Lights flickered in every direction, painting the crowd in strobing colors. Bodies pulsed against each other, moving in rhythm to a bass that vibrated through the floor and up into bones. The usual thrill of Beat79—everyone in their element.
All except the life of the party himself.
Before midnight struck, the bass speakers dipped low. Eyes began to wander. In the space between beats, a whisper carried through the crowd:
Where is Lucky Dante?
Three years. For three years, he'd worked this room like a conductor leading an orchestra. Pick a target, work his magic, win. Every single time. It had become entertainment—watching him move, watching them fall. A sport.
But tonight, the conductor had lost his music.
Lucky stood in his usual corner, arms crossed, watching the crowd search for him. Pretty girls everywhere. New faces. Fresh prey. Any other night, he'd have already chosen one, bought her a drink, had her laughing within minutes.
Tonight, he couldn't move.
No—that wasn't right. He could move. His body responded fine. It was his mind that had frozen.
He sighed as the same picture reappeared behind his eyes.
Something about her had stuck. Since the first day he saw her… it felt as though he'd seen her before. A storm had started in his head that night, and it became clearer the more time he spent with her. It was the same reason he stood here now, waiting, anticipating seeing her again.
What is it about you?
He'd asked himself that question a hundred times since she fainted in his arms. Since she'd dragged him to her house. Since he'd cooked for her like some lovesick fool. She'd even slapped him—hard enough that his cheek had stung for hours.
And yet, here she was. Occupying every free space in his mind.
He caught his reflection in the glass before him and laughed darkly at the man staring back.
Maybe I've seen too much of Abuja.
Lucky pushed off the wall and walked through the crowd. Hands reached for him. Voices called his name. He ignored them all. The exit loomed ahead, a rectangle of relative quiet in a sea of noise.
He stepped through.
The night air hit his face—cooler than the club, but not by much. He stood on the pavement, hands in his pockets, staring at nothing.
Maybe I've seen too much of Abuja.
His smile grew wilder.
Time to visit Lagos again.
---
Three Weeks.
Nelly had survived her first three weeks at Akor Corp.
The first week had passed in blessed quiet. After the cafeteria incident—after her hand had connected with Peter's face hard enough to echo through the entire floor—she'd expected war. Expected a query. Expected to be dragged into HR and handed her termination letter.
Instead, she'd found a written apology on her desk the next morning. The tall Peter—the one who'd touched her—avoided her after that. So did everyone else.
Just what did Amanda do?
She didn't ask. Probably didn't want to know.
The effect of whatever her bestie had done made her second week even easier. Her coworker remained on leave—the other Peter, the one whose photo hung behind the empty desk. She'd gotten closer to Sarah, the receptionist, who turned out to be warm and considerate. They'd even shared lunch twice.
The only notable absence was Kelvin.
Whispers flew around the office like mosquitoes. Business trip. Vacation with one of his mistresses. Hospital visit. Nelly didn't ask questions. She didn't care where he was. She just breathed easier knowing he was elsewhere.
But all good things—
The third week began on a Monday morning. Nelly stood at her window, performing her weird ritual of staring at the parking lot below. A strange comfort, watching people come and go. Watching the world move while she stayed still.
She turned from the window, satisfied.
He's not back yet.
Too soon to rejoice.
An engine revved below. Loud. Aggressive. Familiar.
Nelly's blood turned to ice.
She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only stand there, frozen, as the sound echoed through the morning air like a death knell.
Her office door opened.
A short, bald man stepped in, friendly expression plastered across his face. She recognized him instantly—her coworker. The other Peter.
"Hi, you must be Nelly."
She forced her lips to move. "Yes. Peter, I presume."
"We'll be working together." His voice was warm, open. The distinction between both Peters was more than just height. This one radiated kindness. The other radiated menace.
"I've heard a lot about you."
"Good things, I suppose."
He laughed—a genuine sound. "Actually, mostly that you're brave."
Another engine revved below. Nelly flinched.
Peter followed her gaze to the window. Understanding flickered across his face. "Don't worry. He won't bite. He's easy once you get to know him."
Nelly sighed at the thought. This Peter had been working here for a long time. He didn't know what she knew. Didn't know the coldness behind those dark eyes.
I pray you're right.
---
A few hours later, Peter finished briefing her on their respective roles. Her job, she discovered, had been made significantly easier by his work ethic. He'd kept the department running through his entire leave—responding to emails, reviewing files, maintaining order from afar.
Their discussion was interrupted by a notification—both their phones chimed simultaneously. Company platform. Emergency meeting.
Invited: All Heads of Department + New Data Analyst.
Nelly's stomach clenched.
Yes. She felt scared. She really hadn't been a stellar staff member. Only a few crimes committed:
Closing late on her first day. Slapping a colleague and closing early on her second. The potential that her bestie had threatened a few staff on her behalf.
So yeah. She wasn't the world's favorite employee.
Allowing her hair to fall to her side, she quietly headed for the meeting room. What's the worst that could happen?
Each step echoed in her heart. Soon she stood in front of a large glass door.
MEETING ROOM.
Her heart stopped for a second.
The automated door slid open.
The room expanded before her—an amphitheater cut in half, white chairs arranged in a semicircle around three black seats on a raised platform. Near the edge of the far end wall, the black seats rested behind a long table.
Kelvin Akor sat in the center black chair. To his left, a dark-skinned woman in a three-piece suit sat rigidly, tablet in hand. To his right, Peter Aina sat with enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes, ready to present.
Nelly slid into the nearest empty chair as Kelvin began speaking. His deep bass voice filled the room effortlessly, carrying authority like a weapon. He didn't look at notes. Didn't pause. The words flowed from him like water.
A few minutes later, Nelly felt relief wash over her.
Q1 analysis. Partnership with new international investors. Standard stuff.
Peter Aina took the floor next.
In the next second, he transformed. Nelly watched as her friendly, warm coworker became a presenter of rare skill—confident, articulate, commanding. He spoke for thirty minutes without a single stumble. Numbers and products flashed across the projector screen. He walked through each one with precision.
Even Kelvin seemed impressed, leaning forward slightly, eyes fixed on his employee.
Then Nelly saw it.
A number. Wrong.
Not just wrong—impossible.
According to this presentation, the product had been created in 2027. But she'd spent the past weeks investigating that specific product. The real creation date was 2029. A two-year discrepancy that made no sense. And the creator listed was wrong too.
Something feels off. Was this done intentionally?
Her heart rate spiked.
She glanced at Kelvin. He was listening intently, clearly invested. If she interrupted—
A second later, she was on her feet.
The door slammed behind her as she dashed into the corridor. She didn't wait for the elevator—took the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, legs screaming. Her office. Her laptop. The files.
She pulled them up with shaking hands, cross-referencing dates, checking sources against the originals she'd dug up weeks ago.
Not just wrong. Deliberately altered.
Someone had changed the records. But who? And why?
She was back at the meeting room within minutes, panting, laptop clutched to her chest like a shield.
The door opened.
All eyes turned.
Staff members paused mid-sip of their refreshments. Whispers died. Every face in the room fixed on her.
Kelvin's expression was stone. "Glad you could rejoin us. I thought you must have gone home again."
The words stung. But Nelly didn't stop walking.
"I noticed an error." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. She reached the front of the room, set her laptop beside Peter's, and began to explain.
Her interruption extended the meeting by another hour. Peter examined her findings. Questioned them. Challenged them. Finally, reluctantly, conceded.
The numbers were wrong. The presentation would need to be completely redone.
By the time the corrections were finished, it was well past 3 PM.
As staff filed out of the hall, Nelly gathered her laptop, heart still pounding from the confrontation. She'd just made a fool of her senior colleague in front of the entire company. She'd interrupted an international partnership presentation. She'd—
"Nelly Samuel."
The voice stopped her cold.
She turned.
Kelvin was still seated in his black chair, watching her with an expression she couldn't read. Around them, the last shadows of departing staff disappeared through the door.
They were alone.
Her greatest fear, slowly becoming real.
He stood quietly and approached her. His footsteps made no sound, as though he was gliding through the air. The room felt smaller with each step he took.
Then his cologne reached her.
It hit her like a physical blow—that familiar scent, dragging up memories she'd fought to bury. The interview. The bed. The humiliation. Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to stay still, forced her face to show nothing.
He stopped a foot away.
Close enough to touch. Close enough that she could see the individual flecks of darkness in his eyes. Nelly's mind raced through possibilities. A query. Termination. Public humiliation. She'd done enough things wrong to deserve any of them.
So when he opened his mouth, panic gripped her.
"Thank you."
She blinked.
His lips curved—the smallest movement, barely a smile. "I knew I'd like the way you think."
The words hit her like ice water.
I knew I'd like the way you think.
The same words. The exact same words from the interview. From that moment when he'd made a fool of her, when she'd thrown herself at him and he'd watched her crumble.
Anger stirred in her chest—hot, sharp, immediate. She turned without a word and headed for the door.
"Nelly."
She stopped but didn't turn.
"Let me buy you lunch."