The apartment felt suffocating now. It wasn't the walls, or the space, or even the silence—it was the weight of a decision that had been gnawing at Kelechi's resolve for days. Ever since the call.
Her fingers hovered over the travel itinerary on her laptop screen, the cursor blinking, waiting. Returning to Lagos was a decision she had sworn she would never make. But here she was, the memories of her past pulling at her from every direction, threatening to swallow her.
She had left behind more than just people and places. She had abandoned a life—a dangerous life—that could never be reclaimed. Or so she had thought.
But Seyi was in trouble, and Kelechi had no choice but to return. Her sister's voice still echoed in her mind, desperate, pleading.
There was no more time to waste.
She closed the laptop with a sharp click and turned toward the small closet in the corner. Clothes she had packed with care, the ones that had never seen the dust of Lagos, lay neatly folded. Kelechi pulled out the first thing her hand touched—a simple black dress, sharp, clean, and ready for battle. She hadn't needed to worry about appearances where she was now. But in Lagos, everything was a statement. A reputation wasn't something easily forgotten.
As she dressed, her mind wandered back to the woman she had once been—the woman she had carefully buried under layers of grief and anger. That woman had been sharp, ruthless, quick to make enemies but always calculating. She had burned bridges without hesitation, and the only thing that had mattered was survival. Now, the thought of returning to that life made her chest tighten.
But I won't be the same woman. I can't afford to be.
As she zipped her bag, her hand brushed against a necklace tucked in the inner pocket — black onyx, broken at the clasp. Her throat tightened. Malik had given it to her the night before she fled Lagos. The night everything exploded.
They hadn't spoken since.
Her phone buzzed—one unread message. She glanced at it, her stomach dropping as she read the name.
Malik.
The message was short, too short: You know what you have to do.
Her hand tightened around the phone. Malik was a name she had buried deep, just like the rest. But he wasn't just anyone. He was one of them. One of the men who had stood at her side when everything fell apart, and one of the ones who had turned against her when they realized she was no longer the asset they thought she was. Malik knew how to play the game. And now, he was playing it again, pushing her hand.
Kelechi tossed the phone aside, not caring where it landed. She had enough to worry about. Seyi's life was on the line, and this time, she wasn't going to let anyone use her. Not Malik, not anyone.
⸻
Lagos felt different.
Kelechi stepped out of the cab and onto the bustling streets of Lagos. The smell of diesel, food, and the chaos of the city rushed at her like a living, breathing thing. Nothing had changed. Not the sounds, not the traffic jams, not the people hurrying past with their heads down as if running from ghosts.
And yet, everything had changed.
Kelechi had spent years trying to forget this city, the place where she'd become someone else—someone she didn't want to be. But it was undeniable: Lagos had a way of pulling you back. No matter how far you ran, it would always find you.
Her heels clicked on the pavement, steady, determined, every step echoing her resolve. She was here now, and she wasn't leaving until she had answers. She wasn't leaving until she had Seyi back.
The building loomed ahead, its glass façade gleaming under the harsh sunlight. It was the place Kelechi had spent countless hours in, making deals, forming alliances, and breaking hearts. A place that had once been her domain. Now, it felt foreign, like an old skin she had shed but could never fully escape.
Kelechi took a deep breath before stepping inside.
⸻
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
She moved through the lobby with purpose, her every movement precise. A few heads turned, some familiar, some new. But no one dared to stop her. Not today.
She walked past the security guard with barely a glance and toward the elevator. The man at the desk, a reminder of her past life, gave her a knowing smile.
"Miss Musa," he said with an odd mix of respect and caution. "Long time no see."
Kelechi didn't return the smile, instead offering a curt nod. "I'm not here for small talk."
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside. The glass walls of the elevator reflected her image, but it wasn't the woman she'd become in the years since she'd left. The face staring back at her was a ghost from her past—sharp, cold, determined. There was no room for weakness.
The elevator reached the top floor, and Kelechi stepped out into the corridor, her heels echoing in the silence. This was it. The room where her past and future would collide.
The door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar. Without knocking, Kelechi pushed it open.
⸻
Inside, a man sat with his back to her, his posture relaxed, but the tension in the room was palpable. He didn't need to turn around for Kelechi to know who it was. She had learned to read him the way she read the city—by the pulse beneath the surface.
"You've been busy," Kelechi said, her voice low, steady.
The man turned slowly, his gaze meeting hers. His eyes were dark, calculating, and all too familiar.
"Did you think you could run forever?" Malik asked, his voice cool, too calm.
Kelechi didn't answer. She didn't need to. The question wasn't meant for an answer—it was just another move in a game that had no end.
"I'm not here for you," she said, stepping closer. "I'm here for Seyi."
Malik's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You know, you never could leave this place without causing problems. But it's cute that you think you have a choice."
The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken history. But Kelechi wasn't here for nostalgia. She had a job to do.
"I'll do whatever it takes," she said, her voice hard, unwavering. "And this time, I'll make sure you don't stand in my way."