The night in Lagos shimmered with neon lights and dangerous temptations, the city's pulse bleeding through concrete and steel like a living thing. The club—Euphoria, one of Victoria Island's most exclusive haunts—was alive, vibrating with energy that surged through the floor like an underground current of lust and adrenaline. Bass lines thundered through bodies pressed against each other in rhythmic waves, sweat and perfume mixing into an intoxicating cocktail that made normal people lose themselves completely.
Charles sat in the most coveted VVIP booth, elevated above the dance floor like a modern-day emperor surveying his domain. His arm was draped around Halima, the sultry media executive who had once looked down on him with barely concealed disgust at industry parties. Now she clung to him like a lifeline, her designer dress riding higher on her crossed legs, lips slightly parted in unconscious invitation, her heart syncing to his rhythm without her even realizing it.
