TOLU
It was 11:25 a.m. on a Sunday, and Quilox Club was quiet—too quiet. The air was thick with the ghost of last night's music, bass still echoing faintly in the walls. Empty bottles glitter under the disco lights like scattered diamonds.
But I was already inside, strolling through the club with that unhurried swagger of a man who owns the night—and knows it. I was in a blue joggers, paired with a white tee, sunglasses still on even though it was morning. The man doesn't do off-days.
I checked my phone. Three missed calls, two voice notes, and a DM from a celebrity asking if she can get "the private corner" tonight. I grinned.
"Tell her she can, if she brings her own trouble," I said to myself, sending a voice reply before taking a sip of black coffee.
Then reluctantly moved to the bar, where Kay, my head bartender, was stacking glasses.
"Kay, I want the bar stocked like Lagos traffic on Friday night. Ciroc, Henny, Casamigos, Belaire—double it. I don't want anyone saying we ran out of anything tonight."
"You got it, boss," Kay said, nodding fast.
Next, I strolled into the kitchen. The chefs froze mid-chop. The smell of grilled chicken and spice filled the air.
"Gentlemen," I said, tapping the counter, "I want everything perfect tonight. No dry chicken. No soggy wings. We're feeding kings, not commuters."
The head chef chuckled. "Oga Tolu, we dey hear you. E go hot tonight!"
"That's better," I replied with a grin, slapping the man's shoulder before moving on.
Few moments later, I gathered everyone—the cleaners, bouncers, waitresses—all lined up by the dance floor. The mirrors reflected tired faces, but they all stood straighter when I spoke.
"Listen up. Tonight's gonna be massive. I've called the ballers, the politicians, even those Instagram girls who think they're angels. Everybody's coming. I want this place alive—energy, lights, music—everything sharp. We move like soldiers, you hear me?"
A chorus of "Yes, boss!" filled the room.
Satisfied, I walked toward the door, sunglasses sliding back up my nose. I stepped out into the morning light, blinking as the sun bounced off the glass. I stretched, cracking my neck. Time to go home, shower, nap, recharge before the night begins again.
But just as I reached my car, someone called out:
"Tolu? Is that you?"
I turned—and the world slowed for a second.
She was standing by the roadside, sunlight brushing her skin golden. A red bodycon dress hugged her curves like it was made for sin. Her smile is the kind that remembers everything and forgives nothing.
"Amaka." I said, smirking. "You still like showing up when a man's trying to behave himself."
"Behave? You?" she laughed, walking closer, perfume thick and sweet like temptation. "Don't lie to yourself, Tolu. You miss me."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "You don't even greet properly again?"
"Oh, I'll greet you properly," she said, stepping so close I could feel her breath.
We both knew where this was going. Ten minutes later, my car engine hums to life, windows tinted dark as we pull away from the club.
Inside my apartment—in my bedroom, the AC humed low. The sunlight slipped through the blinds. I tossed my sunglasses onto the couch, and Amaka leaned against the doorway, that same teasing smile on her lips.
"So," she said, "how do you spend your Sunday mornings these days?"
"Apparently," I murmured, stepping closer, "same way I used to—making bad decisions that feel way too good."
"Yeah baby, come here." She said, seductively landing me on the bed.
After what took like forever, the room was quiet now—except for the sound of heavy breathing and the lazy hum of the air conditioner fighting against the Lagos heat.
I laid flat on the bed, one arm thrown across my forehead, my skin glistening with sweat and satisfaction. The white sheets were tangled around my legs, a mess that perfectly mirrors what just happened. My chest rising and falling like I just ran a marathon.
Across the room, Amaka slipped off the bed, her skin glowing under the soft light seeping through the blinds. She grabbed a silk robe from the wardrobe and wrapped it loosely around her body, the fabric clinging to her curves. Robes that some of my girls had left behind.
"You'll kill me one day, this girl," I muttered, still catching my breath, my voice low and rough with exhaustion.
Amaka turned at the doorway, her smile wicked and knowing.
"Don't act like you didn't enjoy dying a little," she teased, winking before disappearing into the bathroom.
The sound of running water filled the silence, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the steam and the musk in the air. I sighed, rolling onto my side, staring at the ceiling. My heartbeat slowed, the warmth fading into a comfortable haze.
Few minutes later, she dashed out drying her hair with a towel in her hand, and another wrapped round her sexy body. She winked at me and quickly changed into a big tee shirt she found in my wardrobe.
"Can I wear this mr romantic?" She asked already putting it on.
"Yeah, why not? I love when I'm inside you but now, I don't mind being on you." I laughed lazily still feeling dizzy.
"Oh get out, spoilt man." She smiled and walked out of the room, probably to go quench her thirst.
Then—buzz.
My phone lights up on the nightstand, vibrating twice. I groaned, reached over, and checked the screen. Kelvin.
"Guy, you dey house? Make I pull up. Got something to run by you."
I smirked. Business never sleeps.
"Pull up," I replied, tossing the phone aside.
I dragged myself out of bed, stretching, my muscles aching pleasantly. The mirror catches my
reflection—eyes a bit red, body still humming with leftover adrenaline. I chuckled softly, muttering,
"Man needs a break one of these weekends."
I showered quickly, letting the cold water bring me back to life. By the time I stepped out, my robe wrapped around my body, the scent of fried eggs and coffee wafts from the kitchen.
"Amaka..." I muttered shaking my head in disbelief.
Even her name rolls off the tongue like something sweet and forbidden.
She was tall—long legs that moved with the confidence of a runway model, skin— the color of polished bronze, smooth and glowing even under dull light. Her face was a perfect oval, cheekbones sharp enough to catch shadows, and those eyes—dark, sultry, the kind that looks at you and undress your thoughts before you even say a word.
Anyone would die to have her around. And many have tried.
But Amaka is not the kind of woman you keep. She's the kind you experience.
I first met her at my club one wild Friday night. She wasn't like the usual girls hanging around the VIP section, desperate for attention. No, Amaka sat alone that night—legs crossed, phone in hand, sipping a cocktail like she owned the place. She didn't chase vibes; vibes chased her.
I had noticed her instantly, of course. You couldn't not. The way she moved, the way she spoke—everything about her was smooth, deliberate, charged with that quiet danger that draws a man in and dares him not to fall.
She was a hookup girl, and she never hid it. She lived in the moment, took what she wanted, and never promised more than fun. I liked that honesty. No drama, no expectations—just lust, laughter, and a kind of wild chemistry that didn't need explaining .
Now, as she moved around my apartment, making breakfast like she belonged here, I couldn't help but watch her. She hummed softly, hips swaying as she stirred the eggs.
"You always look like trouble," I said from the living room, leaning on the couch armrest.
"That's because I am trouble," she replied without turning, that teasing smile in her voice.
I laughed quietly, walking past her to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
That's what I like about her—she's fire, and I'm addicted to the burn.
A knock echoed from the front door. Three sharp taps.
"That'll be Kelvin," I said, glancing toward the hallway.
I opened the door to find Kelvin standing there—fresh in a brown leather jacket, white linen shirt, gold chain gleaming, sunglasses perched on his head, and an oversized blue Jean paring with a white Balenciaga shoes. The man looked like money on vacation.
"Boss man!" Kelvin grinned stepping in for a handshake-turned-bro-hug. "You look like someone who's been... working out."
"Something like that," I replied with a smirk.
The living room smelled of fresh coffee and warm breakfast. Music hummed softly from the
speaker—Afrobeats, smooth and lazy. Kelvin dropped onto the couch, scanning the space.
"Ah, you're living soft, my guy. This place still fine die."
"We try small," I said, sitting across from him.
From the kitchen, Amaka's voice called out:
"Tolu, breakfast's ready. You and your guest can come eat if you want."
Kelvin raised an eyebrow, grinning.
"Who's that? Don't tell me you're still running back to old flames."
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck.
"My guy, some fires don't die easily."
We both laughed as Amaka walked out, holding two plates—smiling, radiant, acting like she owns the place.
I watched her set the table, something flickering behind my eyes—half amusement, half curiosity.
The morning sun filtered through the curtains, catching the glint of Kelvin's watch and the shine of Amaka's hair.
Business and pleasure—both sitting in the same room.
After the breakfast was over, Amaka cleared the table and walked into the kitchen shaking her buttocks effortlessly that Kelvin was lost at the sight of it, and didn't know when he muttered,
"Guy you Dey enjoy o."
I grinned and whispered to him, "Leave the street food for the street kings, my man. That food you just stared at will take your breath away, and distract you from Sonia your girlfriend."
He raised an eyebrow, "Guy are you for real?" He asked, and continued. "Sonia can't stop me from eating any type of food I want. To her — we're dating, but to me, I'm just having fun. You of all people should've known my style by now."
I narrowed my eyes, "Why waste her time then? She hasn't done any wrong to deserve the deceit man. Call it off and rule your world the way you want it."
"No, she's got too much pride. I'll humble her. She made me feel less of myself in ways that I never expected, why? Cos I cheated. Ordinary cheating..." He stressed.
I couldn't help but laugh. "You sound like you've got a revenge against her. Please take it easy on her, she's someone's daughter."
"I hear..." he muttered looking away.
The clock ticked softly on the wall as he settled deeper into the couch, legs crossed, his phone in his hand—he was texting someone.
I sat opposite, dressed down now—plain green tee, white shorts, fresh cologne still clinging to me after the shower. The calm after a storm. I had hurried up into my room, and put on some cloths to avoid being caught indecent even though I was in my home.
Amaka's laughter spilled faintly from the kitchen. She was rinsing dishes, humming to herself, the sound low and rhythmic. Every few seconds, Kelvin's eyes flicked toward her silhouette through the doorway.
"Guy," Kelvin said, grinning, "you no dey ever dull yourself. Na this kind morning soft life wey person need."
I giggled, shaking my head. "Make I hear word abeg. You know say na hustle get me here, no be luck."
"True, true," Kelvin agreed, nodding. "But you dey enjoy am sha."
We both laughed. The tension easing just a bit.
Then Kelvin leaned forward, his tone shifting.
"So about that deal I mentioned. The one we spoke about last week"
My expression sharpened, focus sliding back in.
"The one with the new club at Ikoyi?"
"Exactly. The investor wants to partner with someone who understands nightlife. Someone that pulls crowd—like you. If it works, we could double your weekly take."
I leaned back, considering. The idea isn't new to me. I've been thinking of expanding Quilox club, maybe even franchising. But competition in Lagos nightlife is blood sport. You move wrong, and you're done.
"Hmm," I murmured. "Ikoyi's money zone. But rent there go bleed you dry if you no plan well. What's the investor putting down?"
Kelvin grinned. "Enough to make it worth your while. With me by your side as your manager, I'll bring more management touch. All you have to do is just to bring the name, and your connections. You know you got the crowd."
I nodded slowly, tapping my fingers against the armrest. I am tempted. Very tempted.
Then, from the kitchen, Amaka walked out—barefoot, still wearing my shirt, a faint sheen on her skin from the heat of the stove. The smell of eggs and toast followed her. She carried a glass of juice and set it on the table, right next to Kelvin.
"Here, you looked thirsty," she said with a polite smile that lingered just a second too long.
Kelvin looked up, a little caught off guard.
"Ah—thank you," he said, eyes tracking her as she walked back toward the counter.
I noticed the glance, didn't say anything, just giggled slightly to myself. I knew Amaka's effect—she has that magnetic kind of energy that draws eyes whether she wants it or not.
When she disappeared back into the kitchen, Kelvin cleared his throat.
"So... uh, like I was saying," he stammered, trying to pull his focus back to the deal.
I raised an eyebrow, amused.
"My guy, focus," I teased. "She dey distract you small, abi?"
Kelvin laughed, hands up. "Can you blame me? That one na full package. Where you find her sef?"
"Quilox, of course," I said, smiling lazily. "That club gives me everything—money, stress, and sometimes... distraction."
We both laughed again, the air lightening. But beneath the humor, my mind was still racing—numbers, logistics, competition, risk.
I got up, walked to the window, and looked out. The street below hummed with late-morning life—cars passing, vendors calling out, a lazy Sunday pulse that contrasts sharply with the chaos that will come later tonight.
Kelvin's voice broke my thoughts.
"So, we in or not?"
I turned back, lips curving into that signature grin of mine.
"We in. But I want full control of operations. If I'm putting my name on it, everything moves my way."
Kelvin slapped the table, satisfied.
"That's what I wanted to hear, boss."
From the kitchen, Amaka's voice floated in again:
"Tolu, you and your friend want more juice?"
I glanced toward her voice, smirking.
"We're good, baby. We just sealed another money move."
"Then I guess drinks are in order tonight," she said, stepping into view, smile bright, eyes glimmering.
I looked at her, then back at Kelvin, then back again. I couldn't help but laugh softly.
"You see? That's why I like her around. She brings the right energy."
Kelvin nods, still watching her, clearly intrigued.
"Energy indeed," he muttered sipping his juice.
The way Kelvin stared at her lustfully, I knew he would surely have his way with her— but I'm not bothered. She's every man's meal.
Leaning back on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, my eyes glinting with thought.
"Kelvin, you should come through to Quilox tonight," I said casually, swirling the juice in my glass. "Big night. I'm hosting something special — all the heavy hitters will be there."
Kelvin grinned, checking his wristwatch.
"I already planned to, actually. Sonia and I are pulling up tonight. You know she never misses your events."
My smile widened, slow and knowing.
"Perfect then. You'll like what's cooking tonight."
I sat forward, lowering my voice a notch.
"I've got a billionaire friend coming too. Old schoolmate from my university days. Big spender, but too quiet for his own good. Tonight, I'm dragging him out of his comfort zone — give him a taste of real nightlife."
Kelvin laughed. "You mean Quilox-style madness?"
"Exactly," I said, smiling. "I'll set him up nice — good table, best drinks, and..."
My eyes drifted to Amaka, standing by the counter with her glass of juice, her laughter like a soft melody floating in the room.
"...maybe a little company. Amaka, baby," I said, voice teasing but deliberate. "You'll treat him right, yeah? He's a good man. Just don't stress him out."
Amaka turned, raising a brow, pretending to look offended.
"Me? Stress someone? Never, so far he's up to the task, I'll make his night memorable." she said with a playful grin that made Kelvin and I laugh.
Kelvin glanced at her again, winking seductively. She blushed.
I chuckled, picking up my phone from the table. I scrolled through my contacts, found the name, and dialed it.
"Fred! My man," I said when the line connected. "You've got no excuse tonight, bro. Quilox. Ten-thirty sharp. You're not staying home this time — I'm pulling you outside, and I promise you a night you'll never forget."
I listened, grinning as Fred's laughter filled the line.
"That's what I like to hear. Good. I'll have your table ready."
I ended the call and leaned back again, satisfaction dancing in my eyes.
"He's in," I said. "Ten-thirty on the dot. Tonight's going to be something else."
The three of us fell quiet for a moment — the sound of distant traffic, the low hum of the AC, sunlight fading slowly into the golden hue of evening.
I glanced at Amaka again. She met my gaze, that mischievous spark in her eyes.
I grinned.
The night is waiting.