Amira couldn't stop staring at the note. She had read it five times, but the words still slapped her heart like fresh thunder:
"You're playing with fire. Return Damian to the streets where he belongs. Final warning."
She hid it in her dresser drawer, deep under old receipts. But it didn't leave her mind, not for a second.
Who sent it?
And why now?
The boutique's doors opened early the next morning. The staff were preparing for the launch of her new campaign (a streetwear-meets-elegance fusion that was already catching attention on social media). But Amira couldn't focus.
Her eyes kept drifting to Damian, who was on his knees fixing a jammed drawer in her office.
"You okay?" he asked, looking up.
She nodded too quickly. "Just tired."
He stood slowly, wiped his hands. "I can tell something's wrong. You've barely looked me in the eye since yesterday."
Amira hesitated. Part of her wanted to tell him about the threat. But another part of her… wasn't ready to watch him walk away again.
"What if someone doesn't want you here?" she asked carefully. "What if your past is chasing you?"
He froze. His jaw tightened. "What did you hear?"
"Nothing," she lied. "I'm just wondering."
Damian sat on the armrest of the couch, thinking. "I didn't just lose money, Amira. I lost… allies. Fake friends. People I used to sit at roundtables with, now they look at me like dirt."
"Any of them dangerous?"
He looked at her now, fully. "One."
She didn't press.
But her heart began to race.
That afternoon, her boutique had a visitor. A tall, well-dressed man in his forties, with calm eyes and an expensive wristwatch. The kind of man who didn't belong on her client list but walked like he owned the world. He asked to speak with her privately.
Inside the backroom, he introduced himself as Mr. Ezra Kayode, a former investor in Damian's old company.
"I know you're hosting him here," Ezra said without emotion. "And I know you two are getting close."
Amira stood tall. "What's your point?"
Ezra smiled. Cold. "Damian Cole has enemies. Enemies that don't forget. His downfall cost many people billions. If I were you, I'd stay far away before you lose everything you've built."
Amira's hands clenched. "Is that a threat?"
Ezra took a step closer. "It's a warning. Don't be a fool for a fallen king."
With that, he left - quiet, smooth, terrifying. Amira stood frozen in the silence, heart slamming in her chest.
That night, Damian noticed she had locked her office door. He knocked once, twice.
"Amira, please. Talk to me."
No answer.
He leaned his forehead against the wood. "You think I don't see it? The fear in your eyes. The way you flinch when I walk into a room now."
Inside, Amira stared at the envelope. Her voice cracked as she finally replied.
"You brought your enemies to my door."
He went quiet.
"I don't regret helping you," she whispered. "But I didn't sign up for war."
Damian spoke after a pause. "Then let me fight for you."
She opened the door slowly. His eyes searched hers like they were begging for one more chance.
"I've already lost everything once," he said. "I can't lose you too, not before I even get to have you."
Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't say yes. She didn't say no. But she let him in.
Later that night, while Amira finally fell into a restless sleep, Damian sat outside on the balcony, watching the Lagos skyline flicker in the distance.
He took out his phone. Dialed a number he hadn't touched in months.
It rang once. Twice.
Then: "You finally called."
Damian's voice was low. "You sent someone to threaten her. Stay away from Amira."
The voice laughed. "You don't get to give orders anymore, Cole. You owe us. And you're running out of time."
Damian ended the call with a shaking hand. Because for the first time since he fell from grace…
He realized he might not survive this.
But if anyone was going to pay the price, it sure as hell wouldn't be Amira.