The Rules of War
Zara did not sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the same three things:
Alexander standing in her doorway like a ghost from a life she tried to bury.
The message on her phone that promised war.
And the black car she hadn't even noticed—until it was too late.
Morning came with exhaustion clinging to her bones.
She stood in her kitchen, coffee untouched, staring at the city skyline outside her window. Lagos glittered the way wealth always did—beautiful from a distance, brutal up close. Somewhere behind those towers were people who had ruined her life once.
And they were ready to do it again.
Her phone vibrated on the counter.
Alexander.
She stared at the screen for three long seconds before answering.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice tired but sharp.
"To make sure you're still breathing," he replied. "Open your door."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"I didn't invite you."
"You didn't have to."
A knock followed immediately.
Zara cursed under her breath, then walked to the door and pulled it open.
Alexander stood there in dark jeans and a crisp shirt, no suit today—but the authority never left him. His gaze swept over her quickly, assessing, protective, unreadable.
"You look like hell," he said.
"So do you," she replied, stepping aside. "Come in before my neighbors start thinking I collect billionaires."
He entered, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence felt heavier than anger.
"You shouldn't be alone right now," Alexander said finally. "Not with the threats."
"I've been alone for five years," she snapped. "I survived that. I'll survive this."
His jaw tightened.
"You survived because you're strong. Not because you were safe."
She crossed her arms.
"So what are you suggesting? I move into your penthouse? Let you play hero now that guilt finally caught up with you?"
"I'm suggesting protection," he said calmly. "My security. My resources. My enemies."
She laughed bitterly.
"Your enemies are the reason my life fell apart."
He took a step closer.
"And they're the reason I won't let them touch you again."
That word again sliced through her.
Again meant he admitted he failed the first time.
That meant this wasn't just business anymore.
"You don't get to rewrite history, Alexander," she said quietly. "You don't get to become my savior after you were my executioner."
Pain flickered across his face before it hardened into resolve.
"Then let me be your shield."
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to stay unmoved.
"I don't need a shield," she said. "I need the truth."
His gaze sharpened.
"Then we want the same thing."
Two hours later, they sat in the back of Alexander's armored SUV, moving through traffic toward Kane International.
Zara hadn't agreed to protection.
She had agreed to information.
"Start talking," she said. "About your father. About the scandal. About why someone thinks hurting you is the way to stop me."
Alexander stared out the window for a long moment.
"My father built Kane Industries on power," he said. "Not just money—leverage. Secrets. Favors. Enemies he buried and allies he owned."
Zara's stomach twisted.
"And when I got framed?"
His voice dropped.
"You became collateral damage."
She closed her eyes.
"That's it? I lost everything because your family plays chess with people's lives?"
"Yes."
The word hit harder than denial ever could.
"But here's what you don't know," he continued. "I found evidence last year. Proof that you were framed. Proof that my father orchestrated everything."
Her breath caught.
"And you kept it from me?"
"I was trying to build a case strong enough to take him down," he said. "If I moved too early, he would've destroyed the evidence—and you."
She turned to him sharply.
"You don't get to decide when I get justice!"
"And you don't get to die for it," he snapped back.
Silence swallowed them whole.
The car slowed as they pulled into the underground garage of Kane International.
Alexander met her gaze.
"This isn't revenge anymore, Zara. This is war."
The meeting with his legal team was brutal.
Files spread across the conference table—documents Zara had never seen before. Proof of forged signatures. Wire transfers. Secret shell companies used to ruin her reputation.
Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to cry.
"They destroyed me," she whispered.
Alexander watched her like he wished he could undo time.
"And I let them."
Her voice hardened.
"You didn't just let them. You chose them."
He flinched.
"I won't choose them again."
She didn't answer.
Because believing him was dangerous.
And wanting to believe him was worse.
That night, Zara returned to her apartment with a security detail she hadn't asked for but didn't refuse.
Fear had a way of making pride negotiable.
She locked her door, leaned against it, and finally let the weight crash down on her chest.
Five years of pain.
Five years of rebuilding.
Five years of hating the man who now stood between her and destruction.
Her phone buzzed.
Another unknown number.
She hesitated.
Then opened it.
Unknown: You're getting closer.
Unknown: Which means you're getting careless.
Her hands trembled.
Zara: What do you want?
A response came instantly.
Unknown: You had your chance to walk away.
Unknown: Now the price is blood.
Her doorbell rang.
Zara froze.
Her heart pounded so loud she was sure the neighbors could hear it.
The bell rang again.
She crept toward the door, peering through the peephole.
Alexander.
Relief crashed into her so hard her knees weakened.
She opened the door.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered.
"I had a bad feeling," he said. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, then handed him her phone.
His jaw tightened as he read the messages.
"They're escalating."
"They already have," she said shakily. "They know where I live."
Alexander's expression shifted from concern to fury.
"That ends tonight."
Within an hour, Zara found herself in the backseat of his car again—this time headed toward his penthouse.
"This is temporary," she insisted. "I'm not moving in with you."
"You're not," he said. "You're staying somewhere safe."
"Same difference."
When they arrived, the building felt like a fortress—private elevators, armed security, silence that screamed money.
Inside the penthouse, the air smelled of leather and power.
Zara stood near the window, staring out at the city lights.
"This feels like surrender," she said softly.
"It's survival," Alexander replied.
They stood too close.
Too aware.
The space between them buzzed with everything they weren't allowed to want.
"You hurt me," she said quietly. "And part of me still hates you for it."
"I deserve that."
"And part of me…" She swallowed. "Part of me never stopped loving you."
The confession hung between them like a loaded gun.
Alexander's breath hitched.
"Zara…"
"Don't," she warned. "Don't touch me unless you're ready to destroy everything again."
He stepped back, hands raised in surrender.
"I won't hurt you."
She laughed bitterly.
"You already did."
Later that night, Zara lay awake in the guest room, staring at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed one last time.
Unknown number.
She opened it.
Unknown: Enjoy your protection.
Unknown: It won't save him.
Her heart slammed.
She typed back with shaking fingers.
Zara: Save who?
Three dots appeared.
Then the message came.
Unknown: Alexander dies first.