The streets don't recognize her anymore.
Gone are the stiletto heels, the silk blouses, the sleek black chauffeur cars. Tonight, Ivie walks like a ghost—head down, hoodie up, sneakers crunching against gravel in a part of the city where names mean nothing unless they carry fear.
She blends in now. Just another face in the blur of Lagos' forgotten corners.
But beneath the oversized hoodie, her heart pounds with something electric. Not fear. Not regret. Something deeper. A thrill she's ashamed to admit—freedom.
No cameras. No reporters. No board meetings, staff lies, or fake laughter at champagne dinners.
Just the dark. And the mission.
She passes a broken-down kiosk selling cigarettes and roasted corn. A barefoot boy watches her, wide-eyed. She offers a soft smile. He doesn't smile back. He's seen too much. In this neighborhood, trust is currency, and she's too new to have earned any.
A low whistle breaks the silence.
"New face," a man mutters from a bench. His eyes flick up and down her figure, not with lust but with suspicion.
Ivie doesn't flinch. She learned long ago how to make people look away—how to carry herself like smoke. Untouchable. Untraceable.
She turns into a narrow alley, her destination just ahead.
The safe house.
It's a crumbling compound behind a rusted gate. But inside? It's the heart of the rebellion—the place where Mama Tee and her crew plan hits on the corrupt rich and feed entire blocks from their loot.
She's not here for charity. She's here to disappear. To feel something real.
As she steps through the gate, the weight of her double life tightens in her chest. No one here knows she's Ivie Obaro—the CEO of Obaro Group, daughter of the late oil magnate Chief Obaro. Billionaire heiress. Tabloid favorite. Queen of Lagos high society.
Here, she's just "BB."
And BB wants out of the cage her money built.
"Look who finally decided to show," Mama Tee calls from the corner, her voice raspy but warm. She's wiping down an old pistol, her eyes sharper than any blade.
"You said ten," Ivie replies. "It's nine forty-five."
Mama Tee chuckles. "Early birds die last in this game. Come in."
Ivie steps inside, the room thick with cigarette smoke, cheap rum, and secrets. Three other gang members glance up. One nods. One glares. One doesn't even bother looking—he's focused on sharpening a knife with scary precision.
She's not welcome yet. She hasn't earned it.
But she will.
As the door creaks shut behind her, Ivie knows—this is where the story begins. Not the one the world wrote for her. The one she's writing with her own hands.
A masked heart, beating for truth.
Even if it kills her.