Beats79 pulsed with energy, a living beast of neon lights and pounding music. The air was thick, a mix of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation.
The sheer volume of people, from ladies and gents to boys and girls, made the dance floor incredibly dense, with everyone surrendering to the music's groove. The night was reaching its peak, an untamed frenzy where inhibitions dissolved like ice on whiskey.
An offer was on the table: the best dancer would get free drinks for a month—and esteemed VIP access.
A shadowy figure stood in a corner of the club, a black leather jacket camouflaging him in the darkness. He watched the dancers intently; a spark of curiosity rested in his deep coal eyes.
Then a smirk cut across his face.
Slowly, he stepped out of the shadow, revealing a towering 6'1" solid frame. His oval face was flawless; his short hair was trimmed to perfection. A playful smile rested on his lips.
The crowd shifted as a spotlight stooped over his head. Several pairs of eyes turned to him instantly.
They all knew who he was.
Lucky Dante. Abuja's biggest playboy
He placed the offer. Lucky wasn't the most generous person in the world. His sinful smirk hinted at a much darker intention. He walked again, his movement graceful, as if he hovered in the air, toward the bar at the far end of the hall.
A lady in her early twenties crossed his path and walked in front of him, hips swaying in rhythm.
Lucky smiled.
Without a doubt, she was a vision of beauty, so divinely blessed that the great Lucky Dante found himself tempted.
He leaned in, hovering his mouth over her ear with playful glee.
"Another time, darling." He whispered.
She grinned. Yet she understood.
He already had a target for the night.
Everyone was familiar with the antics of the charming playboy. He sits in a corner like a predator, searching. And when he moves, there is no distracting him.
She sat at the bar—an island of stillness in the club's chaos. He'd been watching her since she walked in. She was gorgeous, with curves in all the right places.
Warding off every guy that came close to her, never even turning her head to acknowledge the offers.
A perfect 9/10. To get that high on Lucky's scale meant a lot. Yet it was obvious she was searching for something more, as if waiting.
His eyes gleamed. She was waiting for him.
"A beautiful woman should never be alone," he muttered, unless it's in my bed.
Sliding into the seat beside her, he waited for his presence and cologne… to announce him. A drink soon appeared.
Then she turned slightly, a small frown on her face.
"You're too close."
"You know," he said low, his voice smooth as the whiskey in his glass, "I thought for a second you were waiting for me. But then I realized…" He paused, watching for a flicker of curiosity in her eyes—slightly disappointed there was none. "You don't wait for anyone, do you?"
She turned fully, her elongated face and brown eyes in their perfection. Her mouth opened. Still, no words came. She took another sip of her drink.
Good, I wouldn't be here if she were that easy.
"Smart boy." She muttered, her voice smooth like silk, laced with challenge.
"But if you think flattery gets you anywhere with me, you're failing."
Lucky grinned.
It was obvious she was new in town; it was always the one who knew nothing about him, yet he could hear it in her voice.
She had experience. She might have been new in town, but not new to this life.
It only made him want her more. Victory was certain.
"Care to dance with me?"
'Why?"
"One dance wouldn't hurt."
"You might not know, but there's a VIP offer for a month for the best dancer."
A spark appeared in her eyes only to dim a second later. Confusion.
Only now did she notice how many eyes were on them…on him.
Who exactly was this guy?
Taking another look at him, he wasn't that bad, his half-buttoned shirt exposing his hairy chest, a thought crept into her mind.
Pressure coiled around her. What was so special about him that turned the entire club in their direction?
He was popular or something.
Unknown to her, they were all watching to see Lucky's latest prey.
"Promise you'll leave me alone after?" she asked.
He nodded; one dance was all he needed.
"Your wish is my command princess."
He took her hand, leading her as the crowd made way for them.
The DJ spotted them.
The tempo changed into something low, sensual, deliberate. Then rock.
She moved first, twisting to the rhythm, adapting faster than he expected.
Lucky's brows lifted in mind surprise. Oh? She was good.
But he was better.
He closed the space between them, pulling her flush against him. His hands traced down her back, slow down the line of her spine. She shivered, then tensed.
Resisting for a moment…. a brief moment.
Lucky was patient, allowing her hesitation settle.
When she didn't pull away, he pressed further, hovering his lips above her ear. They were both moving gently as the beat came and went, but she couldn't hear most of it anymore.
He placed a light kiss on her neck. Filling her neck with warmth from his breath.
She was close to him, too close. Her breast was pressed against his chest, yet she moved closer. The heat of the moment was overwhelming her every resistance.
What had this handsome stranger done to her?
Inhaling sharply, it still wasn't enough to get her body under control. She was at his mercy now.
Lucky smiled darkly.
His hands strolled further, gliding over her hips, fingers grazing the top of her thighs, teasing the line between bold and sinful.
"What do you want?" he whispered, voice dark and intoxicating. He met her gaze; her eyes were almost teary. But there was little hesitation in them now.
It worked.
She exhaled sharply, then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a desperate, consuming kiss. Their lips crashed. Her body pressed into his, her curves melding against his frame.
Lucky growled low, gripping her ass firmly. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and he felt himself harden. Fuck.
"Not here." His voice was husky, thick with promise.
She didn't protest when he took her hand and led her off the dance floor.
Around them, familiar faces smirked, raising drinks in silent approval. Another conquest. Another spectacle.
But Lucky didn't care.
Tonight, she was his.
****************
The new GRA of Port Harcourt rose like a promise kept too late.
Glass and steel cut into the morning sky, skyscrapers standing where dusty roads and half-forgotten buildings once were. Anyone returning after a few years away would struggle to recognize the place. Progress had moved fast here—too fast to question who paid the price.
It wasn't the government that made things better. It was all thanks to one person.
At the topmost floor of the tallest building sat Kelvin Afor.
He did not look like a man under pressure.
Kelvin's back rested against his chair, long fingers steepled beneath his chin, sharp black eyes fixed on the city beyond the glass walls. From this height, Port Harcourt looked obedient—small, silent, owned. The boardroom behind him buzzed with restrained tension.
"K—Kelvin," one of them began carefully, clearing his throat. "Relocating the headquarters now would destabilize operations. The city—"
Kelvin turned his head slowly.
The man stopped speaking.
Kelvin had a perfect face with sharp black eyes and clear brown skin. His gaze alone carried weight—cold, precise, and final.
"You're worried about sentiment," Kelvin said calmly.
Another board member leaned forward. "We're worried about loyalty. Akor was built here. The people—"
"The people will survive," Kelvin cut in, voice even. "Cities always do."
A murmur rippled through the room.
One woman folded her arms. "Port Harcourt gave this company its foundation."
Kelvin stood.
The room fell silent.
He walked to the table, palms resting against polished wood, leaning just enough to command attention. "This company exists because I allow it to. Its location is not a debate."
"You can't dismiss—"
"My decision is final."
No anger. No raised voice.
Just certainty.
Kelvin straightened, adjusted his cufflinks, and turned toward the door. Behind him, he felt it—the quiet collapse of resistance. Dreams deflating. Influence slipping away.
He paused only once.
"Prepare the transition documents," he said. "We move to Abuja within the quarter."
Then he left.
Kelvin was smug; they should have known he was only giving them an automaton, or respect, per se. They couldn't see things as he did. Otherwise, they'd each have a billion-dollar company.
It was time for fresh air. Abuja seemed just like the place to start.
***********
Nelly screamed—but no sound came out.
Her legs gave way beneath her, knees slamming into the pavement. Pain shot up her body, sharp and immediate, but it barely registered.
Ken lay in front of her.
Blood spilled from his mouth, dark and unreal, soaking into the concrete. A hole gaped in his chest, red spreading fast, too fast.
"No," she whispered.
Her throat burned. Her lungs refused to work.
They had been laughing minutes ago.
Walking home from lectures, fingers intertwined, arguing over nothing that mattered. She had insisted they wait—just a few more minutes—until her elder brother finished his meeting. Ken hadn't complained. He never did. He only smiled at her, that soft smile that made her feel safe.
"Future billionaire," she used to tease, tapping his notebook whenever he pulled it out.
"Correction," he'd reply, grinning. "Future inventor. Billionaires are boring."
It was only their third year, and their bond grew stronger still. Despite the harshness of UniAbuja.
He had shown her his sketches that day. Lines and formulas. Ideas scribbled with messy excitement. Dreams too big for their small student rooms.
Then the motorbike came.
Fast. Loud.
A hand reached out, snatching her bag in one violent tug. Her scream tore through the street as the bike sped ahead.
"Hey!" Ken shouted.
Before she could stop him, he was already running.
"Ken—wait!"
He didn't.
She watched him scoop a stone from the roadside, his arm snapping forward with frightening precision. The stone struck the rider. The bike skidded. Crashed.
For one heartbeat, joy surged through her.
"Yes!" she yelled, clapping her hands. "You're crazy!"
The passenger rose slowly, rage etched into his face.
Ken charged.
Her smile died.
"Ken!" she screamed. "Stop!"
The gun came out so fast she barely registered it.
Gbam.
She ducked.
Gbam.
Silence.
When she looked up, Ken was on the ground.
Her knees hit the tar again, skin scraping raw. She crawled toward him, hands shaking, vision blurring.
Blood pooled beneath him. His chest moved in shallow, broken jerks.
"Ken… Ken, please…" she begged, pressing her hands against the wound as if she could push life back inside him.
He opened his mouth.
"N–Nelly…" His lips trembled. "I -I L–love you…"
She shook her head violently. "Don't. Don't talk like that."
His eyes lost focus.
"No—no, no—!"
Blood spilled outward, creeping toward her, climbing her legs like something alive. The street warped, bending, stretching.
She tried to stand, but her hands burst from the ground.
Cold. Pale. Gripping her ankles.
She screamed as they dragged her down, the pavement cracking open beneath her.
Suddenly, she stood before a grave.
Fresh earth. Her name was carved beside his.
"I wasn't there," she whispered. "I fainted. I couldn't—"
The soil shifted.
Ken climbed out.
His eyes burned—not with love, but accusation.
"You chose the route," he said.
She shook her head. "I didn't know."
"You stayed back."
"I didn't mean—"
"Avenge me."
His finger pointed straight at her chest.
"Avenge me."
Nelly woke up with a sharp gasp, soaked in sweat. Her body trembled as the memory washed over her—the same nightmare.
It had been over 10 years; she'd lied to herself, she'd stop counting, even trying to move on.
Still, the memory never left.
It was precisely why she was back here, in this city where her nightmare had formed; running away didn't help anymore.
She sat up slowly, breath uneven, chest rising and falling as if her body were still deciding whether to flee or fight. Her fingers curled into the bedsheet, knuckles whitening.
Enough.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, feet touching the cold floor. The chill grounded her.
"I'll avenge you," she whispered.
There had been a time—she remembered it clearly—when the nightmares stopped. When Ken's face faded into something distant and quiet. She had convinced herself she had moved on.
That illusion shattered five years ago.
She hadn't been looking for anything. Just scrolling, restless, killing time. A small startup based in Port Harcourt had caught her attention.
Tech wasn't her world—but it had been his.
The prototype image made her sit up straighter.
Too familiar.
Then another,
By the third, coincidence was no longer an option.
She went back to that night again and again, replaying every step, every choice, every delay. Each detail sharpened until memory bled into obsession. Sleep became impossible. When it came, the dreams returned—twisted, accusing.
Ken hadn't died by chance.
His body's gone.
The journal stolen.
The silence that followed.
She pushed. Harder than she should have.
The police.
Someone they both knew.
Old contacts. Old Favor's.
Nothing.
Whispers. Dead ends. Closed doors.
Her mother noticed first—the dark circles, the sudden anger, the way Nelly flinched at unfamiliar numbers. She said Nelly was losing herself. That grief had turned poisonous.
Within months, she was gone—sent out of the country under the excuse of healing.
For a while, the distance worked.
Or at least, it pretended to.
Now she was back.
She had convinced her mother she was better. Stable. Done with the past.
That part was the lie.
She had tried everything.
Almost everything.
And this—this would be her last move.
It has to work.