ABUJA BADDIES
A Luxury Lifestyle Novel
Chapter 1 — Soft Life Is a Strategy
In Abuja, nobody just "lives."
You position.
You calculate.
You arrive.
Zara Bello understood that better than anyone.
The black Range Rover rolled smoothly past the gates of her family's Maitama mansion just as the sun began to melt into gold. Abuja sunsets were dramatic — soft, expensive-looking, like they had been filtered by God Himself.
Zara adjusted her Cartier sunglasses in the mirror. Calm. Untouchable. Perfect.
Old money did not announce itself.
It whispered.
Inside the car, the air smelled like oud and leather
. Outside, security men straightened immediately at the sight of her plate number.
"Good evening, madam."
She didn't respond.
She nodded.
Because power never rushed.
Across town in Wuse 2, Teni Adeyemi was very much announcing herself
"Is the lighting correct?!" she snapped, adjusting her silk emerald dress as her assistant hovered anxiously.
"You cannot post soft life with bad lighting. That is poverty behavior."
The rooftop of a luxury lounge glittered behind her. Champagne glasses clinked. A DJ played low Afrobeats. The city lights sparkled like diamonds below.
Teni faced her phone camera.
"Hi, my loves," she purred, smile effortless. "Reminder: soft life is not a blessing. It is a decision."
She posted.
Within thirty seconds, the likes began to climb.
Influencer. Brand owner. Abuja IT girl.
But what her followers didn't know was that her rent had tripled last month.
And tonight's event?
Sponsored.
Amara Okonkwo preferred silence.
Her penthouse overlooked the city — glass walls, white marble floors, art imported from Paris.
On her laptop, numbers moved rapidly.
Crypto charts.
Investment portfolios.
Tech acquisitions.
At twenty-seven, she had more liquidity than most senators' sons.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
We need to talk about your father.
Her jaw tightened.
Luxury had layers.
And some of them were built on secrets.
Meanwhile in Asokoro, Laila Hassan stood in front of a mirror while her stylist pinned her hijab into flawless elegance.
Downstairs, a political fundraiser was in full swing.
Her father's voice boomed through the house as he entertained governors and businessmen.
Laila's expression remained composed.
Perfect daughter.
Future strategic marriage.
Political currency.
Her phone lit up with a message from Zara.
Zara:
Dinner tomorrow. The Four. No excuses.
Laila allowed herself the smallest smile.
Because with the girls, she didn't have to pretend.
The next evening, they gathered at a private dining room in a five-star hotel in Maitama.
Four women.
Four different empires.
One unspoken rule:
We protect each other.
Champagne flowed. Designer heels crossed. Laughter echoed.
"To money," Teni toasted.
"To power," Amara added.
"To reputation," Laila said softly.
Zara lifted her glass last.
"To control."
Their glasses clinked.
None of them noticed the man watching from across the restaurant.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Dangerous smile.
In Abuja, wealth attracted attention.
But power?
Power attracted enemies.
And this was only the beginning.