ABUJA BADDIES
Chapter 3 — Power Has a Price
By morning, Abuja was already dressed in heat.
The city always looked calm in the early hours — clean roads, silent estates, tinted cars gliding past like secrets on wheels. But beneath the stillness, deals were being made.
And undone.
Amara Okonkwo did not sleep.
She watched the numbers crash in real time.
Red.
More red.
Her crypto exchange platform — the one she had quietly invested millions into — was under investigation.
A regulatory freeze.
Temporary, the news said.
But in Nigeria, temporary could become permanent overnight.
Her phone rang.
"Tell me it's manageable," she said before the caller even spoke.
Her lawyer's voice was tight. "There's pressure from above."
"Above who?"
A pause.
"Federal."
Her jaw clenched.
Her father's name had been trending again last week — an old corruption case that never quite died. She had spent years building her empire far away from his shadow.
And now?
The shadow was stretching.
Meanwhile in Asokoro, Laila Hassan sat at the breakfast table across from her father.
Senator Hassan did not waste words.
"You were seen last night."
Laila lifted her tea calmly. "At dinner?"
"With Zara Bello and the others."
"Yes."
He studied her. "And a Suleiman."
Her fingers paused slightly against porcelain.
Malik.
"That family is expanding its influence," her father continued. "Construction contracts. Energy bids. Strategic alliances."
"And?" Laila asked carefully.
"And I don't want you entangled."
Entangled.
As if she were some naïve socialite.
"I choose my associations wisely," she replied smoothly.
He held her gaze for a long moment.
"In Abuja, alliances are currency," he said finally. "And marriages are mergers."
The message was clear.
Her future was not romantic.
It was strategic.
Across town, Teni was trending.
Again.
Her rooftop dinner post from two nights ago had exploded. Fashion blogs were reposting her emerald dress. Brands were flooding her inbox.
But the comments had shifted.
"Isn't that venue sponsored?"
"Soft life but no real receipts."
"We heard your apartment lease is overdue."
Her smile faltered as she scrolled.
Who leaked that?
Only a few people knew about her landlord increasing the rent.
Abuja didn't forgive image cracks.
Influencer power was fragile.
And someone was testing her.
Zara, on the other hand, was being watched.
Her father's study smelled of leather and history.
"Malik Suleiman met you," Mr. Bello said casually, not looking up from his paperwork.
Zara didn't react. "He introduced himself."
Her father finally lifted his eyes.
"His family is ambitious."
"So are we."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"That's my daughter."
But then his tone shifted.
"Be careful."
"Of him?"
"Of timing."
She understood immediately.
There were oil contracts being renegotiated. Foreign investors circling. Political shifts coming.
In Abuja, nothing happened randomly.
Not even attraction.
That evening, Zara received an invitation.
Private polo event.
Exclusive guest list.
Location: a private field on the outskirts of the city.
Host: Suleiman Holdings.
She stared at the card for a long moment.
He moved fast.
Intentional.
Just like he said.
Her phone buzzed again.
Malik:
I assume you received the invitation.
She didn't reply immediately.
Instead, she typed in the group chat.
Zara:
Polo this weekend. Suleiman event.
Teni:
We are attending. Obviously.
Amara:
I need distraction. Count me in.
Laila:
I'll confirm.
Zara finally responded to Malik.
Zara:
I don't do public displays.
His reply came seconds later.
Good. I prefer private negotiations.
Her pulse shifted again.
He wasn't flirting.
He was positioning.
Late that night, Amara stood alone in her penthouse staring at the city lights.
Her laptop chimed.
New headline.
"Federal Task Force Expands Investigation Into Financial Technology Firms."
Her company logo sat faintly in the corner of the article preview.
Power had a price.
And someone was presenting the bill.
At the same time, across the city, Malik stood in his own glass office overlooking Abuja's skyline.
His assistant entered quietly.
"The Okonkwo investigation is gaining traction," she said.
"And Bello Oil?" he asked.
"Negotiations begin next week."
He nodded slowly.
Everything was aligning.
Not by accident.
By design.
He picked up his phone and stared at Zara's last message.
She thought this was social.
It wasn't.
In Abuja, luxury was camouflage.
And he was hunting.