The morning after their first full night together dawned soft and hazy, the kind of Lagos Sunday where the city seemed to pause and breathe. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the beachfront suite, painting golden stripes across the rumpled white sheets. Elara stirred first, blinking against the brightness, her body deliciously sore in ways she hadn't felt in years.
Kairo lay beside her, one arm thrown possessively over her waist, dreads splayed across the pillow like dark rivers. His breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted. For a moment she just watched him—vulnerable in sleep, stripped of that perpetual smirk. Something tender twisted in her chest, unfamiliar and a little frightening.
She slipped out of bed carefully, padding to the terrace in one of the resort's fluffy robes. The Atlantic stretched endless before her, waves rolling in with rhythmic insistence. Palm fronds rustled in the breeze, and far down the beach, a few early walkers dotted the sand like distant figures in a painting.
She leaned on the railing, letting the salt air clear her head. Last night had been intense—passionate, unguarded. They'd talked until the early hours, bodies entwined, sharing pieces of themselves they'd never offered anyone else. Kairo had told her about losing his mother young, how photography became his way of holding onto moments that slipped away too fast. She'd confessed her fear of failure, how climbing the corporate ladder felt like running from the emptiness her parents' distant marriage had left in her.
It was dangerous, this openness. But it felt right.
A soft footfall behind her. Arms encircled her waist from behind, warm lips pressing to the curve of her neck.
"Morning, trouble," Kairo murmured, voice rough with sleep.
She leaned back into him. "You snore."
"Lies. You were the one kicking me all night."
She laughed quietly. "Liar."
He turned her in his arms, kissing her slow and deep, tasting of mint toothpaste and last night's wine. When they parted, his eyes searched hers.
"Regrets?"
"None," she said honestly. "You?"
"Only that we didn't do this sooner." He grinned, but there was seriousness beneath it. "What do you want to do today?"
"Beach. Swim. Eat. Pretend the real world doesn't exist until tomorrow evening."
"Perfect plan."
They spent the morning lazily—breakfast on the terrace (fresh fruit, akara, strong coffee), then down to the private stretch of sand reserved for suite guests. The beach was quiet, almost theirs alone.
They walked hand in hand along the waterline, waves lapping at their ankles. Kairo stopped to pick up small shells, pressing one into her palm.
"Keep this. Reminder that sometimes beautiful things wash up when you least expect them."
She closed her fingers around it, throat tight. "You're getting sappy, Adebayo."
"Only for you, Voss."
They swam until their muscles protested, then sprawled on loungers under an umbrella, sharing a chilled bottle of rosé and stories. Kairo snapped photos with his phone—candid shots of her laughing, hair wet and wild, the ocean framing her like a halo. She pretended to protest but secretly loved the way he looked at her through the lens, like she was the only thing worth capturing.
As the sun climbed higher, they retreated to the suite for a cool shower that turned heated quickly. Water cascaded over them as hands explored, mouths met, bodies moved in perfect sync. Afterward, wrapped in towels, they collapsed onto the massive bed, limbs tangled, talking in murmurs.
The room itself felt like a cocoon of luxury—soft neutral tones, modern lines, that endless ocean view through floor-to-ceiling glass.
But peace never lasts long in Lagos—or in life.
Late afternoon found them back on the beach for sunset. They walked farther this time, past the main resort stretch toward a quieter cove where mangroves met sand. The sky burned orange and pink, the water turning molten gold.
Kairo pulled her close, swaying gently to music only they could hear.
"This," he said softly, "this is what I've been missing."
Elara rested her head on his chest. "Me too."
A twig snapped behind them—sharp, deliberate.
They both froze.
Kairo turned first, shielding her slightly. "Who's there?"
No answer. Just the rustle of leaves, the distant crash of waves.
Elara's pulse kicked up. "Probably an animal. Or staff."
But Kairo's body stayed tense. "Stay here."
He stepped toward the treeline. Elara followed anyway.
In the lengthening shadows between palms, nothing. No figure. No footprints in the soft sand.
Yet the air felt heavier, watched.
Kairo scanned the area, jaw tight. "Thought I saw someone earlier too. Near the pool yesterday."
Her stomach dropped. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Didn't want to ruin the mood. Thought it was paranoia."
She touched his arm. "We should go back. Report it to security."
He nodded, but his eyes lingered on the shadows.
They returned to the suite in silence, the romance of the day tempered by unease. Once inside, Kairo double-checked the locks, drew the curtains.
Elara sat on the edge of the bed. "You think it's connected to the Urban Quest? That person at the rooftop?"
"Possible." He sat beside her, pulling her close. "Or maybe just coincidence. Lagos is full of eyes."
"But it doesn't feel like coincidence."
"No," he agreed quietly. "It doesn't."
They ordered dinner in—grilled fish, plantains, cold beers—and ate on the terrace, conversation subdued. Yet even with the tension, the pull between them remained strong. After dinner, they made love again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if anchoring themselves against whatever lurked outside.
Later, in the dark, Kairo's voice came soft against her hair.
"Whatever this is... we face it together. No running."
Elara traced patterns on his chest. "Together."
But as sleep claimed her, the unease lingered like salt on skin.
The watcher was out there.
And tomorrow, when they returned to the city, the game might change from playful to perilous.
Hating him had been simple.
Loving him—even the beginnings of it—was going to be the hardest adventure yet.