Chioma's POV — Outside DC Lagos
The afternoon heat pressed down like a second skin, heavy and clinging. I hadn't realized how stifling the restaurant had felt until we stepped outside, into the honest air, where everything felt sharp and unfiltered.
Kelvin's hand fell away from my back, but the ghost of it remained, a phantom warmth I couldn't shake. He didn't speak immediately, just reached into his pocket, retrieving his shades, sliding them on with a careless kind of grace that made my stomach clench in ways it had no business clenching.
"Walk with me," he said.
Not a question.
I fell into step beside him, unsure where we were going but knowing I wasn't about to say no.
The compound stretched out behind the restaurant, a narrow path lined with struggling potted plants and a weather-beaten staff bulletin board that no one seemed to have touched in months. He led us past it, to a quieter corner where the generator hum softened and the only sound was the occasional flap of laundry from a nearby window.
Kelvin stopped, leaning back against a wall, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable behind those dark lenses, but something in his posture—tense, watchful—gave him away.
"I need to know if you're ready for what's coming," he said, voice low, a shade rougher than before.
I blinked. "Meaning?"
He tilted his head, studying me. "This branch is about to get messy. Heads will roll. Allegiances will shift. People are going to resent you for walking in and seeing what they've been too scared or too lazy to call out."
My heart thudded hard. Not fear exactly—but something like it. The awareness that whatever line I might have crossed last night, or this morning, wasn't the only one. This was bigger than us. Bigger than flirtation. This was war, and Kelvin didn't fight battles halfway.
I took a breath. "I didn't come here to make friends."
His mouth quirked in something like a smile. "Good."
A long silence stretched between us, thick with everything we weren't saying. About last night. About this morning. About the way his gaze lingered just a second too long before flicking away.
Then, softer, he said, "You surprised me back there."
I raised a brow. "How?"
"You didn't hold back." He pushed off the wall, closing the space between us by a step. "Most people do, around me."
"I don't see the point," I murmured.
"Neither do I."
He reached up then—fingers brushing a stray curl off my cheek. Not necessary. Not even that intimate. But it burned all the same.
I swallowed. The air crackled.
I should've stepped back. Should've broken whatever was tightening between us. But instead, I asked, quietly, "And what about you, Kelvin? Are you ready for what's coming?"
His lips curved. Not quite a smile. Not quite a warning. "I was born ready, nkem."
The pet name slipped out so smoothly it took a beat for me to register it. My pulse jumped.
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed.
Kelvin glanced at the screen, muttered a quiet curse under his breath. Justin.
I felt something coil tight in my stomach. I didn't move. Neither did he.
He picked the call.
"Yeah," his voice shifted, easy, familiar — the tone you reserve for people who've seen you at your worst and still stick around. "Still at the branch… yeah, it's bad… no, you don't wanna see it… yeah, she's here."
A glance at me. Quick. Measured. Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could catch it.
There was a pause, then a sigh. "I don't know about that, bro. She's not the same girl from back then."
Another pause. A soft chuckle. "Yeah, I get it. But we're swamped. Might be tight."
Another glance at me, and this time it lingered.
"Tell you what," Kelvin said. "I'll see how it goes. If there's time later, I'll hit you up."
He ended the call without waiting for a reply.
I raised a brow. "Problem?"
He slid his phone into his pocket, face unreadable behind his shades. "Justin wants to hang out."
My throat tightened at the mention of his name. Even now, even here, it still carried weight in my chest.
Kelvin shrugged, a casual gesture that didn't quite reach his voice. "I told him we'd be too busy."
I searched his face. "Would we?"
A small smirk touched his lips. "We will be."
Something in his tone made it clear — he had no plans of letting that meet-up happen. Not today. Maybe not ever.
And maybe he didn't need to say it out loud, but I understood. He knew. About how I used to feel. About what Justin used to mean.
And yet… here we were.
I looked away, pretending to study the battered bulletin board. The air felt heavier than the sun should've made it.
Kelvin took a step closer again, voice low. "I'm not saying you can't see him, Chioma. I just don't think it's a good idea."
I lifted my chin. "Why? Because of work?"
He hesitated. Then, quieter, "Because of you."
I swallowed. My pulse loud in my ears.
He didn't explain. Didn't have to.
And in that moment — as stupid as it was, as complicated as it could get — I wasn't sure whether to be angry… or relieved.
Instead, I just nodded. "Let's finish what we came here for."
He smiled then, a slow, knowing thing. "That's my girl."
And just like that, the moment broke. He turned, heading back toward the car, leaving me to follow.
And I did.
Not because I had to.
But because, for reasons I couldn't admit — I wanted to.