Ife slept with the lights on.
It wasn't fear exactly—not the kind that made her hide under blankets or cry into pillows. It was awareness. The sense that something invisible had stepped into her life and refused to leave.
At exactly 2:17 a.m., her phone vibrated.
She reached for it instantly.
Arden: Are you awake?
She exhaled and typed back.
Ife: I was pretending not to be.
A pause.
Arden: I shouldn't have left.
She smiled faintly in the dark.
Ife: You stayed long enough.
Another pause.
Arden: That's not what I meant.
She stared at the ceiling, then replied.
Ife: I know.
Morning came too fast.
Ife stepped outside with her guard up, scanning the street before locking the gate. Nothing looked different—but that didn't mean anything. Lagos had taught her that danger didn't always announce itself.
At the bus stop, her phone rang.
Arden.
"I'm picking you up," he said without preamble.
"You don't own a car," she replied.
"I do now."
She blinked. "Since when?"
"Since five minutes ago."
Despite herself, she laughed. "That's not how ownership works."
"It is when Victor is involved," he said dryly.
She spotted the black car pulling up. Arden stepped out, looking uncomfortable in his borrowed authority.
She raised an eyebrow. "You look like a bodyguard who lost his job."
He opened the door for her. "Get in before I regret this."
They drove in silence for a moment.
Then Ife spoke. "You don't need to escort me everywhere."
"I want to."
"That's not what I said."
He sighed. "I'm not trying to cage you."
"Good," she said. "Because I bite."
That earned him a smile.
Later, they sat in a quiet café—one Arden had never been to before.
"Routine is dangerous," he explained.
"Living in fear is worse," she countered.
He met her gaze. "I'm not afraid."
She softened. "You are. Just not for yourself."
The truth hung between them.
That afternoon, Arden made a decision.
He stood outside Ife's place, hands shoved into his pockets, watching the street.
"I'm staying close," he said.
She frowned. "That sounds like a promise."
"It is."
She stepped closer. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
He hesitated—then said, "I won't let anything happen to you."
Her expression shifted. Serious now. "That's not a promise you get to make alone."
"I know," he said quietly. "But it's the one I need."
The test came sooner than expected.
As Ife stepped out that evening, a man brushed past her—too close. His hand grazed her arm.
"Sorry," he muttered.
But something slipped into her palm.
She froze.
Inside the house, she unfolded the paper.
Stay away from him.
Her stomach twisted.
She didn't scream. Didn't panic.
She picked up her phone and called Arden.
"They were here," she said calmly.
His voice sharpened instantly. "Are you hurt?"
"No."
"I'm coming."
He arrived within minutes.
When she showed him the note, something dark crossed his face.
"They're getting closer," he said.
She took his hand. "So are we."
He looked at her like she was something sacred and terrifying all at once.
"This isn't fair," he said. "I brought this into your life."
"You didn't," she replied. "You just stopped hiding it."
That night, they sat side by side on the couch, not touching, yet closer than ever.
"I don't need you to be fearless," Ife said softly. "I need you to be honest."
He nodded. "Then here's the truth. Loving you scares me more than any enemy."
She smiled gently. "Good. That means it's real."
Outside, the city buzzed on—unaware, relentless.
Inside, two people made a promise they both knew would be tested.