If Arden had learned anything about Lagos so far, it was this: peace never lasted.
He was barely halfway through his morning coffee when his phone vibrated. A single message from an unknown number.
We see you.
His fingers tightened around the cup. He stared at the screen, pulse quickening, then calmly deleted the message as if it were nothing more than spam. He'd grown up around men who used fear like currency. Panic was exactly what they wanted.
Still, his appetite vanished.
By the time he met Ife later that afternoon, he'd already replayed a dozen escape routes in his head.
She wasn't alone.
"Ah. You didn't tell me you were bringing backup," Arden said, eyeing the three girls flanking her.
Ife grinned. "You didn't ask."
One of them, tall and dramatic with perfectly arched brows, stepped forward. "So this is the oyinbo."
"I prefer Arden," he said politely.
She laughed. "I'm Zainab. This is Tola, and the one pretending not to judge you is Simi."
"I am judging him," Simi said calmly. "I just haven't decided how harshly."
Arden blinked.
Ife clapped her hands. "See? I told you. They're nice."
"This is your fault," Tola said to Ife. "You can't just bring a foreign man into our lives without warning."
"I can hear you," Arden said.
"Good," Zainab replied. "That's step one."
They walked together through the street, Arden immediately aware that he'd stepped into unfamiliar territory. Ife was different around her friends—louder, freer, less guarded. It made something warm settle in his chest.
"So," Zainab began casually, "where exactly are you from, Arden?"
"London."
"Ah," Tola said. "Explains the accent. And the posture. And why you look like you're apologizing for existing."
Arden laughed despite himself. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes," Simi said. "You stand like someone who expects consequences."
Ife shot her a look. "You're not helping."
"Oh, I'm helping," Simi replied. "I just like knowing who people are."
Arden felt her gaze linger a little too long.
They stopped at a roadside stand selling chilled drinks. As Arden paid, a man across the road lifted his phone—too deliberately. Arden caught the movement instantly.
His shoulders tensed.
Ife noticed.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said quickly. Too quickly.
Simi's eyes narrowed.
Interesting.
They sat on low stools, laughing, teasing, talking over one another. For a while, Arden relaxed. Zainab told dramatic stories. Tola complained about work. Ife laughed so freely it made his chest ache.
Then Zainab leaned in. "So, Arden… what are your plans here? Short stay? Long stay? Marriage?"
Arden nearly choked on his drink.
"Marriage?" he repeated.
Ife groaned. "Ignore her."
"I'm just asking," Zainab said innocently. "He looks like someone with serious intentions."
Arden glanced at Ife. She wasn't laughing now.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I'm… figuring things out."
That seemed to satisfy no one.
Later, as they walked, Simi fell into step beside him.
"You're careful," she said quietly.
He stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"You watch people's hands. You scan reflections. You don't stand with your back exposed." Her voice stayed calm. "That's not tourist behavior."
He met her gaze. "I've had… experiences."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Just make sure your experiences don't become her problem."
She nodded toward Ife, who was laughing with Zainab a few steps ahead.
The warning was gentle.
But it landed hard.
That night, Arden took a different route home.
He confirmed it then—someone was following him. Not close. Not obvious. Professional.
He stopped suddenly.
The footsteps stopped too.
His jaw tightened.
When he turned, the street was empty.
Too empty.
Back in his apartment, Arden locked the door and leaned against it, breath shallow. His phone buzzed.
They know the girl.
His blood ran cold.
Across the city, Ife sat on her bed, staring at the bracelet on her wrist.
She didn't know why unease curled in her stomach.
But for the first time since meeting Arden, she felt afraid.
Not of him.
But for him.