Chapter 4– my noisy brat
She opened my car door like she owned it.
For a moment, shock punched through me—not fear, not anger, just pure, unfiltered disbelief.
A woman had just walked into my car.My car—where no one entered, no one breathed without my permission, no one even looked at unless they were one of mine.
Then I saw her face.
Annabella Chioma Obi.
Of all people on this rain-soaked, God-forsaken street, fate had pushed her into my path. The reckless brat who had made a hobby of poking at me online. The spark everyone said could set a city on fire.
She sat there dripping water onto leather worth more than her rent, shivering, clueless, shaking rain from her lashes.
And utterly unaware whose presence she'd stumbled into.
For a fleeting second, I thought maybe she had followed me. That she recognized me—the real Micheal Igwe, not the puppet that wore my name—and had come to finish whatever war she thought she'd started.
But no.
She looked too casual. Too frazzled. Too human.
If she knew who I was, she'd be trembling for a very different reason.
So I dismissed the thought and let a slow, cold smirk spread across my face.
Fate was an unrepentant bastard.
And today… clearly in the mood to entertain me.
I let my voice drop—smooth, mocking, edged with interest I didn't bother to hide.
"Hello, criminal."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. That reaction… God. She was beautiful in her confusion. In her indignation. In the way she tried to make sense of me.
She stammered something about thinking this was her cab, cheeks flushing, eyes darting toward the door.
She really didn't know.She didn't know him—the man she mocked online.She didn't know me—the man pulling the strings behind that illusion.
She was lost, drenched, frustrated, and trying very hard not to fall apart.
The perfect storm.
"You're drenched," I murmured, studying the tremor in her shoulders. "You'll catch something if you sit there shaking like that."
Her pulse kicked. She tried to leave, apologizing, fumbling with the handle.
"You could," I said lazily. "Or you could wait out the storm someplace drier. My place is close."
She froze.
The air in the car tightened, thickened. Even the storm outside seemed to pause, listening.
When she whispered, "…Okay," something dark and satisfied curled warmly in my chest.
There she was.
The girl who challenged lions online, trembling because one finally answered.
Good.
"Good girl."
Her breath hitched. I noticed. I noticed everything.
I reached into the console for the black cloth—a precaution I used often. My privacy was not something I gambled with, not even for a pretty face with a reckless mouth.
She eyed it. "What's that for?"
"Blindfold," I said simply. "I value my privacy… Unless you'd rather stand in the rain."
She hesitated only a heartbeat.
"…I guess that makes sense."
"Of course it does. Tilt your head back."
And she did.
Obedient. Curious. Trying to act braver than she felt.
Fast learner.
The blindfold slipped over her eyes, and for the first time that day, the silence inside me—always sharp, always coiled—began to hum.
She sat there in darkness while I drove.She trusted me.She didn't even know why that was a mistake.
By the time we reached the house, she was soft with adrenaline, pliant with confusion, warm from the heat of the car.
Guiding her inside was effortless.
I removed the blindfold only when I wanted to watch her eyes widen at the space around her—my walls, my air, my rules. Every instinct in her body screamed danger, but curiosity outweighed self-preservation.
Good.
Fear makes people stupid.Curiosity makes them honest.
"Go dry off in the bathroom," I told her. "I'll get you something to wear."
She nodded, looking small in my space, dripping on floors polished by men who feared me.
When she disappeared upstairs, I let myself exhale.
I had seen photographs of her hundreds of times. Reports. Screenshots of her loudmouth posts.But they hadn't warned me she would look so much like temptation with rain clinging to her skin.
I grabbed a shirt and waited.
When she came back, swallowed in white cotton, hair damp, cheeks flushed, breath unsteady…I understood exactly why she was dangerous.
Not because she had a voice.
But because she didn't know the effect she had when she was quiet.
I stepped closer.
"You walk into my car dripping, trembling… and you still manage to look like trouble."
"Trouble?" she breathed.
"The kind men lose sleep over."
Her eyes fluttered. Her pulse gave her away.
"And what do you do with trouble?" she whispered.
A slow, dark smile stretched across my lips.
"You break it."
And she let me.
She let me lead her.She let me take control.She let herself fall into something she didn't understand.
Later—much later—when she lay against me, breath uneven, heartbeat softening against my chest, I saw something I hadn't expected:
She wasn't pretending anymore.
No bravado.No influencer persona.Just Anna.
Raw and real.
I brushed her hair back. "You did well. Better than I thought."
She shivered—not from fear.
When I stood and told her, "Don't move. I'll bring water. And food. You'll need it," I meant it.
She had given more than she realized.
But when I walked back into the room…
Everything changed.
She was sitting up, trembling—not with desire this time, but with the cold grip of realization.
In her hands was the leather folder I'd left on the nightstand after reviewing it earlier.
Her file.
Her life.
Her movements.
Her threats.
Her face stared back at her from the page like a ghost she didn't know she had.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to me.
"Who are you?"
Her voice was small, terrified, furious… and something else.
Something that should have vanished the moment she saw that file.
But there it was.
Curiosity.
A spark.A challenge.A girl who still didn't know she was standing in the lion's mouth—and asking his name.
I looked at her, really looked at her.
Her hands were trembling around the file, her breath shallow, her lips parted in disbelief. But it was her eyes that caught me—the hope in them. Fragile. Desperate. She wanted this to be a nightmare. A freak accident. A wrong car, a wrong man, a wrong night. She wanted to believe she didn't just stumble into the den of the exact monster she had spent months provoking online.
She wanted to believe she wasn't holding proof.
It almost made me laugh.
Almost.
But I held it in.This was not the time for amusement.
Of course I knew the file was there.I put it there myself.And yes—I knew there was a possibility she'd find it. I had thought of every scenario the moment I invited her into my space.
I needed to know her capacity.How smart she was.Her instinct under pressure.Her weaknesses.Her tells.Everything.
My men had brought me detailed information—dates, locations, habits, patterns, the digital skeleton of her life. But paper never tells the truth about a person. Not the truth that matters.
The best way to know someone is still the oldest:look them in the eye.Talk to them.Listen to the way they lie.Watch the way they react.Learn the desires they don't even confess to themselves.
Sleeping with her?That was simply a bonus to this little project of mine.A pleasant, unexpected one.
Honestly, I was mildly surprised we got that far this quickly.
She was staring at me now—those wide, doe-like eyes fixed on my face, begging for an explanation she wasn't prepared for.
And I stared back, dissecting her panic, her confusion, her fear, her defiance. Every emotion flickered naked across her pretty features. She didn't know how to hide herself yet. She was beautiful. I'll give her that.
"Who are you?" she repeated, voice barely holding steady."Why do you have a file on me? Was our meeting planned? Did you plan all this? Who do you work for? Is Micheal your boss? Did he put you up to this? Is that what this has all been about?"
The questions tumbled out in a frantic rush, her panic sharp enough to taste in the air.
"Oh my God… I'm so stupid," she whispered, suddenly crumbling inward. "How could you do this to yourself, Anna? You're smarter than this…"
Then, just as quickly, her head snapped back up, eyes widening further.
"Wait."A beat.Then—
"Did you drug me?"
I blinked, genuinely taken aback.
Drug her?
I might not have been forthcoming. I might have orchestrated more than she realized. But I had never forced her to do a single thing. She made her choices freely—recklessly, even.
And now the little noisy brat wanted to pin her own impulsiveness on me?
She continued rambling, her mind spiraling into wild conclusions.
"Yes—you must have drugged me to come with you. I wouldn't do something that stupid on a normal day. You did something, didn't you?"
"…Now hold on a minute."My voice sharpened, dropping any hint of gentleness."I didn't drug you. And I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want. So if you're desperate to blame someone other than yourself, then you're not only foolish—you're delusional."
Her mouth snapped shut.
Good.
"And no," I added coolly, "I don't work for this Micheal you're talking about."
A wave of relief washed through her face—quick, unguarded—before confusion crept right back in.
"Then who are you? And why do you have all this on me?" She shook the file. "Wait—are you going to keep me hostage now?"
That did it.
I laughed.A full, genuine laugh, rich enough to echo lightly off the walls.
"Oh, dear, no," I said, amusement still coating my voice. "You can leave anytime you want."
She stared at me suspiciously. "But I don't know where I am."
"I'll get someone to drop you off."
I placed the tray of food on the table. She didn't touch it. She couldn't tear her eyes off me, as if watching me was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality.
I walked toward the door, hand already on the frame.
But I paused.
She deserved a parting gift.
I turned my head slightly, let a slow smirk curl my lips, and said:
"It was nice meeting you… my noisy brat."
Then I closed the door behind me and left her alone with the storm.
Chapter 4 — continued (Micheal)
I looked at her, really looked at her.
Her hands were trembling around the file, her breath shallow, her lips parted in disbelief. But it was her eyes that caught me—the hope in them. Fragile. Desperate. She wanted this to be a nightmare. A freak accident. A wrong car, a wrong man, a wrong night. She wanted to believe she didn't just stumble into the den of the exact monster she had spent months provoking online.
She wanted to believe she wasn't holding proof.
It almost made me laugh.
Almost.
But I held it in.This was not the time for amusement.
Of course I knew the file was there.I put it there myself.And yes—I knew there was a possibility she'd find it. I had thought of every scenario the moment I invited her into my car, into my home, into my space.
I needed to know her capacity.How smart she was.Her instinct under pressure.Her weaknesses.Her tells.Everything.
My men had brought me detailed information—dates, locations, habits, patterns, the digital skeleton of her life. But paper never tells the truth about a person. Not the truth that matters.
The best way to know someone is still the oldest:look them in the eye.Talk to them.Listen to the way they lie.Watch the way they react.Learn the desires they don't even confess to themselves.
Sleeping with her?That was simply a bonus to this little project of mine.A pleasant, unexpected one.
Honestly, I was mildly surprised we got that far this quickly.
She was staring at me now—those wide, doe-like eyes fixed on my face, begging for an explanation she wasn't prepared for.
And I stared back, dissecting her panic, her confusion, her fear, her defiance. Every emotion flickered naked across her pretty features. She didn't know how to hide herself yet. She was beautiful. I'll give her that.
"Who are you?" she repeated, voice barely holding steady."Why do you have a file on me? Was our meeting planned? Did you plan all this? Who do you work for? Is Micheal your boss? Did he put you up to this? Is that what this has all been about?"
The questions tumbled out in a frantic rush, her panic sharp enough to taste in the air.
"Oh my God… I'm so stupid," she whispered, suddenly crumbling inward. "How could you do this to yourself, Anna? You're smarter than this…"
Then, just as quickly, her head snapped back up, eyes widening further.
"Wait."A beat.Then—
"Did you drug me?"
I blinked, genuinely taken aback.
Drug her?
I might not have been forthcoming. I might have orchestrated more than she realized. But I had never forced her to do a single thing. She made her choices freely—recklessly, even.
And now the little noisy brat wanted to pin her own impulsiveness on me?
She continued rambling, her mind spiraling into wild conclusions.
"Yes—you must have drugged me to come with you. I wouldn't do something that stupid on a normal day. You did something, didn't you?"
"…Now hold on a minute."My voice sharpened, dropping any hint of gentleness."I didn't drug you. And I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want. So if you're desperate to blame someone other than yourself, then you're not only foolish—you're delusional."
Her mouth snapped shut.
Good.
"And no," I added coolly, "I don't work for this Micheal you're talking about."
A wave of relief washed through her face—quick, unguarded—before confusion crept right back in.
"Then who are you? And why do you have all this on me?" She shook the file. "Wait—are you going to keep me hostage now?"
That did it.
I laughed.A full, genuine laugh, rich enough to echo lightly off the walls.
"Oh, dear, no," I said, amusement still coating my voice. "You can leave anytime you want."
She stared at me suspiciously. "But I don't know where I am."
"I'll get someone to drop you off."
I placed the tray of food on the table. She didn't touch it. She couldn't tear her eyes off me, as if watching me was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality.
I walked toward the door, hand already on the frame.
But I paused.
She deserved a parting gift.
I turned my head slightly, let a slow smirk curl my lips, and said:
"It was nice meeting you… my noisy brat."
Then I closed the door behind me and left her alone with the storm.
Chapter 4 — continued (Micheal)
I looked at her, really looked at her.
Her hands were trembling around the file, her breath shallow, her lips parted in disbelief. But it was her eyes that caught me—the hope in them. Fragile. Desperate. She wanted this to be a nightmare. A freak accident. A wrong car, a wrong man, a wrong night. She wanted to believe she didn't just stumble into the den of the exact monster she had spent months provoking online.
She wanted to believe she wasn't holding proof.
It almost made me laugh.
Almost.
But I held it in.This was not the time for amusement.
Of course I knew the file was there.I put it there myself.And yes—I knew there was a possibility she'd find it. I had thought of every scenario the moment I invited her into my car, into my home, into my space.
I needed to know her capacity.How smart she was.Her instinct under pressure.Her weaknesses.Her tells.Everything.
My men had brought me detailed information—dates, locations, habits, patterns, the digital skeleton of her life. But paper never tells the truth about a person. Not the truth that matters.
The best way to know someone is still the oldest:look them in the eye.Talk to them.Listen to the way they lie.Watch the way they react.Learn the desires they don't even confess to themselves.
Sleeping with her?That was simply a bonus to this little project of mine.A pleasant, unexpected one.
Honestly, I was mildly surprised we got that far this quickly.
She was staring at me now—those wide, doe-like eyes fixed on my face, begging for an explanation she wasn't prepared for.
And I stared back, dissecting her panic, her confusion, her fear, her defiance. Every emotion flickered naked across her pretty features. She didn't know how to hide herself yet. She was beautiful. I'll give her that.
"Who are you?" she repeated, voice barely holding steady."Why do you have a file on me? Was our meeting planned? Did you plan all this? Who do you work for? Is Micheal your boss? Did he put you up to this? Is that what this has all been about?"
The questions tumbled out in a frantic rush, her panic sharp enough to taste in the air.
"Oh my God… I'm so stupid," she whispered, suddenly crumbling inward. "How could you do this to yourself, Anna? You're smarter than this…"
Then, just as quickly, her head snapped back up, eyes widening further.
"Wait."A beat.Then—
"Did you drug me?"
I blinked, genuinely taken aback.
Drug her?
I might not have been forthcoming. I might have orchestrated more than she realized. But I had never forced her to do a single thing. She made her choices freely—recklessly, even.
And now the little noisy brat wanted to pin her own impulsiveness on me?
She continued rambling, her mind spiraling into wild conclusions.
"Yes—you must have drugged me to come with you. I wouldn't do something that stupid on a normal day. You did something, didn't you?"
"…Now hold on a minute."My voice sharpened, dropping any hint of gentleness."I didn't drug you. And I didn't do anything to you that you didn't want. So if you're desperate to blame someone other than yourself, then you're not only foolish—you're delusional."
Her mouth snapped shut.
Good.
"And no," I added coolly, "I don't work for this Micheal you're talking about."
A wave of relief washed through her face—quick, unguarded—before confusion crept right back in.
"Then who are you? And why do you have all this on me?" She shook the file. "Wait—are you going to keep me hostage now?"
That did it.
I laughed.A full, genuine laugh, rich enough to echo lightly off the walls.
"Oh, dear, no," I said, amusement still coating my voice. "You can leave anytime you want."
She stared at me suspiciously. "But I don't know where I am."
"I'll get someone to drop you off."
I placed the tray of food on the table. She didn't touch it. She couldn't tear her eyes off me, as if watching me was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality.
I walked toward the door, hand already on the frame.
But I paused.
She deserved a parting gift.
I turned my head slightly, let a slow smirk curl my lips, and said:
"It was nice meeting you… my noisy brat."
Then I closed the door behind me and left her alone with the storm.