Chapter 4: 3AM Knock
1223 Words
The knock was soft.
But at 3am in a Lagos hotel, it sounded like a gunshot.
I stared at the door. My heart was doing stupid things.
“Can I come in?”
Alfred’s voice. Low. Tired.
I should have said no.
Rule number 1: Keep it professional.
Rule number 2: Don’t be alone with him at night.
Rule number 3: Protect your heart.
I opened the door.
He was standing there in grey sweatpants and a black tee. Hair messy. Pillow under his arm.
And he looked... lost.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I whispered back. “What are you doing?”
“The couch sucks. The bed is too big. I can’t sleep.”
He shifted. “Can I sleep here? On the floor. I won’t touch you. I swear.”
Professional distance went out the window.
I stepped aside. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”
He almost smiled. “I don’t snore.”
He laid on the floor next to the bed. On top of the blanket. 3 feet between us.
The room was dark except for city lights through the window.
Silence.
Then: “You sleep like you used to,” he said into the dark.
“What?”
“Curled up. Like you’re trying to take up less space.”
I turned over to face him. “Why are you here, Alfred?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just... I didn’t want to be alone.”
Something cracked in my chest.
This wasn’t the cold CEO. This was the Alfred from 3 years ago. The one who brought me soup when I was sick.
“Talk to me,” I said before I could stop myself.
He sighed. “What do you want to know?”
“Why you broke up with me. The real reason.”
Long pause.
“Because I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me. From my family. From this life.” He gestured vaguely at the suite, the hotel, the city.
“My dad found out about us. He said you were a gold digger. That you were using me to climb.”
My stomach twisted. “I never”
“I know,” he cut in quickly. “I told him that. But he threatened to cut me off. To ruin my mom’s company. To make sure you never worked in this country again.”
Tears burned. “So you chose them.”
“I chose to let you go so you could be free,” he said. Voice rough. “And I was a coward. I should have fought. I should have told you.”
“You let me think you didn’t care.”
“I didn’t care about anything else. Just you.”
The rain started again. Soft this time.
“I hated you,” I whispered. “For 3 years.”
“I know.”
“I still do. A little.”
He laughed quietly. “Fair.”
We laid there. Not touching. But closer than we’d been in years.
“Sleep,” he said finally. “We have work tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
I don’t know when I moved.
But I woke up with my head on his chest. His arm around me.
And his face buried in my hair.
He was awake. Watching me.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
Neither of us moved for a full minute.
Then his phone buzzed. Loud.
He groaned and reached for it. “Meeting in an hour.”
Reality crashed back.
He sat up. Ran a hand through his hair. “Last night didn’t happen.”
My face fell. “What?”
“Professionally,” he clarified quickly. “We keep this professional. At work.”
“Right,” I said, voice flat. “Professional.”
He looked guilty. “Sandra”
“Don’t,” I said, getting up. “I get it. Mr. Sterling.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m your assistant.”
I went to the bathroom and cried for 2 minutes. Then washed my face and put on my armor.
Day 2 in Lagos
The day was hell.
Chief Okonkwo’s son was at the meeting. Tunde. 30. Cocky. Rich.
And he would not stop looking at me.
“So Sandra, right?” he said after. “You free for dinner?”
Alfred answered before I could. “She’s busy.”
“With what?” Tunde grinned. “You?”
Alfred’s eyes went dark. “With work.”
The tension was so thick you could cut it.
Back at the hotel, I was organizing files when Alfred slammed the door.
“You’re not having dinner with him,” he said.
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You were smiling at him.”
“I was being polite!”
“Don’t. Be. Polite. To him.”
I dropped the files. “You don’t get to tell me who I can talk to!”
“I do when it’s my business deal on the line!”
“Then fire me!” I shouted. “If I’m such a problem!”
The room went silent.
Alfred stared at me. Chest rising and falling.
Then he crossed the room in 2 steps.
He didn’t kiss me.
He grabbed my face. Both hands. Thumb brushing my cheek.
“Sandra,” he said. Voice broken. “I’m trying so hard.”
“Trying to do what?”
“To not touch you. To not ruin you. To not do what I did 3 years ago.”
“Then stop trying,” I whispered. “And just be honest.”
His eyes searched mine.
Then he dropped his hands like he’d been burned.
“I can’t,” he said. “Not here. Not like this.”
He walked out. Slammed the door.
I slid to the floor and cried.
That Night
He didn’t come back to the room.
He slept in the living room. On the couch.
I heard him on the phone at 1am. Arguing with someone. Probably his dad.
At 4am, I couldn’t take it.
I walked out. He was asleep on the couch. Jacket as a pillow.
I covered him with a blanket.
He grabbed my wrist in his sleep. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered.
He pulled me down. Not hard. Just enough.
I ended up half on top of him. On the couch.
“Stay,” he said, eyes still closed.
So I did.
We slept like that.
Him holding me. Me holding him back.
Flight back to Port Harcourt
We didn’t talk much.
But when turbulence hit, his hand found mine.
And he didn’t let go until we landed.
In the car, he finally spoke.
“I’m sorry. For last night. For 3 years ago.”
“Okay.”
“Can we... can we try this again? Properly. Outside of work.”
I looked at him. “Alfred, you’re my boss.”
“I know.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“I know.”
I sighed. “Pick me up at 7. Casual. No suits.”
His face lit up. Like I’d given him the world.
“Deal.”
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