Chapter 46: Last Warning
Anderson Estate – Master Suite
Saturday, 8:47 AM
Imani's bare feet slapped against cold marble as she burst into Damian's office, phone still glowing with the frozen hospital feed—the man in dark scrubs, black onyx cufflinks gleaming like twin warnings beside her mother's IV line.
The office was empty.
Downstairs, the footsteps had stopped.
Victor Adeyemi waited at the foot of the grand staircase, one hand resting lightly on the banister, charcoal suit impeccable. No haste. No raised voice. Just that quiet, tailored menace.
"Imani," he said, almost gently. "Breathe. Your mother is fine. For now."
She gripped the railing. "What do you want?"
Victor climbed three steps. Slow. Deliberate.
Five seconds stretched.
"I came to warn you personally. This is the last time."
His eyes locked on hers—flat, unreadable.
"Stay with Damian again tonight. Sleep under his roof. Let him touch you the way you did in that rain-soaked car… and the games end. Next time it won't be suspense and syringes. Something terrible will happen. To her. To you. To anyone who tries to stand between me and what I want."
He offered a thin smile. "Consider this mercy. I rarely deliver warnings in person."
The small pressure coiled in Imani's chest—manageable for now, but already uncomfortable, like a wire drawn tight beneath her skin.
Victor turned and descended without hurry. At the bottom he glanced back once.
"Tick tock. Choose better."
Cross-cut – Anderson Corporate Tower, 23rd Floor
Monday, 10:15 AM
Panic hung thick in the boardroom—stale coffee, misaligned slides, and the telecom client's growing scowl.
Sarian and Lola's presentation was collapsing. Charts contradicted each other. Data made no sense for a ₦2.8 billion campaign. The lead rep leaned back, arms folded. "This is amateur hour. We expected Anderson standards."
Damian sat at the head of the table, jaw locked.
Imani slipped in at 10:22 AM, still dressed from the morning university run. She read the disaster in seconds, took the clicker without asking, and stepped forward.
Seven minutes later the room had shifted. Her reframed pitch wove in sharp cultural insights and fresh market data only she had pulled over the weekend. The client uncrossed his arms. Applause followed—genuine this time.
Later, in Damian's private office, door closed.
He didn't sit. Just studied her.
"You saved a deal that was bleeding out. Again."
Imani shrugged, warmth creeping into her cheeks. "It was my project. They weren't ready."
Damian stepped closer, voice low, meant only for her. "You're brilliant. And now they all know it." His thumb brushed her wrist once—quick, hidden. "Don't take another day off without telling me first."
The praise landed soft, but the small pressure returned. Why did his approval feel like another thread being pulled tighter?
Cross-cut – Lekki–Epe Expressway toward Pan-Atlantic University
Monday, 6:55 AM (earlier)
Morning mist still clung to the expressway, rain from Friday leaving the tarmac slick. Construction cones narrowed the lanes into a tense funnel. Distant horns formed the usual Lagos soundtrack.
Maya and Becky sat in the back, crisp uniforms, new laptops, quiet freshman nerves.
At the university gates—lush, guarded, expensive—Imani and Damian stood aside while the girls said goodbye.
Becky hugged Imani fiercely. "Don't let them break you."
Maya pulled her brother aside. She rose on tiptoes, voice fierce and low.
"Treat her well, Dam . Really well. Don't let Mom and Ivy bully her like the others. She's not like them."
Damian's face softened in a way Imani had never witnessed—the ruthless CEO reduced to protective older brother. He extended his pinky.
"Pinky promise. No bullying. No leaving her exposed."
Maya hooked hers with his, eyes glistening. "Seal it."
Imani watched from a few steps away, heart twisting. This side of Damian—gentle, human—made dangerous warmth bloom inside her. Admiration laced with quiet dread: how much deeper could she fall before Victor's warning snapped the line?
On the drive home the expressway opened slightly. Imani turned to him, teasing to mask the undercurrent.
"So… pinky promises? I thought the great Damian Anderson only dealt in ironclad contracts and NDAs."
He glanced at her. One corner of his mouth twitched.
"Shut up."
She laughed softly. "Make me."
Damian exhaled—then a real laugh broke free. Low. Warm. It rumbled through the car like sunlight cracking storm clouds and completely transformed his face.
Imani couldn't look away. She admired him even more—dangerously so.
She reached over and squeezed his hand on the gear shift. "I like this version of you."
He didn't pull away. "Careful, Imani. I might start liking it too."
The moment felt tender. Fragile. Hopeful.
But in the rearview mirror, a silver sedan had held position three cars back for the last twelve kilometers. Nothing obvious. Just… consistent.
Imani's phone buzzed once in her bag. Unknown number. She didn't check it.
Cross-cut – Victor Adeyemi's Private Residence, Ikoyi
Monday, 11:03 AM
Victor watched the split screens.
One feed: the Range Rover, Imani's hand still resting on Damian's.
Another: hospital room 407, the man in dark scrubs openly adjusting the IV drip, smiling directly at the hidden camera.
Victor leaned back, sipping espresso.
"Emotional decisions always escalate so beautifully."
He typed a single scheduled text to Imani, timestamped for 11:59 PM.
Draft:
He laughed with you today.
Tomorrow he won't be laughing when your mother flatlines at 3:17 AM.
Walk away before midnight. Last chance.
Photo attached: black onyx cufflinks beside a vial clearly labeled "potassium chloride – lethal dose."
He saved it and smiled.
Cross-cut – Anderson Estate, Private Driveway
Monday, 7:42 PM
They pulled in after a long day. The estate gates clanged shut behind them.
Imani stepped out first. The humid evening air felt heavier than usual. A gardener trimming hedges in the distance paused his shears a beat too long when he saw them.
Damian came around the car. "Dinner?"
She nodded, but her mind kept flicking back to Victor's warning, the silver sedan, the unread text burning in her bag.
As they walked toward the entrance, her phone vibrated again.
She glanced down.
Unknown:
He's already left you sleeping once this weekend.
How long until he does it when it really matters?
Imani looked up sharply.
Damian had already stepped inside, calling for staff.
The heavy front door stood ajar.
On the marble console table just inside the foyer sat a single black onyx cufflink—placed with deliberate care, catching the overhead light like a dark eye.
No note.
No one else in sight.
But from the shadowed corridor beyond, slow footsteps echoed—deliberate, unhurried—coming closer.
Imani's breath locked in her throat.
Victor's voice drifted out, soft and final.
"Welcome home, Imani.
Time to choose."