Now, it was time to leave.
Deolu sat on the edge of the bed, fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag. Her heart thumped against her ribs like a warning drum. She wasn’t sure how to step out without raising suspicion, but she knew one thing: confidence was her shield. She had to walk as if nothing had happened, as if a life hasn’t be took with her fingers.
Her eyes flicked to the lifeless form sprawled on the bed well covered with blanket making it look like he was sleeping, Senator Hassan. Powerful, arrogant, untouchable—until tonight.
She had spent the night with him in the room, but not in the way anyone would think. Alone in the penthouse grand room, she had done something audacious, reckless. She had moaned, whispered—making sounds that mimicked intimacy, creating an illusion for anyone who might pass by the corridor. She needed it to look like nothing was amiss. The security guards parading outside the hallway had no reason to suspect a thing, and she had learned long ago that perception could be more powerful than truth.
She took a deep breath and slid her bag over her shoulder. Every step she took toward the door was calculated, measured, calm. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing. Stay composed. You can do this. One wrong move, and everything ends.
Then, just as the first traces of morning crept along the curtains, there was a knock at the door.
Soft. Hesitant.
Deolu froze. Her pulse spiked, throat tightening. Another knock followed, louder, more insistent. And then a third. She knew she had no choice. Fear wrapped around her like a vice, but she forced herself forward.
When she opened the door, two men stepped in—tall, imposing, dressed in black. Knives glinted faintly, and other tools hinted at horrors Deolu didn’t want to imagine.
“Deolu,” the taller one said, voice flat and cold, “we’ll take care of it from here. But one assignment remains for you.”
Shock hit her in a wave. She wasn’t the main plan. She had been a tool, a piece of a puzzle bigger than her understanding. “What… what again?” she whispered, lips trembling.
The men didn’t answer with words. They moved to the senator’s body, handling him with terrifying precision. In moments, he was dismembered, every piece carefully packed into a large bag. Deolu’s stomach twisted. Nausea rose in her throat, but she forced herself to stay still. Watching was survival. Obeying was survival.
They lead her to a car prepared for the assignment, a latest model Benz, sleek and black. The heavy bag was placed in the boot, thudding against the metal.
“Drive,” the taller man ordered. “Make sure you are not caught. If you are…” He leaned closer, eyes burning into hers. “You will answer for it alone.” He laughed mysterically and added. “Every document needed is in your bag.”
They shut the door in her face.
Deolu exhaled shakily and gripped the wheel. Her hands were ice-cold. Her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it echo in her skull.
She pulled out slowly, easing onto the dark Lagos road. The city was silent at that hour, yet every shadow felt like it had eyes. Every streetlight looked like a spotlight trained on her.
She kept driving. Until she saw it. A police patrol car ahead, parked beside the road.And an officer waving at her to stop. Panic clawed up her throat. Her fingers tightened around the wheel. God, please… please…
She rolled to a stop. A tall officer approached, flashlight slicing through the darkness. His eyes were sharp, calculating, lingering on her face… then her body.
“Evening, miss,” he said. “Driving alone at this hour?”
Deolu forced a soft smile despite her racing heart.
“Evening, officer. Just heading home.”
“License and registration.”
Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. Calm… normal… nothing is wrong…
She handed them over with a steady expression she did not feel.
The officer scanned her documents, taking his time, smirking as his gaze raked her body again. “Driving alone, huh? Risky. Especially for someone like you.”
Her stomach churned. She forced a light laugh. “I’m careful. Always.”
He stepped closer, leaning into her window. “You’re far too tempting to be wandering the streets at night.”
A bead of cold sweat slid down her temple. “Thank you, officer.”
He pulled out a small slip of paper, scribbled a number, and pressed it into her hand. His fingers lingered a second too long.
“If you ever need… assistance,” he said, eyes dark with lust, “call me.”
Deolu nodded, smiled tightly, and started the engine. She drove off immediately, refusing to look back.
Her chest was tight. The bag in the boot felt heavier than the car itself. Every faint metallic scent crept forward, mixing with her fear.
Minutes later, she swerved off the main road into a bush path. A narrow stretch hidden between trees. She parked, stepped out, and opened the boot.
Her breath caught.
A shovel lay waiting.
New panic unfurled in her chest, but she did what she had to do. She dug into the damp earth, sweat mixing with tears she didn’t realize had fallen. When the hole was deep enough, she dragged the heavy bag over and dumped it in. The weight of death hit the ground with a dull thud.
She covered it quickly, trembling, panting, hands shaking uncontrollably.
Then she climbed back into the car.
She survived this.
But for how long?
She didn’t know.
What she knew was simple—she was too deep to turn back now. Not with Honorable Emeka tightening the noose around her neck.
And the night wasn’t done with her yet.
Read Episode Two here.
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