As the evening approached, a restless excitement coiled in my stomach, nerves fluttering like restless moths against the walls of my chest. I stood in front of the mirror in my small room, holding up a white dress against my skin, watching the way the creamy fabric caught the warm glow of the overhead bulb. The soft shimmer of it made my chocolate-toned skin seem to glow, the daring slit slicing high up my thigh like a secret invitation.
I slipped into the dress with deliberate care, adjusting the delicate straps, smoothing it down over my hips. In the mirror, a young woman looked back at me — one who was both nervous and luminous, cheeks softly flushed with anticipation. I reached for my favorite jasmine-scented perfume, the one I reserved for moments that mattered. The gentle floral notes drifted around me as I misted it along my pulse points: behind my ears, at the curve of my neck, along the insides of my wrists. For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the scent weave itself around me like an invisible, fragrant armor.
The stubborn white stilettos gave me a moment's fight, but I eventually wrestled them on. A sharp honk from outside made my heart stutter in my chest. The driver.
I grabbed my purse and threw the final heel strap into place, hurrying out.
The driver — a clean-cut man in his late thirties — stepped out and opened the car door with a polite smile. I murmured a thank you and slipped into the leather seat, the cool interior carrying a faint scent of peppermint and new car polish. As the car pulled away from my building, the evening city unfurled around us in flickering headlights, the buzz of Lagos life spilling from open stalls, sidewalk radios, and the neon glow of roadside bars reflecting against wet asphalt. The city felt alive, humming, chaotic. A part of me felt good being out in it.
Kelvin had said it was a meeting. That was his exact word. A "small meeting." I assumed it was work-related — something to do with the Lagos branch. I hadn't even asked who else would be there. Too caught up in the way his voice had sounded on the phone, low and almost teasing when he'd insisted I dress nicely. I didn't question it.
We finally pulled into a quiet corner of Victoria Island. The building was nothing like what I expected — no office signage, no hotel business lounge. Instead, it was an upscale, mood-lit lounge, with floor-length glass windows, the soft hum of jazz spilling from within.
I stepped out, the air thick with the scent of rain-damp earth and sandalwood, and walked toward the entrance. The heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as I stepped inside, the place immediately wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and elegance. Low, intimate lighting. Plush velvet seats. Candles flickering in glass holders. And a lingering scent of something sweet, like amber and fig.
I hesitated just inside the entrance, scanning the room for any familiar faces. None.
Where the hell was this meeting happening? My pulse quickened, a suspicion forming.
Then, I felt it — a hand lightly brushing mine from behind, warm, firm. I turned.
Kelvin.
God, he looked good. Too good. Tailored black shirt, sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, a sleek watch catching the light as his arm lowered. The man looked like temptation carved into human form.
"You look…" His voice was low, thick, as though the words had weight. "…breathtaking."
I blushed before I could stop myself. "Thank you, sir—I mean Kelvin."
He chuckled, a soft shake of his head. "Tonight, it's just Kelvin."
I felt suddenly shy, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my eyes briefly dropping before he motioned for me to follow. He led me toward a corner of the lounge — a small, private alcove sectioned off by a curtain of trailing ivy and soft hanging bulbs. The table was already set, a single vase of white roses at its center, one chair slightly pulled out.
I sank onto the plush seat, smoothing my dress beneath me, but my thoughts were no longer just about how beautiful the place was.
Where were the others?
"Kelvin," I started carefully, leaning in, "where's everyone else? You said there was a meeting."
He tilted his head, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Yeah… just us."
I blinked, caught somewhere between surprise and a dangerous kind of pleasure. My stomach fluttered.
Before I could reply, a waiter appeared. Kelvin ordered for both of us — not in a controlling way, but with the kind of easy confidence that came from knowing what I liked. He hadn't asked, yet everything he requested sounded perfect.
The lounge hummed with low jazz, velvet seats cradling hushed conversations while warm, amber lights softened every face. The scent of sandalwood curled in the air, mingling with the sweetness of vanilla from the nearby candles. I sat across from kelvin, my nerves settling under his gaze, his steady presence. He looked devastatingly sharp in that fitted black shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show strong, veined forearms. His watch caught the light, glinting with every subtle flick of his wrist.
Dinner had just arrived - grilled sea bass for me,steak for him. He leaned in slightly, something teasing in his smile.
"You know," kelvin murmured, "I could get used to seeing you like this."
I felt the heat crawl up my neck pretending to focus on adjusting the napkin on my lap. "Like what?"
"Dressed like a sin I want to commit."
I laughed softly, shaking my head, My stomach knotting in a way I didn't want to unpack.
And before I could fully register it, a voice spoke behind me.
"Kelvin."
My body stiffened. I knew that voice. God. It had been over two years, yet it still slid down my spine like a blade. I didn't turn immediately. The scent of his cologne — dark, musky, intoxicating — reached me before his face did.
Kelvin's face tensed, the warmth draining from his features. But he forced a smile and rose to clasp hands with Justin. "Guy," Kelvin greeted.
"Guy," Justin returned with that sharp, charismatic grin that had once undone me.
For a few seconds, they exchanged pleasantries like old friends, as though the thick, suffocating tension around our table didn't exist. I remained seated, eyes fixed on the flickering candle between us, pulse galloping.
Then Justin turned to me.
His gaze met mine, and for a split second, everything else fell away — the music, the conversation, the world. His eyes swept over me, not in the way a man casually appraises a woman, but like a thief revisiting something he once owned.
"Chioma," he said, voice low, unreadable. "It's been… what? Over two years."
I lifted my chin, forcing steel into my voice. "Brave of you to say that, considering you blocked me and never once cared to reach out."
The words fell out sharper than I intended, but it felt good. Necessary.
Justin sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as though the weight of guilt was suddenly inconvenient. "It's not what you think, Chioma. At the time I… I had to. But I'm glad to see you now. You look… really nice."
Kelvin's jaw clenched so tightly I thought I heard his teeth grind. His eyes burned holes into Justin, the fake pleasantries already stretched paper-thin. How dare he — the words practically hung off Kelvin's expression. We talked about this. He was supposed to leave her the hell alone.
Before I could respond, Justin gestured at the empty seat beside me. "Mind if I join you two?"
I looked at Kelvin.
And to my surprise — or maybe horror — he nodded, motioning toward the seat. "Sure."
I didn't miss the venom lurking behind Kelvin's eyes, though his face remained politely neutral. Justin slid into the chair with a smug ease, the tension crackling like static around us.
Kelvin could barely focus on his drink. His mind raced: What the hell is he doing? What kind of stupid stunt is this? They'd had this conversation — not once, not twice. Justin had agreed to stay out of Chioma's way. She was Kelvin's now. His to protect, his to handle. The fact that Justin would dare speak to her, dare compliment her, and now invite himself to their table felt like a deliberate, calculated provocation.
Justin made small talk like nothing was wrong — asking about Lagos traffic, the restaurant, teasing Kelvin about his workload — but Kelvin's vision tunneled on every glance Justin stole at Chioma. Every unnecessary comment about how she looked, how it had been too long, how good it was to see her.
Chioma, for her part, was stiff, her responses clipped and polite, not giving Justin more than she had to. But Kelvin saw the flicker of old emotions in her eyes, and it made something primal, something possessive, surge in his chest.
He'd had enough.
Without a word, Kelvin stood. The chair scraped harshly against the polished floor, drawing a few curious glances. He moved around the table, his frame casting a shadow over Chioma as he reached for her hand.
"Let's go," Kelvin said tightly, voice low but sharp as glass.
Chioma blinked up at him. "Wait, what—?"
"I said let's go."
He didn't wait for permission. His hand closed around hers — warm, firm, unmistakably claiming — and before Justin could even process what was happening, Kelvin was already leading her away, threading through the lounge without a backward glance.
Chioma's heart pounded in her ears. The scent of his cologne, cedarwood and spice, mixed with adrenaline.
Kelvin didn't stop until they reached the parking lot, the Lagos night thick with humidity and unspoken words.
He finally released her hand, turning to face her, his face tight, jaw ticking.
"I swear to God," Kelvin ground out, "if he so much as looks your way again, I'll make sure he regrets it."
Chioma could barely catch her breath. She hadn't seen Kelvin like this — this controlled fury, this unmistakable claim. And something about it made her stomach flip in ways that scared and thrilled her all at once.
"Kelvin," she managed, her voice soft.
He stepped closer, eyes never leaving hers. "I don't care what happened between you two. But he doesn't get to talk to you like that. Not when you're with me." Then putting his hands around my waist...