Anna
The echoes of the warnings wouldn't leave her.
"Anna, leave that man alone."
"You don't know what you're playing with."
"He's not like the rest of them. He's... Micheal Igwe. This man can tell the president to shut up, and he would."
Each voice clung to her ribs like smoke, but instead of choking her, it fueled her lungs. If everyone was so desperate to keep her away from him, then that was exactly where she needed to go.
By noon, she was already dressed, her curves wrapped in a fitted blouse and jeans, her lips painted in a shade that gleamed beneath the Lagos sun. Her phone buzzed with fresh notifications—comments, likes, shares on her last post. His name was everywhere, the algorithm carrying it further than she expected. She told herself it was validation, proof she was striking a nerve.
But her heart whispered something else.
That maybe, just maybe, she wanted him to notice.
The drive to Victoria Island dragged on, the sky growing heavy with clouds that smothered the sun. By the time her cab pulled up in front of the towering glass building, rain was already slicing down, drumming against the pavement like a warning.
The building didn't scream wealth—it commanded it. Clean lines, tinted windows, security guards who scanned faces like they were reading sins. She tried to walk in like she belonged, chin high, but the moment she asked for Micheal Igwe, the receptionist's eyes hardened.
"Do you have an appointment, ma'am?" the woman asked, her voice clipped but polite.
Anna blinked. "No. I don't need one. Just tell him Anna Obi is here. He'll want to hear what I have to say."
The receptionist's expression didn't so much as twitch. "Mr. Igwe's schedule is booked for the next three months. Anyone who wishes to see him must be cleared and confirmed weeks in advance. I'm afraid I can't help you."
Anna's jaw clenched. She had expected him to be rushing to meet her in some desperate attempt to clear his name. Instead, even the receptionist didn't deem her important. She was almost certain everyone working under Micheal would have heard of her by now—her posts, her accusations, her voice stirring up storms online.
And yet, here she was. Brushed aside.
She lingered in front of the desk, nails tapping against the marble, heartbeat rattling her chest. She could leave, retreat into the storm outside, tell herself she had tried. Or...
Her eyes flicked toward the elevators.
Her pulse leapt.
One reckless thought curled its way through her head: What if I just run?
She hesitated, biting down on her lip. A voice in her head screamed don't, another whispered now or never.
And then she moved.
Her heels slapped against marble floors as she dashed toward the elevators, eyes fixed on the top floors where she imagined his office would be. For one wild, breathless moment, adrenaline made her feel unstoppable—until two security guards moved in unison, blocking her path.
"Miss, that's enough."
Hands, firm but not cruel, seized her arms.
"Let me go," she snapped. "I literally just wanted to say hi, you guys are being too uptight."
But the security guard picked her up like a toddler and dumped her outside the building, straight into a puddle of water.
Rain slammed against her skin, soaking through her blouse within seconds. The glass building loomed behind her, untouched by the chaos, as if mocking her.
She staggered to her feet, chest heaving with frustration. She had asked her cab to wait. That was the only thought holding her together as she wiped rain from her eyes and scanned the blur of headlights and windshields.
Through the storm, she spotted a black car by the curb. Relief flickered. Finally.
Without hesitation, Anna darted across the puddled street, yanked the passenger door open, and slid inside, dripping water onto the pristine leather seats. She barely paused to catch her breath, heart still hammering from the humiliation inside.
The door thudded shut, muting the storm outside.
It took her a beat too long to notice.
The silence.
The faint hum of the engine.
The air—cool, heavy, scented with leather and cologne, nothing like the on-time cabs she was used to.
Her pulse skipped.
And then—
A voice, low and velvety, cut through the quiet.
"Hello, criminal."