag from the sofa.

“Fine. Since you’ve decided that you and Akila are the ones running my life now, and you can’t be honest with your own sister, I’m out of here.”

“Babes, wait!” Amara cried, scrambling to her feet as I marched toward the front door, my heels clicking furiously against the tiles.

“Don’t ‘babes’ me, Amara!” I shouted, spinning around at the threshold, my chest heaving with a sudden surge of pure, unadulterated rage.

“I am handling my life, handling my grief, trying to keep my head above water, and the people I trust are keeping secrets from me? If you don’t tell me exactly what happened right now, I am walking out of that gate and I won’t pick up your call for a month!”

“It has not gotten to that nau”

Amara threw her hands up in the air, her resistance finally crumbling under the weight of my anger.

“Okay! Okay! Fine! Yes! Akila met him!”

I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp.

“He did what?”

“He met him, Soteria!” Amara groaned, running her hands over her face in pure frustration.

“But he did not beat him up! I swear to you on my mother’s grave, he did not beat the boy up. Effiom told me everything. They just... they waylaid him on the road after he left the club, gave him a small mending to reset his brain, and warned him to finish your contract and stay away from you. That’s why he was wearing that face mask! His lip was probably swollen. But nobody beat him up!”

My head was spinning so fast I had to lean against the doorframe to keep my balance.

“Effiom? Effiom was involved in this? My own brother?”

“Which one is your own brother again? Stop being dramatic about the whole thing. Julian was actually doing too much and if they didn’t step in, it would have been worse. Just calm down and see why they had to do it. It was for your sake.”

“Biko, calm down and take a chill pill!”

Amara pleaded, stepping back and raising her palms in a defensive gesture.

“Speak to your man! Go and ask him what happened. My hand no dey inside this matter again abeg! That is literally all I know. Effiom just gisted me briefly.”

I didn’t say another word. The sheer fury radiating from my skin was enough to make the air in the living room feel heavy. Akila had crossed the line.

He had looked into my eyes, promised me it was just a civil conversation between two men, and then gone behind my back with my brother to orchestrate a black-ops ambush on a client. He had treated my workspace like a battlefield.

I turned on my heel, yanked the front door open, and marched out into the corridor.

“Soteria! Soteria, stop na! Where are you going? Calm down” Amara yelled, running out after me into the hallway, her voice echoing against the walls of the development.

“Don’t go and drive like a madwoman! Soteria!”

“Stay away from me, Amara!” I screamed over my shoulder, not even pausing as I hit the stairwell, my fingers gripping the railing tightly to steady my shaking frame.

“Don’t follow me! If Akila can interfere in my affairs even after I told him I can handle it, then he would hear from me. He is always acting like he knows the best for me. When it comes to him, he would never ever let me make a decision. But in my case, I’m a baby na, I can’t handle my problems. He will hear from me.”

“Guy! He did it for your sake. That guy loves you and I am sure he didn’t mean it like that. Just calm down. Don’t do anything rash. I know you oo“ she called out from the top of the landing, her voice full of genuine panic.

I didn’t answer. I hit the ground floor, burst through the glass doors of the lobby, and walked straight out into the blazing afternoon heat toward my car.

My hands were shaking so violently I could barely slot the key into the ignition.

I was so upset he had gone that far. I was furious that he had taken laws into his hands.

Why would he physically assault a client?

I was managing things well. He should have trusted me to handle Julian on my own.

What is even more annoying is that he never allows me show up for him but he decides to make decisions for me. A decision that can cost he and my brother their badge.

I was furious.

As the engine roared to life, the only image in my mind was Akila’s unyielding face.

He wanted to play commander? Fine.

The commander was about to get what he wasn’t prepared for.

Soteria’s POV

The bypass from Guzape back to my house was a blur of long, amber shadows and the low, continuous rumble of the tires against the asphalt.

By the time I navigated the car into the compound, the afternoon heat had given way to that thick, heavy dusk that always settles over Abuja just before the night takes over.

I didn’t go back to Akila’s house. I couldn’t.

The friction from this morning was still too raw, and the terror of what he would do if he read the lingering panic on my face was enough to keep my foot glued to the pedal until I pulled up into my own driveway.

The house was empty, quiet in that large, echoing way it had been ever since my father passed. Mom went on a trip to the UK to spend some time with her sister.

I didn’t turn on the living room lights. I just walked straight up to my bedroom, kicked off my heels, and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the room closed in around me.

My phone vibrated against my thigh.

I didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who it was. The persistence of my man was unmatched.

With a trembling thumb, I slid the screen to answer and lifted the phone to my ear. I didn’t say a word. I just waited, listening to the heavy, localized silence on the other end of the line.

“Where are you?”

His voice didn’t carry the loud, roaring anger I had been bracing for. It was low, level, and entirely devoid of any lightness.

“I’m at home,” I whispered, my voice sounding small and ragged against the vast quiet of my bedroom. “I’m in my house.”

“I’m coming over.”

Before I could tell him no, the line went completely dead.

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Twenty minutes later, the heavy rattle of his truck’s engine cut through the quiet of the driveway below. I didn’t move from the bed. I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, unhurried but completely unyielding, until the handle of my bedroom door clicked and swung open.

Akila stood in the doorway. He had changed into a dark shirt, but the subtle stiffness in his left side was still there, a rigid line that reminded me of our argument in his parlor.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, tracking the red margins of my eyelids and the pale set of my face with a slow intensity.

He walked over to the edge of the bed, his boots heavy against the rug, and stopped just two feet away.

He didn’t reach down to touch me. He just stood there, towering over me like a piece of the middle-belt granite he had crawled out of.

“Who is he?” he asked, his voice dropping into that quiet, suffocating cadence that always made the air in the room feel thin.

I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest, refusing to look away from his gaze even though my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

“He’s nobody, Akila. Truly. He’s just a client whose new office, i am designing. A stupid, arrogant boy who thinks his money means he can say whatever he wants.”

“A nobody doesn’t call me a boy toy over your receiver,” Akila rumbled, his jaw tightening until the bone throbbed beneath his skin.

“A nobody doesn’t make you stutter and shut off your phone. Look at me, Ziniya. I asked you a question. What is between you and this man?”

“Nothing!” I cried, the frustration finally breaking through my throat as I stood up from the bed, facing him fully.

“I swear, there is absolutely nothing between me and him! I don’t even like the way he breathes in the same room as me. I used your call today as a shield to make him back off, to show him that I belong to someone else, but he’s just an entitled bastard who doesn’t understand the word no.”

Akila didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, but as my words echoed in the quiet room, I saw a subtle, unexpected fracture in his granite expression.

The hard, tactical shield in his eyes suddenly flickered, revealing something raw, heavy, and deeply quiet beneath the surface.

“Are you tired of being with me, babe?” he asked softly.

The words came out rough, raspy, completely stripped of the commander’s armor.

He looked down at his right hand, then back at my face, his voice dropping into a vulnerable space I had never heard from him before.

“We’ve been fighting for days. You complained that every time you try to look after me, I push you away. I know I’m stubborn. I know my life is rough, and I might not be the best man for you. I’m just... I’m asking you if you’re tired of us. If you want to leave me for someone who can give you a normal life.”

My breath caught in my throat. The sheer weight of his words hit me like a physical blow, completely scattering my anger.

“No, baby. No!” I jumped off the bed, my feet hitting the floorboards as I threw my arms around his waist, burying my face against his solid, warm chest. I held onto him with everything I had left.

“Never! Never, My love! I would be the biggest fool on earth to do that. I love you so much. I can never, ever do that to you.”

He didn’t pull away, but his body remained stiff under my grip, his heart beating a heavy, slow rhythm against my cheek.

“He’s just a stupid person, Akila,” I pouted, looking up into his dark eyes, my hands moving to cup his jaw, feeling the rough texture of his stubble.

“He’s a child who doesn’t have sense. Please, don’t mind him. Don’t let his disgusting mouth bring doubt into your heart. You are my man. I do not want any other.”

Akila stared down at me for a long, quiet minute, studying every line of panic and sincerity on my face until the tension in his shoulders finally began to dissolve.

He let out a long, ragged breath, his right arm coming up to wrap tightly around my back, pulling me into his uninjured side until there was no space left between us.

“Okay,” he murmured against my hair, his voice deep and steady again.

“Okay, mama. I hear you.”

We stayed like that for a long time, the quiet of the bedroom settling back down around us.

We talked for hours, sitting on the edge of the mattress as the night took over Abuja completely. For the first time in days, I enjoyed talking to him.

“I’m sorry for pushing you too hard this morning,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder, my fingers tracing the lines of his palm. “I just... when you get hurt, my mind goes into very dark places. I can’t lose you, Akila.”

“No, babe,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I don’t know how to sit still. But for you... I’ll learn.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead that felt like a proper reset. “Tomorrow, we will go somewhere nice. Just you and me. We need time to ourselves”

I looked up, a genuine smile finally breaking across my face. “A real date?”

“A real date,” he smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “Be ready by noon.”

The next afternoon didn’t just feel like a new day; it felt like a complete shift in the atmosphere of the entire city.

The suffocating gray weight that had been hovering around me seemed to vanish the moment my baby pulled into my compound. He was driving his personal truck, looking effortlessly handsome in a loose, oversized white linen shirt and tailored dark trousers. A styling choice I knew he made consciously to keep the fabric from pulling against the stitches.

My man was probably the most annoying human I know, but I would not trade what we have for anything else.

I love him and was ready to do anything to keep him.

When I stepped into the passenger seat, wearing an energetic, casual-chic combination of baggy vintage denim, a structured black corset top, and clean white sneakers, his eyes locked onto me.

His gaze swept over my face, pausing on the natural gap between my front teeth as a rare, beautiful smile broke through his usual serious mask.

“You look beautiful, Ziniya,” he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that made my stomach do an immediate, dizzying flip.

He reached out with his right hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jawline, pulling me close enough that I could smell the sharp, clean scent of his cologne mixed with pure warmth.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Captain,” I whispered, leaning into his touch, my heart swelling with a feeling so intense it felt entirely mutual.

How I missed hanging out with this man.

We drove down to a high-end, multi-level entertainment arena in Central Area.

Our first stop was the virtual reality arena. The attendant handed us our haptic vests and headsets.

Akila stood directly behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his breath warm against the nape of my neck where my hair was pulled up.

“Keep your knees loose, babe,” he whispered, his large hands resting on my hips to guide my stance as the simulation started.

“If your balance shifts too fast, you might fall.”

“I have you to hold me, don’t I?” I teased, turning my neck slightly to look at him through the lower margin of the visor.

He let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated straight through my haptic vest. “Always. I’m right behind you.”

The game was an immersive, fast-paced sci-fi shooter.

For the next thirty minutes, we were completely obsessed, laughing like children.

Akila, even using mostly his right arm to protect his left shoulder, moved with a terrifying, smooth efficiency that made me swoon.

When the headsets came off, my cheeks were flushed with pure, lively energy, my laughter echoing against the glass partition.

Akila was looking down at me with an expression so fiercely tender, so full of unadulterated adoration, that the entire crowded arena seemed to dissolve around us.

“Next round is mine,” I declared, tugging at his hand as we walked toward the tactical paintball arena on the lower level.

The paintball grid was designed like an urban jungle, cast in low, moody blue and purple neon lighting with heavy smoke machines filling the air.

We geared up in protective overalls, and the minute the whistle blew, the playful friction between us reached an absolute peak.

I bolted behind a concrete pillar, my marker raised, trying to spot his massive frame through the haze.

“You can’t hide from me, Captain! I can see you!”

“Are you sure about that, babe?” His deep voice floated from the shadows behind me.

I spun around, but before I could raise my marker, Akila stepped out of the neon mist.

He didn’t shoot. He moved with a breathtaking speed, closing the distance between us until his boots hit mine.

With a smooth, dominant movement of his right arm, he pinned my wrists gently against the soft padding of the pillar, trapping me completely within his shadow.

The neon blue light caught the rugged lines of his face, highlighting the intense, burning look in his dark eyes.

My breath hitched, my chest heaving against his chest as the marker slipped from my fingers, hanging by its safety cord.

“I have you cornered, baby,” he murmured, his face dropping inches from mine, his gaze anchoring onto my lips.

“Then finish the mission,” I whispered, my heart hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs.

“Urghhhhhh!!! You are such a temptation I’m trying so hard to overcome” His voice sounded hoarse.

He didn’t use the paint. Instead, he bent his head down and pressed his lips against my neck in a slow, deep, and utterly devastating peck that made my knees go entirely weak.

It was a beautiful embrace that tasted of pure warmth and adrenaline, his right hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head, pulling me into his chest until I felt like I was completely melting into his skin.

I was so madly in love with him it felt like a beautiful sickness.

By the time we cleared the arena and went upstairs to the dining terrace, the afternoon sun had begun to dip below the Abuja skyline, casting a bruised amber glare over the hills.

We sat at a secluded corner table, holding hands over a basket of spicy tenders and fries, our fingers intertwined so tightly it felt like we were trying to fuse our skin together.

“I haven’t seen you smile like this in a while,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand with a certain gentleness.

“Because I’m with you,” I said, my voice thick with genuine emotion as I leaned across the table.

“When we are like this, baby, Everything just makes sense. You make me feel alive.”

Then, the phone inside my handbag on the table began to vibrate.

The screen lit up against the glass.

The caller ID flashed in bold, invasive text:

Julian Client.

The entire world came to an immediate, violent halt.

The beautiful, lovey-dovey bubble we had spent the afternoon building completely shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

The sweet expression on Akila’s face vanished in a fraction of a second, his features flattening back into that untouchable, freezing sheet of granite.

His dark eyes locked onto the vibrating screen, his jaw clenching so hard a visible muscle twitched beneath his stubble.

I felt a sudden, hot spike of pure violation and rage hit my chest. Without an ounce of hesitation, I grabbed the phone, slammed my finger against the red button to end the call, and shoved the device deep into the pocket of my baggy denim.

“I am sorry, baby,” I said quickly, my hands flying across the table to grip his right wrist, my voice rising in a frantic bid to keep the coldness from setting into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I thought he would have the sense to stop after yesterday. I will block him right now. I’ll go into my settings and block his number completely so he can never reach my line again.”

Akila didn’t pull his hand away, but his chest was heaving under the shirt, his breath coming in a low, disciplined hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“No,” he said. His voice dropped an octave, becoming a dead, flat whisper.

“Don’t block him.”

I blinked, looking at him in absolute confusion.

“What do you mean, no? Babe, I don’t want him calling me.”

“Send me his contact,” he rumbled, his eyes lifting to meet mine with an unyielding finality that brooked no defiance.

The panic from yesterday flooded my system all over again.

“Why? Mmmmm, why do you want his number? Look at you still trying to heal. Don’t do anything rash. He is not worth it”

“I just want to have a conversation with him, woman,” he said quietly, his tone remarkably calm, but it was the kind of calm that always preceded a breach.

“Just a phone call. Between two grown men.”

“Hope it’s just a conversation?” I asked, my voice soft as I leaned closer, my eyes searching his face.

“Promise me it’s just a warning. You can’t do anything more to him. If you do something crazy, it can hurt your badge, baby. It can ruin your career at headquarters. Please.”

Akila looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction as his thumb rubbed the side of my wrist, his voice dropping into a reassuring whisper.

“Crazy? Me? Never, baby. I am not one to make rash decisions. Or do you want him to keep disturbing you?”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head quickly. “Of course not.”

“Then send me the contact,” he said.

“Why not? I’ll just warn him. I can’t do anything more to him than that. Like you said, it can hurt my badge. I’m just going to make sure he understands his boundaries. That’s all.”

I stared at him for a long beat. He sounded logical.

He sounded like a man who understood me. I hope so.

With a hesitant sigh, I pulled my phone back out, forwarded the contact straight to him.

“Just a conversation, baby,” I pleaded, standing up from the chair and wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face against his solid shoulder.

“Just a conversation, my love,” he murmured against my hair, his right arm wrapping securely around my waist as he held me close against his side.

I let out a long breath, letting the tension leave my body as we walked out of the entertainment center toward his car, heading back home in the gathering dusk. I felt safe. I felt protected by the sheer mass of him.

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Akila’s POV

The smile didn’t reach my eyes, but it lived in my heart the entire drive back home.

Soteria sat in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window, her features finally looking serene and relaxed after the long afternoon.

She thought she had handled it.

She thought that by wrapping her arms around my neck and reminding me of my badge, she had successfully put a leash on me.

She truly believed that a man of my type would sit on a phone line and trade civil warnings with a trust-fund child who had insulted me.

She didn’t really know how the military worked.

The minute I dropped her off at her family gate, I didn’t drive back to my house immediately. I pulled the truck into a quiet, unlit street near the edge of the district, killed the headlights, and sat in the dark cabin with the engine idling softly.

I pulled out my phone.

The contact card she had forwarded was sitting there in the green messaging thread.

Julian Client.

I tapped a different contact.

“Captain.”

The voice answered on the second ring. Sharp, disciplined, and instantly alert.

It was Solomon, a technical sergeant stationed at the intelligence desk in our brigade headquarters.

He was one of my boys, a tech specialist who spent his free time tracking data streams and signal grids.

“Solomon,” I said, my voice dropping into that flat, low frequency that didn’t leave room for casual pleasantries.

“I’m sending you a contact card and a first name right now.”

“Standing by, sir,” the keys on his terminal were already clicking in the background, a rapid, rhythmic sound that meant he was already logged into the federal registry.

“Got it. The name is Julian?”

“Yes,” I rumbled, my right hand tightening around the steering wheel until the leather groaned in the dark.

“I want him tracked, Solomon. I want every single piece of information you can pull on him. I want his full face registry, his office coordinates, his house address, his personal vehicles, his bank attachments, and his social media pages, Facebook, Instagram, everything. I want to know his movement for the next 24 hours.”

There was a brief pause on the line, the clicking of the keyboard slowing down for a fraction of a second as Solomon realized this wasn’t an operational target.

This was a domestic grid. But a sergeant in my unit didn’t ask questions when the commander gave an order.

“Understood, Captain,” Solomon said, his voice tightening into pure professional focus.

“Give me a few hours to run the cross-reference through the telecomm servers and the corporate affairs registry. I’ll compile the full dossier and send it straight to your personal device.”

“Make it clean, Solomon,” I said quietly.

“Nobody else sees the information.”

“Direct protocol, sir. It’s invisible.”

“Good. Out.”

I ended the call, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and slotted the truck into gear, navigating the dark, empty streets back toward my house.

My left shoulder was throbbing beneath the canvas jacket, the stitches burning like lightly from the arcade movements, but I didn’t feel a single drop of the pain.

By the time I unlocked the front door, the house was perfectly still. Naya was already asleep in her room, her door closed, the light beneath the frame completely dark.

I walked into my bedroom, stripped down to my gray sweatpants, and lay flat on the mattress, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling.

A few hours later, right around 1AM, the phone on the nightstand vibrated once. A soft, blue light illuminated the dark room.

I reached out, slid the screen open, and looked at the secure document Solomon had forwarded. It was an exhaustive, flawless layout.

The first page was a high-resolution corporate headshot of Julian.

His smooth, arrogant face looking straight into the camera with an entitled smile.

Beneath his face, the lines of data unspooled in perfect order: Full Name: Julian Momodu. Primary Residence: Penthouse 4, The Rockside Estates, Maitama. Office Location: Cole Global Holdings, Corporate Towers, Central Business District. Vehicle Registry: Black Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon, Abuja Plate Number... Solomon had even pulled his Instagram posts showing his frequent spots in the city, his family links to the major property developments in the sector, and his exact entry logs for his office building.

I scrolled through the pages slowly, my eyes tracking every coordinate, every weakness, every detail of his comfortable, sheltered life.

He had a beautiful perimeter built around him — built with concrete, security guards, and bank accounts.

A slow, cold smile spread across my face in the dark as I closed the document and set the phone face-down on the table.

Soteria thought she had bought him peace with a hug. But as I closed my eyes and let the sleep take over my heavy limbs, the only thought in my mind was that Abuja was a very very small city. And tomorrow, the Captain was going to work.

The front door of the apartment clicked shut, and the sound of Setto’s retreating footsteps finally died away down the corridor. Inside the living room, the absolute silence that followed felt wider and colder than it ever had before.

Tammy lay on her side on the sofa, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress.

The first sob tore from her throat before she could even stop it. A broken, choked sound that echoed into the empty room.

She didn’t hear the door open again twenty minutes later, nor did she register the soft rustle of clothes until Valerie was sitting on the edge of the cushion, gently putting a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Tammy,” Valerie whispered, her voice dropping into that deep, sisterly register that carried no judgment, only pure cover.

“Tammy, I’m here. Open your eyes, my love. Ehhh I’m here.”

Tammy lifted her head, her face pale, her eyes heavily bloodshot and swollen from the hours of continuous crying.

Seeing Valerie’s familiar, calm face was the final breaker. She sat up, leaning her forehead against her friend’s shoulder, her entire frame shaking violently as the dam completely broke.

“Valerie... they rejected Setto,” Tammy choked out, her hands gripping Valerie’s jacket.

“Ahhhh! My chest hurts.”

“Tell me,” Valerie said, her jaw tightening in the dim light as she rubbed Tammy’s back.

“What did they say, Tammy? Talk to me. Just spill everything.”

Tammy took a ragged breath, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

“The moment i told them he was a northernen, it was like I dropped a bomb. Aunty Abike literally jumped off her seat screaming ‘God forbid! Olorun ma je!’ She said over her dead body would a daughter of this house bring a Hausa man home. Uncle Tade was shouting, calling his lineage a bloodline of killers, of good-for-nothing devils. They even told me that their culture would swallow me alive, that he would oppress me and lock me up. They shamed me, Val! They said I am single at my age, and instead of finding a proper Yoruba boy to marry, I am following a mallam. They literally made me feel like an abomination.”

Valerie’s hand stopped moving on Tammy’s back.

She sat perfectly still for three seconds, her breathing turning sharp and shallow as a fierce, unadulterated anger took over her features. She stood up, pacing, her hands gesturing wildly in her fury.

“Are they mad?” Valerie snapped, her voice rising in the quiet apartment, completely stripped of her usual polite corporate composure.

“No, tell me, are your aunties and uncles completely out of their minds? Where was Aunty Abike when you were struggling, trying to build your business from scratch? Where was Uncle Tade when you were selling off your personal belongings and fabric pieces just to pay Temitope’s school fees and keep Shindara in that university? Where?!”

“Valerie,”

“No oo! Don’t tell me to please anything! Omo, this thing is paining me!” Valerie stopped dead in her tracks, pointing a finger toward the wall.

“Where was their family pride when you were working extra nights, sleeping on table tops in the studio just to make sure there was food on the table for your siblings? None of them called to send you a single kobo! None of them asked how you were surviving! But now that God has remembered you, now that a godly, honorable man like Setto wants to marry you, they have the mouth to talk about tribe? They are calling him a mallam? God punish that mindset, honestly! Abeg!”

Tammy looked up at her friend, the sheer force of Valerie’s anger catching her completely off guard.

“See ehhh,” Valerie said, dropping back onto the sofa and throwing her hands up.

“If I were you, I would just carry my load, leave this country completely, and run to one far away country! Go to Mauritius or Canada and marry your man privately! Forget about all of them! Let them stay in their village and continue speaking their grammar!”

Tammy stared at her for a beat, and then, despite the heavy stone of grief in her chest, a short, breathless giggle escaped her lips.

The giggle turned into a chuckle, and within seconds, Tammy was laughing so hard her shoulders were shaking, wiping fresh tears from her eyes.

“Ehhhhenn?” Tammy laughed, looking at her friend with wide eyes.

“So you, Valerie, the quiet and decent girl, you are actually advising me to pack my bags and run away? You are telling me to go and marry without seeking the elders’ blessings? Look at you!”

Valerie stopped, looking at Tammy’s laughing face, and a reluctant, self-conscious smile finally broke through her own anger.

“No oo! Never! You know I will never advise that normally. Scripture is clear on honoring structures. But Tammy, I am actually pissed off! My chest is heavy on your behalf! Kai!”

Tammy’s laughter slowly subsided, leaving a soft, tired sigh in its wake.

She leaned her head back against the sofa cushions, her expression returning to that quiet, hollow exhaustion.

“Calm down, my friend,” Tammy whispered softly, reaching out to squeeze Valerie’s hand.

“Don’t be so mad on my behalf. I am just... I am really weak and tired, Val. For years, these same people have been asking me when I am bringing a man home. They kept pushing and pushing. Now, I finally bring a solid, responsible man who honors me, and they turn him down completely just because of his tribe? The whole thing just makes me feel so tired. I don’t even know what to do next.”

Valerie’s expression softened instantly, the anger draining out of her, replaced by a deep tenderness. She slid closer, wrapping her arms completely around Tammy’s frame, pulling her head down onto her shoulder.

“I know, my love,” Valerie murmured, her voice turning smooth and steady.

“I know you are tired. But let me tell you something that Purity was teaching me from the scriptures just last week. You see, we always think that when something is the absolute will of God, the path will just open up smoothly like a red carpet. But it’s a lie.”

Tammy stayed quiet, listening to the calm, rhythmic beat of Valerie’s heart.

“Look at the word, Tammy,” Valerie said, her voice carrying a sudden, profound weight that felt like it was coming straight from an altar.

“Remember when God promised the children of Israel the Promised Land? He didn’t say the land was empty. It was flowing with milk and honey, yes, but it was also full of giants. The adversary will always put his heaviest resistance at the gate of your greatest entry. This marriage... the devil has seen the kind of massive kingdom alignment that you and Setto are bringing, and he is terrified. He knows that if you two lock hands, you will destroy strongholds.”

Tammy lifted her head slightly, staring at Valerie’s face.

“The enemy is using their generational prejudice as a weapon to make you lose your peace, to make you second-guess God, and to make you push Setto away,” Valerie continued, her words slowing down, each one carrying the fire of deep conviction.

“But no weapon fashioned against you will prosper. Their words have no legal backing in the realm of the spirit. God has already settled this union. Your family might just be a weapon fashioned against you right now, but God is greater than them.”

Tammy sat back slowly, staring at her friend for a long minute, a soft, amazed smile touching her lips.

“Ahhahn, my friend,” Tammy breathed, her voice full of a sudden, deep respect.

“See you who was running from being mummy pastor before. Look at how you are rightly dividing the word of truth so perfectly. The word is sweet, Val. Thank you.”

Valerie blushed slightly, a warm, humble smile breaking across her face.

“It’s God oo. You know Purity has been holding my hands all the way through this journey. He doesn’t play with bible study in our house at all.”

Tammy looked down at Valerie’s midsection, her eyes softening completely as she placed a gentle, careful hand over her friend’s small bump.

“Speaking of my brother Purity... how is the pregnancy doing? How is my god-baby treating you?”

“The baby is fine,” Valerie beamed, her face radiating that beautiful, distinctive maternal glow.

“Apart from the weakness that wants to finish my life every day, we are thriving. The baby is growing well, thank God.”

Tammy’s face suddenly clouded with a brief wave of guilt, and she quickly pulled her hand back.

“Oh my goodness, Val... I am so sorry. Look at me bringing you out of your house in this your delicate state, at this midnight hour when you are supposed to be resting properly. I am so selfish.”

“Ah ah, stop that nonsense, Tammy!” Valerie snapped playfully, slapping Tammy’s knee gently.

“What are you saying? You are always there for everybody. It’s time for us to be there for you. Don’t ever say that again.”

Valerie’s face turned serious again. She reached out, taking both of Tammy’s hands into her own, locking their fingers together tightly.

“Let us pray,” Valerie said softly.

“Tammy. We will take this matter to the one who actually holds the hearts of kings.”

Tammy closed her eyes, bowing her head as the living room became completely still.

“Father, in the name of Jesus,” Valerie began, her voice steady.

“Lord, we come before you tonight just as we are — tired, heavy, but completely trusting in your name. You see my sister Tamilore. You know her by name. You see the tears she cries, and you know the exact weight that has been pressing down on her chest. Father, we thank you because you are the one who brought Setto into her life. This is not a man she picked out of desperation; this is a man you tailored for her, a man who honors her, loves her, and wants to cover her.”

Valerie squeezed Tammy’s hands tighter, her voice rising with an undeniable, spiritual authority.

“So Lord, tonight, we stand against every voice of division. Every tongue of tribalism, every word of hatred, and every generational prejudice that rose up against her today. Father, we silence them right now by the blood of Jesus! We declare those words null and void. They have no power over her future, they have no power over her joy, and they cannot touch her destiny. Lord, the devil is actively fighting this marriage because he knows the power of their alignment. He wants to use her own flesh and blood to build a wall of confusion.”

“But you are not the author of confusion, Jesus,” Valerie prayed, her voice ringing with clear conviction.

“Where the enemy has brought chaos, we speak your supernatural peace. We pull down every satanic contention fighting Tammy’s mind. Give her clarity, Lord. Don’t let her carry the guilt or the shame of people who refuse to see your light. Give her and Setto superior wisdom on how to navigate this season. Guide their steps, shield their love, and build a hedge of fire around their hearts.”

Valerie took a deep breath.

“Father, we bless Setto wherever he is tonight. Comfort his heart, calm his mind, and keep him steady. We declare that this union will stand as a testament to your glory, and no human barrier can stop what you have decreed. Thank you, Lord, because the battle is already won. In Jesus’ mighty name we pray.”

“Amen! Amen!,” Tammy cried out, a long, deep breath leaving her body.

As the final words settled, she felt a literal, physical lightness lift off her shoulders.

The suffocating fog of rejection that had followed her all afternoon had reduced. She could breathe again.

Valerie sat back down, pulling Tammy into a final, long hug. As they pulled apart, Valerie wiped a stray tear from Tammy’s cheek and looked at her intentionally.

“Tomorrow morning, the very first thing you will do is call Setto,” Valerie instructed, her tone firm but loving.

“Do not push that man away, Tammy. He was completely frantic today, looking everywhere for you. He loves you fiercely. Call him.”

Tammy smiled, her eyes clear and steady for the first time all day.

“I won’t even call him. I’ll drive straight to his office tomorrow to see him face-to-face.”

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Setto barely slept.

The previous night had been a grueling marathon of pacing his bedroom floor, his mind trapped in a loop of Tammy’s bloodshot eyes and the rigid, unyielding wall she had put up against him.

It was only around 2:30 AM that his phone finally buzzed with a text from Valerie:

She has eaten a bit, Setto. She’s sleeping now. Please calm down, she is safe.

He hadn’t just taken her word for it; the protective, restless edge in him had demanded proof.

Setto:

Send me a picture or video. Let me see her.

A few minutes later, Valerie sent a short, seven-second clip of Tammy curled up under a duvet, her face quiet in sleep, followed by a snapshot of the empty dinner plate on the bedside table.

Only then did he finally close his eyes, but the relief was small, quickly replaced by a heavy, aching sadness for his woman.

When his alarm went off at 5:00 AM, Setto dropped to his knees straight from his bed, resting his forearms against the mattress.

The morning light was just beginning to filter through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows across the room.

“Father,” Setto groaned, his deep voice thick.

“I lift up Tammy to you today. Lord, please heal her heart. Whatever venom her people injected into her spirit yesterday, let your blood flush it out. But God, I need you to do something deeper. Soften her heart towards me.”

He paused, rubbing his face with his hands, feeling the raw frustration of a man who wanted to protect a woman who wouldn’t let him in.

“She’s always trying to be the survivor, Lord,” he whispered into the quiet room.

“Always trying to be Tammy the big mummy, the one who handles everything alone, the one who has it all figured out. Even with me, she finds it so difficult to just be vulnerable. She doesn’t even call me any pet name, God. She’s so rigid with me, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Make her easygoing around me. Let her feel safe enough to collapse into my arms. It is too early in our journey to be facing these heavy adversities. Help us God. In Jesus name I pray. Amen”

He stood up, stretching his frame, but the knot in his chest remained tight.

By the time he was buttoning his crisp corporate shirt, he had made a decision.

He was going to call Pastor Ade.

He didn’t want to involve his own family yet, especially not after his mother’s joyful reaction; he couldn’t bring this chaos to her door so soon.

He needed spiritual counsel from the man who knew Tammy’s roots.

The morning at the office offered a brutal, high-stakes distraction, which was exactly what Setto needed to keep his mind from spinning out of control.

Inside the executive boardroom, the air was crisp, carrying the sterile chill of the central AC and the faint, rich scent of freshly brewed espresso.

A long, seamless slab of polished black quartz dominated the center of the room, flanked by leather chairs.

Setto sat at the head of the table, his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

Across from him sat Pieter van der Merwe, a weathered, sharp-eyed South African executive whose family had been in the continental shipping and freight logistics business for three generations.

Between them lay open folders, laminated structural maps of the West African coastline, and two half-empty glasses of water.

“Look, Setto,” Pieter said, his thick Afrikaner accent cutting through the quiet room as he leaned forward, tapping a heavy gold signet ring against the quartz.

“The numbers make sense on paper. They always do. But my board in Johannesburg is conservative. They look at the current clearing bottlenecks at the ports, they look at the demurrage fees, and they see a graveyard for capital. We need a guarantee that your transit corridor through Cotonou isn’t going to double our lead times for the natural resource shipments.”

Setto didn’t blink.

He leaned back slightly, interlocking his large fingers over his chest, his presence commanding the space without him needing to raise his voice.

“Pieter, your board is looking at old data,” Setto said, his deep bass voice calm, measured, and entirely unshaken by the older man’s posturing.

“The ports are congested because everyone is trying to force their way through the same front door. What my company is offering you isn’t just a shipping route; it’s an end-to-end bypassed logistics corridor. We’ve already secured the bonded terminal rights just across the border.”

Setto reached forward, pulling one of the laminated maps toward them and tracing a line with a heavy silver pen.

“We offload your vessels at the deep-sea port in Cotonou. From there, our dedicated fleet of heavy-duty haulage trucks moves the containers through our fast-track customs lane at the border. We bypass the main gridlock completely and drop the raw materials straight into your processing plants on the mainland within thirty-six hours of docking. If a single container sits at the border for more than four hours, my firm absorbs the demurrage. It’s written into section four of the draft contract.”

Pieter narrowed his eyes, studying Setto’s face.

He was looking for a flicker of hesitation, the slight nervous tick of a contractor trying to overpromise. He found nothing but iron certainty.

“And regional security?” Pieter asked, his tone dropping into a lower, more calculating register.

“The transit roads aren’t exactly a walk in the park, Setto. We’re moving high-value commodities. If we lose a convoy to local interference or regulatory ambush, insurance will only cover the cost of the cargo, not the lost time in our production cycle.”

Setto let out a short, quiet chuckle, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.

“Pieter, I am a professional in this. My family has been moving goods across these sub-regional routes since before the borders were even drawn on this map. We don’t rely on luck, and we don’t rely on standard police escorts. Every single convoy we run is monitored via real-time satellite tracking from our central hub downstairs, and we use an independent, tier-one private security firm for the entire transit leg.”

He looked straight into the South African’s eyes, his gaze locking him down.

“I don’t lose cargo, Pieter. And more importantly, I don’t lose time. Your production cycle in Johannesburg will not experience a single day of downtime. You have my word on that, and my name is signed at the bottom of that page.”

Pieter stared at him for a long, heavy beat, the silence in the boardroom stretching out until the older man finally let out a slow, appreciative breath.

A dry smile broke across his weathered face, and he slapped his palm against the table.

“You’re a tough bastard to argue with, Setto,” Pieter chuckled, sliding the leather folder back into his briefcase and snapping the brass latches shut.

“Alright. I’ll present the section-four demurrage clause to the board on Monday morning. If they swallow it, which they likely will, given the guarantee, we sign the primary agreement by Thursday.”

Setto stood up, pulling his jacket off the chair and slipping it over his broad shoulders with an easy, practiced grace. He extended his large hand across the quartz table.

“They will swallow it, Pieter. Because they know that running with us is the only way your competitors don’t leave you behind in the third quarter. Travel safely back to Jo’burg.”

“Thanks, mate,” Pieter smiled, gripping Setto’s hand in a brief, firm handshake before gathering his files and walking out of the boardroom.

Setto stayed behind for a moment, letting out a long, heavy sigh as the door clicked shut.

The professional armor he had worn so flawlessly for the last two hours began to crack, the memory of Tammy’s tears rushing back into his mind.

He picked up his phone from the table. Still no missed calls, still no texts.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his muscles tight with an agonizing worry as he walked back toward his private office.

He swallowed the bitterness in his throat, adjusted his webcam, and logged into a crucial virtual board meeting with his European logistics partners to manage the rest of his day.

“Yes, Jan, we can look at the clearing rates for the third quarter.” Setto was saying, his eyes on the screen, when a sharp, chaotic noise filtered through his heavy oak office door.

Outside on the reception floor, his secretary’s voice was rising in panic.

“Madam, you cannot go in there! Ma, he is in a highly confidential meeting! Madam, please!”

A loud, sharp female voice cut through the secretary’s protests.

“Move out of my way, sweetie. I had access to this floor before you even learned how to write a CV.”

Setto’s hand froze over his notebook.

His jaw clenched so hard the bone clicked. He knew that voice.

He knew it with a sickening clarity that instantly turned the blood in his veins to ice.

“Jan, Pierre, I’m incredibly sorry,” Setto said into his microphone, his voice dropping into a cold, flat register that masked the sudden violence in his chest.

“Something urgent has just come up in my terminal. I will have to reschedule this session for 2:00 PM. My apologies.”

He clicked the laptop shut just as his heavy office door burst open with a loud, aggressive thud.

His secretary stumbled into the room behind the intruder, her face flushed, her glasses slightly askew from trying to physically block the doorway.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” she gasped, her breathing shallow as she looked at Setto with terror.

“I tried stopping her, I swear, but she completely pushed past me. She kept saying she has full access to the building. The security guards downstairs gave her a VIP elevator pass because her old entry credentials were never officially revoked in the central system! I’m so sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine,” Setto cut her off, his voice dangerously calm, his dark eyes fixed entirely on the woman who had just stepped into his sanctuary.

“Leave us. Close the door.”

Chloe turned around slowly, dusting off the sleeve of her sharp, ridiculously expensive designer dress with an air of supreme boredom.

She looked down at the secretary, a sultry, condescending smile stretching across her perfect makeup.

“You heard your boss, sweetie. Run along. And next time you try to put your hands on my fabric, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The secretary quickly backed out, slamming the heavy oak door shut behind her.

The office fell into a suffocating, dead silence.

Chloe stood in the center of the plush Persian rug, her sultry, tight-fitting outfit leaving very little to the imagination, her heels clicking loudly as she took a slow, calculated step toward his desk.

She oozed the classic, toxic confidence that had once completely blinded him years ago.

Setto sat perfectly still behind his desk, his shoulders tense under his grey shirt.

Oh God. What kind of temptation is this? Why is everything happening at once? Tammy is being difficult and now this devil is standing in my office?

“What are you doing in my office, Chloe?” Setto asked, his voice low, steady, but vibrating with a fierce, quiet fury.

“Better yet, what are you doing in Nigeria?”

Chloe let out a low, musical laugh, stepping closer and lifting a manicured hand as if she wanted to lean against the edge of his mahogany desk.

“Oh, Sweet pea... is that how you welcome the mother of your child? No hug? No ‘welcome back’?”

“Don’t touch that desk,” Setto snapped, his hand slamming flat against the wood with a sharp crack that made the pens in the holder rattle. He pointed a heavy, unyielding finger at the leather armchair opposite him.

“Sit down there as a normal guest. Do not try to sit on my desk. You lost that right the day you walked out of my life. Sit.”

Chloe’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, seeing the absolute lack of warmth or foolishness in his eyes.

She shrugged her shoulders, her gold jewelry clinking.

“Whatever. You’ve gotten bigger, I see. Richer too.” She sat down, crossing her legs elegantly, leaning back as if she owned the space.

“I just came to see how you are doing. And to find out how our daughter, Eliana, is faring.”

Setto let out a harsh, dry scoff that sounded like a bark of pure disgust.

“Our daughter? Our daughter, Chloe?” He leaned forward, his frame dominating the space across the desk, his eyes burning into hers.

“The one you abandoned when she was barely few months old? The one you left crying in a crib because you said motherhood was draining your aesthetic and your freedom? You have the mouth to call her your daughter?”

Chloe laughed again, a light, careless sound that made Setto’s stomach turn.

“Oh, please, Setto, don’t be dramatic. I didn’t abandon her. I only left for a while to clear my head and find myself in Europe. You know how stressful everything was. But I have realized my mistakes now, and I’m back. I’m not expecting us to be a happy little family again, obviously.”

“Never,” Setto said, the word coming out like a final, heavy iron gate slamming shut.

“We can never be together again. There is absolutely nothing left for you here.”

“Like I said, whatever,” Chloe waved her hand dismissively, her eyes scanning his expensive office decor.

“I’m not here to beg you or romance you, Setto. Let’s be real. But the real father of my baby is back in the picture, and he wants his baby back. We want our daughter back so we can live together as one family.”

Setto froze. The air inside his lungs completely solidified.

He stared at her, his lips parting slightly as his brain tried to process the sheer, monstrous weight of the words that had just left her mouth.

“What?” Setto stuttered, his voice losing its iron composure for the first time, cracking with a raw, sudden horror.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Chloe said smoothly, leaning forward.

“What father?!” Setto roared, standing up to his full, towering height, his chair flying backward against the credenza.

“What father, Chloe?! Where was this father when I was fighting for that baby’s life in the hospital? Where was he when she was burning with fever and I had to stay up for days holding her against my chest? Where was he when I took her as my own flesh and blood, put my family name on her birth certificate, and protected her from your madness?! Where?!”

“Look, all that history doesn’t matter anymore,” Chloe snapped, her tone turning cold and business-like, the sultry act completely dropping away.

“The biological father wants his child back, and he has the financial backing to make it happen. You have no choice but to give him his baby, Setto. I’m giving you exactly three days to think about it, to pack her things, and to accept the reality. I will be back here on Monday to get my daughter.”

She stood up, smoothing down her dress with a smug, victorious grin, completely satisfied with the absolute devastation she had just dropped into his life.

Chloe turned on her heels and began walking toward the heavy oak door, her high heels clicking a triumphant rhythm against the floorboards.

Setto stood behind his desk, his chest heaving violently, his hands gripping the mahogany edge so hard his knuckles were entirely white. His mind was spinning into a dark, chaotic abyss.

Eliana. They want to take Eliana.

Just as Chloe reached the door and pulled it open to step out into the reception area, she almost collided directly with someone walking in.

Tammy stood in the doorway.

She was dressed in a sharp, beautiful emerald-green corporate jumpsuit, her hair neatly packed, her face looking pale but entirely composed.

She had her car keys in her hand, having driven straight from her apartment to see her man just as she had promised Valerie.

Chloe stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes instantly scanning Tammy from her hair down to her shoes.

A sharp, venomous light sparked in Chloe’s eyes as recognition set in. She tilted her head, a wicked, amused smile spreading across her face.

“Ohhh,” Chloe purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she stepped closer to Tammy, forcing her to stand her ground in the doorway.

“The famous new girlfriend. I’ve seen you in his IG story. Look at you.”

Tammy didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the sultry, aggressive presence of the woman in front of her.

She could feel the heavy, vibrating tension coming from inside Setto’s office.

“Hello,” Chloe smiled sneeringly, extending a manicured hand that Tammy didn’t even bother to look at.

“I’m Chloe. His wife. Orrr... former wife, and the mother of his child. It’s so nice to meet you. I just came to catch up on some very important... family matters.”

Tammy kept her face completely unreadable, but her eyes locked onto Chloe with a cold, unshakeable stability that completely refused to be intimidated.

“See you later, sweetie,” Chloe whispered, her smile widening at the silence.

She looked past Tammy’s shoulder, throwing a mock, airy kiss into the office toward Setto, who was currently standing behind his desk, fuming, his face dark with a terrifying rage.

“Three days, Setto!” Chloe called out loudly, before brushing past Tammy with a heavy scent of expensive perfume, her heels clicking rapidly as she disappeared into the VIP elevator lobby.

Tammy stood alone in the doorway, the echo of Chloe’s words hanging in the air.

She slowly turned her head, her clear, deep eyes looking into the office, where Setto stood looking like a wounded lion, his entire world collapsing from all sides.

Hi babiessssss,

Welcome to Episode Two of my Rant Session.

If you’ve not read Episode One, please do so here.

Now. Hmmmmmmmm.

This gist is long…….. Very very long.

The kind of gist that makes you ask yourself, “Bella, were you okay?”

The answer is no.

I was not.

Let’s start from the beningingggggg.

Remember that note I posted where I said a fine, single man followed me back on Instagram?

Emphasis on the word single. Ehennnn…

I called him single because, as far as I knew, he was single.

Nobody warned me nor sent a memo.

So before you people start judging me, remember that I, too, was a victim.

Anyways.

This fine man had existed in my orbit for a while.

One of those people you know of but don’t really know.

The type whose page you occasionally visit for research purposes.

And by research purposes, I mean opening his profile every now and then to admire God’s workmanship.

Nothing serious.

Just an innocent observation. I was not stalking him.

As a fine girl with dignity and self-respect, I did not follow him.

I did not like his pictures. I did not even view his story because, of course, he would see that I viewed it.

I only looked from afar like a responsible citizen.

Then one day, I got tired.

I said to myself, “Bella, enough is enough.”

What is life without a little courage?

So I followed him. Liked a post, closed Instagram.

And went about my business.

A few days later, this man viewed my story.

Ndi Substack.

He viewed my story.

The squeal that escaped from my mouth that day was not of this world.

I am convinced at least three of my neighbors heard it.

They probably thought I had won a visa lottery.

I even wrote it down in my journal.

Because obviously, this was how great love stories began.

Just imagine us featured on Bella Naija Wedding Website where I’d tell everybody how it all started with a simple Instagram story.

You sef, just imagine the thing.

Chineke Nna

I had the entire plot mapped out.

Unfortunately, the Author of my life was writing a completely different genre.

Fast forward to three weeks later.

This man followed me back.

Ladies and mentugennnn...

Please tell me something.

If somebody views your story and follows you back three weeks later, are you not supposed to assume that you’ve crossed their mind at least once?

Exactly. Thank you.

So no, I will not be accepting allegations at this time.

I was simply an innocent girl operating with the information available to her.

Gbam!!! I told my best friend.

She screamed and we celebrated.

And naturally, I brought the gist to Substack because what is the purpose of community if not to rejoice with me?

Before I knew it, you people had started shipping us.

As for me?

I was blushing in my room like a roasted goat.

A love story was clearly brewing.

Or so I thought.

Then he messaged me.

GUYYYYYSSSSSS.

HE. MESSAGED. ME.

He asked me to tell him about myself.

At this point, somebody should have checked on me.

Because I immediately ran to my best friend’s DM with approximately five different drafts introducing myself.

We edited, reviewed, deleted, rewrote, reviewed again, and prayed over it.

Then we finally agreed on one.

I sent it and a conversation followed.

I genuinely enjoyed talking to him.

We talked about random things.

The conversations flowed.

Life was sweet.

I even started posting more often on my Instagram story.

You know. Just so he can see the beauty that I am.

Then one day, I opened Instagram and saw a picture of him and a woman.

Now, ordinarily, that would not have been a problem.

But on this woman’s finger sat a ring.

Not a fashion ring ooooo.

I zoomed and zoomed….

Ndi substack, Lo and behold, it was a proposal ring.

A proper, unmistakable, proposal ring.

I shouted:

OBARA JESUS!

Not my man. No nau, not you.

Not the man whose surname I had already been testing with my own name to see whether it flowed.

Not the man who had unknowingly become the lead actor in a love story that existed only in my head.

Hehehehehehehe.

Please laugh. Feel free to laugh at me.

I have healed.

Then one week later, this man posted their wedding picture.

This time with the caption:

“My gift from God.”

Hmmmmmmmmm. Wonderful, merciful saviour.

So me, I no be gift?

Abi I am an unwanted package?

Anyways.

Like the mature woman that I am, I commented:

“Awwww. Congratulations.”

This man replied:

“Thank you so much, ma. We are grateful.”

We? WE?

You and who?

What concerns me with her?

Where did “we” come from?

Anyways. No hard feelings.

It was only a crush.

Thank God it never became anything deeper.

Because if it had, somebody would have had to admit me into a hospital ward.

In his defense, he never once asked me out.

Never flirted. Never led me on.

Never gave me any reason to think he liked me.

He was simply being nice.

Everything else happened inside my own head.

And for that, I admit I may have gone slightly overboard with the crushing.

Just slightly.

The lesson here, my sisters, is simple.

Please stop interpreting every act of kindness as a declaration of love.

Do not mistake courtesy for romance.

Do not convert “How are you?” into “I cannot live without you.”

Please.

For your own peace of mind.

That being said...

The gist is finally out.

Your girl is still single but content.

When my man comes, there will be no confusion.

No assumptions. He will come with clarity.

With assurance and intention.

And he will be everything God has prepared for me.

As for being a lover girl?

I refuse to apologize for it.

I love with my whole heart.

I dream, and I believe.

And I don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of.

So to every single woman reading this:

Abba knows your heart.

He sees every prayer you’ve whispered.

Every desire you’ve tucked away.

Every hope you’ve carried for years.

And when the time is right, He will answer.

I believe that with everything in me.

I love you.

And I’m praying for you.

Yours in faith,

Abba’s Mouthpiece

AKILAHYEL’S POV

The following morning, the walls of my house were actively closing in on me.

Naya had gone out to run errands, leaving me with nothing but the low, continuous hum of the refrigerator and the maddeningly clean smell of lavender floor cleaner.

My body was hardwired to handle heavy resistance, to interpret physical strain as existence.

Sitting on a leather sofa watching clear fluid drip into my arm the previous day had done little to restore me; it had left me feeling hollow, fragile, and thoroughly disgusted with my own skin.

I couldn’t sit idle.

The “invalid” treatment, the quiet voices, the careful glances at my left side, the thick layers of gauze beneath my shirt — felt like a slow degradation.

I stripped down to a pair of gray tactical sweatpants, ignoring the deep, throbbing ache that radiated from my left collarbone down into my pectoral muscle.

The twelve stitches were tight, drawing the skin together in a rigid, puckered line, but I needed to feel the baseline. I needed to know that the machine still worked.

Dropping to the floorboards, I positioned my right hand firmly beneath my chest.

I kept my left arm slightly tucked, shifting seventy percent of my body weight onto my uninjured side to protect the thread, and lowered myself into a slow, deliberate single-arm push-up.

A sharp, hot wire of lightning split my shoulder on the second repetition.

My jaw clenched so hard a localized ache bloomed behind my temples. Sweat broke instantly across my forehead, dripping steadily onto the polished dark wood beneath me.

Three. Four. Five.

The heavy click of the front door opening didn’t make me break form.

I kept my eyes fixed on a single knot in the flooring, my breath coming in a low, disciplined hiss through my teeth.

“Akila! What on earth do you think you are doing?”

Soteria’s voice cut through the quiet room.

I heard her heels clicking furiously across the floorboards before she stopped directly over me, her shadow falling across my back.

I pushed myself up to a full extension, held it for a flat second, and then swung my legs around to sit heavily on the floor, resting my right wrist against my knee.

I didn’t look up at her immediately. I reached for a small hand towel on the table, wiping the sweat from my eyes while my left shoulder throbbed with a rhythmic, sickening heat.

“Hi baby,” I said with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

“Do not patronize me. I just asked you a simple question. What are you doing?”

I heaved a sigh. She looked upset.

“I’m keeping my lungs open,” I said, my voice a flat, low rumble.

“You are tearing your stitches!” she barked, her features twisting into an immediate, furious scold as she knelt down in front of me, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and absolute panic.

Her fingers reached out, trembling slightly as she grabbed the collar of my neck, pulling it aside to look at the fresh pink stain already bleeding through the white square of gauze.

“Look at this! The nurse explicitly told you to get twenty-four hours of absolute rest! Are you serious right now? Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Because if I don’t move this body, i will break down,” I said, my voice dropping into that quiet, stubborn tone that always made her step back.

I stood up smoothly, towering over her as I tossed the towel onto the table.

“You don’t understand how this works, babe. I’ve spent years conditioning myself to ignore the margins. If I sit on that couch for another twelve hours doing absolutely nothing but staring at the ceiling, my head goes into places it shouldn’t. I am bored out of my mind.”

“So your mental comfort is worth ripping your flesh open?” she asked, standing up to face me, her lips pressing into a hard, unyielding line.

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the immense weight of her own exhaustion. The lively light that usually filled her eyes was completely gone, replaced by a cold, drawing distance that hit me harder than any bullet.

“You treat my care like a prison sentence, Akila. You think your strength is the only thing that matters. If you want to destroy yourself to prove how tough you are, do it alone. I’m not going to stay here and watch you do it.”

“Babe nau, don’t do this,” I muttered, stepping forward with my right hand extended.

“No,” she whispered, stepping back a full foot, her car keys gripped tightly in her palm.

“Do whatever you want. I am tired of nagging.”

She turned on her heel and marched out of the house, the front door closing behind her with a heavy, devastating thud that echoed through the empty living room like a gunshot.

I stood alone in the center of the room, my right hand still half-raised in the air.

The silence settled back down around me like a tomb.

A heavy, suffocating wave of regret settled into my chest. I had absolutely no idea how to tear down my defensive and independent wall without breaking her in the process.

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SOTERIA’S POV

The drive to my client’s location was an exercise in pure survival.

My hands were vibrating against the steering wheel, my chest so tight with a suffocating, heavy panic that I could barely draw air into my lungs.

The trauma of my father’s sudden passing had left me emotionally shattered, and every time Akila pushed me away, every time he treated his own survival like a minor inconvenience, it felt like another anchor was being ripped out of my soul.

I was sinking, slowly, into a dark hole, and the only way I knew how to fight it was to run toward the only other thing I could control: my work.

By the time I reached the fourth floor, my face was a mask of cold corporate efficiency.

Julian stood in the plain office space.

He was dressed in a flawless, tailored charcoal jacket that draped over his broad shoulders without a single wrinkle, his silk tie perfectly straight.

A smug, lazy smile played on his lips as his eyes swept over the room before locking onto me with an intense, proprietary arrogance.

“Julian,” I said, my voice dropping into a cold whisper.

“You weren’t needed here today. We have everything sorted with the team.”

“I do not need permission to come to my own office, beautiful,” Julian said, his smooth, aristocratic tone oozing an annoying level of confidence.

I stepped into the room fully, dropping my bag on the desk.

“I wanted a firsthand status update. And frankly, I wanted to see you.”

A flash of deep, blinding irritation crossed my features. I looked up, my hands pressing flat against the glass desk.

“I am not in the mood for this today, Julian. Truly.”

Julian stepped further, his dark eyes scanning my face.

“You look tired,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a condescending, soft pity that made my stomach turn.

“Angry, even. Whoever is handling you out there clearly doesn’t know how to keep that beautiful face serene. I apologize if I came on too strong during our last meeting, Soteria.”

“Let’s make something crystal clear so you don’t waste your breath or my time ever again,” I said, my voice dropping into an absolute level of finality.

“I have a man. A real man at that. And I do not appreciate you crossing professional boundaries, making unsolicited personal remarks, or being in my face. Keep it strictly business, Julian.”

Julian paused.

For a fraction of a second, his smug expression twitched, but a soft, mocking chuckle quickly replaced it.

He stepped closer to my desk, completely unfazed by the tension radiating from my posture.

“A man,” Julian repeated, his tone dripping with an amused arrogance.

“I told you this before and I will say it again, Soteria. I really don’t care about the man you’re with. Not in the slightest. And don’t mind saying it right to his face.”

My hands clenched into tight fists against the polished wood of the desk.

“You are completely out of your mind.”

“I want you,” Julian said, his gaze darkening with an intense, possessive entitlement that made my skin crawl.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked onto mine.

“And I will stop at nothing to get you. Men like him are temporary distractions, doll. Men like me get exactly what they want.”

A bitter, furious laugh broke from my throat as I held my ground.

“I am not an object, Julian. I am not some trophy vehicle that you can ‘get’ anytime you want because your bank account allows it. You don’t own me.”

Julian didn’t flinch.

A slow, infuriating smile crept back onto his face as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous, mocking confidence.

“Let’s see, doll.”

Immediately, my phone lit up on the desk.

The screen vibrated violently, the caller ID flashing in bold letters

My Babyyyyyy

My heart leapt into my throat.

I looked down at the phone, then slowly lifted my head, locking my eyes directly into Julian’s.

With a steady, deliberate motion, I slid the screen to answer, lifted the device to my ear, and maintained an unbroken, defiant stare dead into Julian’s face.

“Hey, baby,” I said.

My voice instantly shifted.

On the other end of the line, the silence lasted for a brief second before Akila’s voice came through.

“Babe,” Akila said quietly.

“You left the house upset. I’m... I’m sorry about earlier, my love.”

Still staring dead into Julian’s eyes, I watched the arrogant smile on his face twitch.

Julian’s jaw tightened slightly, his smug composure fracturing as he realized I was using the phone call as a direct shield to bruise his ego.

“Ohhhh. It’s fine,” I said, my tone thickening with a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion. I was still upset at him, but looking at Julian, the reality of how much I loved the man on the other end of the line vibrated through every word.

“I... I miss you so much, baby. I can’t wait to see you.”

Akila’s voice softened completely over the line, a bit surprised by the sudden, intense affection but fully giving into it.

“I miss you too, babe. I’m really sorry about earlier. When are you coming over? I’m bored out of my mind here, and I hate you being mad at me.”

“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered, my eyes burning into Julian’s hardening expression.

“Just rest for me. I’ll see you the minute I’m done here. I love you.”

Julian’s face darkened with a sudden, ugly flash of pure irritation. His ego could not handle being treated like an invisible ghost.

Pushing off the edge of the desk with a heavy, aggressive movement, Julian deliberately raised his voice so it would carry clearly toward the phone’s microphone.

“Beautiful, I am going downstairs to the lobby,” Julian said, his tone loud, sharp, and dripping with a condescending sneer.

“Meet me down there when you’re completely done playing with your boy toy.”

He turned sharply on his heel, casting one last dark, possessive glance over his shoulder, and walked toward the exit, slamming the doors behind him with a resounding crash.

Inside the office, the silence from the phone was immediate, absolute, and terrifying.

Boy toy??

The soft, apologetic man on the other end of the line vanished in a single breath. I could hear the sudden shift in his breathing, a low, frozen stillness that chilled me to the marrow of my bones.

“Ziniya,” Akila said.

His voice had dropped an octave, a cold, dangerous edge cutting through the line like a razor.

“Who was that?”

My blood ran completely cold. My heart leapt into my throat, hammering against my ribs so violently I could barely breathe.

“Uhhh... it’s…. it’s nothing,” I stammered, my voice cracking as I tried to force a dismissive tone.

“Don’t... don’t worry about it, please.”

“No, no. Don’t do that,” Akila rumbled, and the deadly calm in his voice made the air feel incredibly heavy.

“I asked you a question. Who is the person referring to me as a boy toy?”

“It’s... it’s just a passerby, babe!” I panicked, my words tumoring out in a frantic bid to de-escalate a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

I knew Akila was injured, but I also knew that nothing would stop him from getting into a vehicle and tracking Julian down if need be.

“He’s just a difficult client. An annoying one at that. Please, Akila, don’t worry about it. I have to handle something right now. I’ll call you the minute I’m leaving the office.”

Without giving him a single second to dissect the obvious lie or demand another answer, I slammed my finger against the screen, ending the call before my voice completely failed me.

I stood behind my desk for a full three seconds, my chest heaving.

Julian had just insulted my man, and now he had created an active threat that could shatter the fragile peace we were trying to protect.

Fuming, my vision blurred with a mix of furious tears and adrenaline, I choked back a sob of pure anger, grabbed my handbag, and stormed out of the office.

I marched down the corridor, my heels clicking like gunfire against the floorboards.

I caught up to him right at the elevator bank, where he stood waiting for the metallic doors to open, looking entirely unbothered as he adjusted his custom cuffs.

“Julian! How dare you? How dare you?” I hissed, cornering him against the large glass partition.

He turned around slowly, his expression smooth, a maddening smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t you ever, ever in your miserable life, speak like that about my man again,” I whispered, my voice shaking with a terrifying, low fury as I pointed a trembling finger at his chest.

“You have absolutely no right to insult him. Stay away from my life, Julian, or I swear to God, I will pull out of this contract completely. I don’t care what the legal penalties or the exit costs are to my firm. I will cancel this contract.”

Julian looked down at my shaking hand, then up at my face. He didn’t flinch.

He wasn’t shaken in the slightest by the threat; if anything, my explosive emotion seemed to feed his twisted sense of entitlement.

He stepped directly into my personal space, looming over me, and before I could pull my hand back, his fingers shot out with a smooth, iron grip.

He caught my right wrist, lifting my hand gently between us.

Looking straight into my burning eyes with a mocking, dangerous promise, Julian bent his head slightly.

He pressed a slow, deliberate, and irritatingly lingering peck against the back of my knuckles.

“Like I said, doll...” Julian whispered, his lips brushing against my skin as he smiled that smooth, annoying smile.

“Let’s see.”

The elevator doors chimed and slid open behind him.

He released my wrist, stepped backward into the mirrored cabin, and sank into the descent as the doors closed, leaving me standing alone in the empty corridor, absolutely fuming, upset, and terrified of the storm that was coming.

I didn’t want to go back home yet, nor head over to see Akila. I couldn’t face him in this state.

Not after the argument we had earlier in the day, and certainly not after the chilling silence that had followed Julian’s voice over the line. I needed to breathe. I needed a space where I could think.

I drove straight to Guzape, pulling into the secure gates of Amara’s residential estate. She lived in a beautiful, tucked-away development right against the rocky slopes of the district. I didn’t even bother calling ahead because I knew she was working from home today.

When I unlocked the front door with the code, the cool blast of her central air conditioning hit my face.

Amara was sitting at her dining table, a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose, surrounded by spreadsheets.

She took one look at my face, the tight, defensive set of my jaw, and pushed her laptop shut without a single word.

“Baby girl?” she asked, standing up immediately, her brow furrowing with instant concern.

“What happened? Why do you look like this?”

I didn’t answer right away.

I walked straight past the living room into her bedroom, tossed my handbag onto the vanity chair, and collapsed heavily onto her bed.

I let out a massive, ragged sigh that felt like it had been trapped in my chest for hours, staring up at the white ceiling.

Amara walked into the bedroom a second later, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her eyes tracking every line of exhaustion on my face.

“Talk to me nau. Why are you looking like this?”

“I am so upset, Amara,” I said, my voice tight and trembling with a mix of fury and tears.

“Julian came to the site today. Unannounced. He started coming on to me again, saying all those disgusting things he usually says. I tried to keep calm. God knows that I tried. I told him off. But guess what this idiot did. He made a completely derogatory remark about Akila.”

Amara’s posture instantly stiffened. “He did what?”

“Guy!” I hissed, a bitter, furious laugh breaking from my throat as I rolled onto my side to look at her.

“He called Akila a ‘boy toy’. And the worst part. The absolute worst part is that Akila was on the phone with me when he said it. I had picked up Akila’s call right in front of Julian to pepper him. I wanted to show him that I was taken. I was telling Akila I loved him, and that rubbish buffon just leaned in and shouted that I should meet him downstairs when I was done playing with my boy toy.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Amara groaned, running a hand over her face as she walked closer to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“And Akila heard him?”

“He heard every single thing,” I whispered, the panic rising in my throat again.

“Akila went completely dark. His voice dropped into that quiet, terrifying mode. He asked me who it was, and because I was panicking and knowing what he’s capable of, I stuttered, lied, and told him it was just a passerby before cutting the call. He has been calling me back continuously since, but I’ve just been rejecting the calls. I refused to pick up. Amara, I know my man. He is probably fuming right now.”

Amara reached out, patting my leg through my skirt, her voice dropping into a stabilizing, calm rhythm.

“Babe, calm down first. Just breathe. Look, Akila is not going to be mad at you. He will be mad, yes, but that anger is ninety-nine percent directed at Julian, not you.”

“I know,” I sighed heavily, burying half my face into her plush pillow.

“I know he won’t be mad at me directly, but you don’t understand the timing. We’ve had so many issues these past few days. There has been a lot of friction between us because of his stubbornness and how much he likes being independent. I’m just scared that because I walked out on him this morning while I was furious, he might get a bit insecure or distrustful now. What if he thinks I’m moving on to someone else? What if he thinks something is going on between this client and me because I tried to cover it up?”

Amara let out a short, loud chuckle, shaking her head with an amused expression.

“No na! Soteria, bikonu. Akila is a fiercely confident man. He knows exactly who he is, and he knows how much you love him. He is not that type of insecure man. Trust me on that one.”

She paused, her smile fading slightly into a more serious, realistic expression as she looked toward the window.

“The only thing I actually fear right now... is that he will track down Julian. And if he does? Guy, it really won’t be funny.”

A sudden, unexpected burst of laughter broke through my heavy mood.

I sat up on the bed, a dark, wicked grin spreading across my face as the pure mental image of the encounter hit me.

“Honestly, Amara? I pray he tracks him down!” I laughed, wiping a stray tear of frustration from my eye.

“Let him go and find him oo! Let Julian see shege since he doesn’t want to have sense in his life! He thinks because he has money,, he can just open his mouth waaahhhhh and say whatever he likes.”

Amara’s eyes sparked with mischief, a bright, matching laugh bubbling up from her chest as she leaned back against the headboard.

“No, but seriously! Normally, e suppose collect beating! A very solid, military beating to reset his carton brain!”

“Exactly!” I said. But my mind was already racing with thoughts of how upset Akila would be.

AKILAHYEL’S POV

The third time the call went straight to that automated, flat network response, I didn’t redial.

I tossed the phone onto the dining table.

I was past the point of pacing.

A hot, tight weight had settled right behind my ribs. The kind of quiet burn.

Boy toy.

Me. Captain AkilaHyel Gaya. A riffraff called me a boy toy.

I was beyond livid, and what was currently making my blood run like hot oil through my veins was the fact that Soteria had dropped the line on me.

And now, she was actively snubbing me. She had never done that before.

No matter how much we clashed, no matter how furious she got, she always picked up.

For her to slide that red button and shut me out completely meant she was either panicking or she was trying to hide whatever was happening.

My jaw clenched so hard the muscles in my temples throbbed. I grabbed my car keys from the console table.

I was already moving toward the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Naya’s voice cut through the living room as she stepped out of the kitchen, blocking the narrow hallway.

She took one look at my face and the car keys in my hand. Her expression instantly hardened.

She dropped her phone onto the sofa and planted herself firmly in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Move, Naya,” I said, my voice a flat, low rumble.

“I am not moving an inch, Yaro,” she shot back, her voice rising as she stepped directly into my path, forcing me to stop unless I wanted to physically walk over her.

“Look at yourself! You look like you are about to kill somebody.”

“That is none of your business. Just move out of my way” I muttered, trying to step around her, but she shifted her weight, putting her hands flat against my chest to hold me back.

“No!” she demanded, staring up at me with a mix of frustration and genuine concern. “What is wrong with you today? You’ve been acting up recently. What is the problem?”

I didn’t answer. I just stood there, my chest heaving against her palms, the heat radiating off my skin.

Seeing that I was not going to speak, Naya let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers digging into my shirt.

“Akila, please. Just sit back down. You are injured. If you drive out there right now in this state, you are going to hurt yourself. Whatever it is, let it breathe first.”

Every instinct in my body was screaming at me to get in the car and track the man down, get my woman, and have a proper conversation with her. But I knew I could not do that in the state I was.

“Fine,” I growled, ripping my keys away and tossing them back onto the table.

I stormed over to the single armchair and sat down heavily, leaning my elbows on my knees as I stared blankly at the floorboards.

The white gauze beneath my shirt was throbbing with a sickening, rhythmic heat, but the fire in my head was much worse.

Naya stood in the hallway, watching me closely to make sure I stayed put, before she finally shook her head and walked back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the quiet.

I sat there in the dark, my thoughts spiraling into a place I hated.

For the first time, a sharp, bitter spike of insecurity pierced through my anger.

We had been fighting so much these past few days.

Was she tired of it? Was she moving on to someone else?

The thought made my stomach twist, but I immediately shook my head, trying to beat the idea out of my mind.

No. Not Soteria.

But then the darker thoughts crawled in. I knew she had lived a rough, wild life before she gave her life to Christ.

What if all this stress, the grief of losing her father, and the friction between us were pushing her back into that old life?

What if she was slipping away, back to the things and the people she used to know?

Is she cheating?

The question flashed in my mind, cold and ugly.

My spirit immediately rejected it. My gut beat me up for even letting the thought cross my brain.

No. Soteria wouldn’t do that to me.

She loved me; I was sure of that.

But if there was nothing to hide, why wasn’t she picking up? Why was she shutting me out?

I slammed my fist against my knee, the anger returning ten times hotter, burning away the confusion.

I didn’t care who the guy was or what kind of games he thought he was playing.

She was mine.

I was going to find out exactly who he was. And when I did, it wasn’t going to be funny for him.