By evening, the city had changed its voice.
Lagos at night was softer, wrapped in lights and ambition, humming with the promise of deals whispered over wine glasses and futures rewritten behind tinted windows. From the back seat of the car, she watched the skyline blur past, her reflection faint against the glass—composed on the surface, restless underneath.
Today had gone better than expected and that realization unsettled her.
Success, she had learned, was never gentle, it announced itself with new expectations, sharper eyes, and the constant fear of being exposed as not enough. She pressed her fingers together on her lap, grounding herself, confidence was not something she waited to feel; it was something she wore.
The car slowed in front of a boutique hotel perched discreetly on Victoria Island, tonight's networking dinner was by invitation only—a gathering of investors, executives, and women who understood the quiet power of presence and attendance wasn't optional because visibility was currency.
Upstairs, the room smelled faintly of vanilla and clean linen. She set her bag down and stood before the wardrobe the stylists had curated for her arrival, rows of silk dresses, tailored jackets, and understated heels stared back like tools waiting to be chosen.
She reached for a midnight-blue silk gown it is simple, elegant and unapologetic.
As she dressed, memories crept in uninvited—nights when her prayers had been whispered into cracked ceilings, when ambition had felt like a sin because survival demanded gratitude, not desire. She paused, hands resting against the fabric at her waist, eyes closed.
Let me be enough for what I am stepping into, she prayed silently.
Downstairs, the restaurant glowed with muted gold light, conversations floated softly, laughter controlled and intentional. She entered with calm assurance, heels clicking lightly against marble, her posture speaking before she ever opened her mouth.
Eyes turned, some measured her worth by her dress while others by the confidence she carried without explanation.
She accepted a glass of champagne, letting it rest untouched in her hand as she navigated introductions, names, titles, polite smiles, she listened carefully, filed away impressions, spoke only when necessary. Power, she was learning, often lived in restraint.
Then she felt it again, that quiet shift in the room making her turned—and there he was.
Not in a boardroom this time, but in a tailored charcoal suit that looked custom-made for command, his presence was understated yet undeniable, as if the room unconsciously adjusted around him. Their eyes met briefly, no smile, just recognition.
Later, as if by design, he stood beside her near the terrace overlooking the city.
"You don't drink," he said, glancing at her untouched glass.
"I like to stay aware," she replied calmly.
A pause.
"That's rare," he said.
"So is underestimating silence," she answered.
For the first time, his lips curved—not amusement, but intrigue.
They spoke of neutral things at first, markets, growth, travel and yet beneath every word ran an unspoken current. He asked thoughtful questions and she answered without revealing too much., two strategists circling, careful not to expose weakness.
"You're new," he observed.
"I'm intentional," she corrected.
Another pause. Longer this time.
"I'm Elias," he said finally.
She nodded once. "I know."
He studied her, clearly unused to anonymity being