HIDDEN LOVE

HIDDEN LOVE

### *HIDDEN LOVE*

#### *Chapter 2: The Guest Room*

_∼5,020 words_

The door clicked shut behind Victor, but the sound echoed in Victoria’s chest like a gunshot.

“Stay.”

She was still standing with her hand on the handle, the 5 million naira cheque folded inside her bag like a hot coal. The Lagos rain hammered the 33 floors of glass around her. Eight-thirty at night and the city below was a river of lights she had never been allowed to swim in.

Victor didn’t turn around. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in his black suit pants and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets. From behind he looked like every billionaire CEO on a magazine cover. Tense. Untouchable. Alone.

“The 24 hours is over,” Victoria said quietly. Her voice sounded small in the huge, empty penthouse. “You paid me. My mom—”

“Will die if you only have 5 million,” Victor finished. His voice was flat. No emotion. Like he was reading a report. “Dialysis. Surgery. Post-op care. One year of drugs. That’s 9.8 million in St. Mary’s Benin.”

Victoria’s breath caught. “How do you know—”

“I looked you up,” he said. “Before I called you. Standard procedure.”

He finally turned. And the mask slipped for half a second. He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair messy from running his hands through it. The CEO armor was cracking and underneath was just a man who hadn’t slept.

“The board moved the launch,” Victor said. “Seven days. Full global rebrand of BlackTech. New logo, new website, new app UI, new investor campaign. Dubai, London, New York. If one pixel leaks, we lose 200 million dollars and the company’s credibility.”

He walked to the kitchen island. Poured himself water. Didn’t offer her any.

“I can’t use an agency,” he continued. “Agencies have 20 people. 20 people talk. 20 people post on LinkedIn. 20 people sell stories to Linda Ikeji for 50k.”

He looked at her. “You have no agency. No interns. No Twitter. No one to sell to. And you’re desperate enough to stay in this house for seven days and not ask questions.”

Victoria swallowed. “That sounds like a hostage situation, Mr. Black.”

“It’s 10 million naira,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t need to look.

`Unknown: Vicky, nurse said mama’s BP dropped. They need 850k for dialysis tomorrow morning or they’ll postpone again. Please.`

The walls of the penthouse suddenly felt closer.

Leaving meant Benin tonight. A bus. 850k gone. And still 4 million short for the surgery.

Staying meant 10 million. Private room. The best doctors. And seven days locked in with the coldest man in Nigeria.

Victoria let out a breath. “What are the rules?”

Victor’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Like he’d been expecting her to say no.

“Guest room is down that hall,” he pointed. “Don’t enter my bedroom. Don’t touch my phone. Don’t post anything. Don’t leave the building. Daniel brings food. WiFi is BlackTech2026. Project files are on the MacBook in your room. First concepts due 6am.”

“6am?” Victoria blinked. “It’s 8:30pm.”

“Then start.” He turned and walked away, down the hall, and closed a door without another word.

Victoria stood in the middle of 200 million dollars of marble and silence.

Then she whispered, “Okay. I’ll stay.”

---

#### *THE GUEST ROOM*

It was wrong.

The room was bigger than the entire flat she shared with three girls in Yaba. King size bed with white sheets that looked like clouds. A desk with two 32-inch monitors, a Wacom tablet, and a MacBook Pro still sealed in plastic.

The bathroom had a rain shower and towels thick enough to be blankets. The closet was empty except for a folded black hoodie on the bed.

And a note. Same neat, sharp handwriting.

`AC is aggressive. You’ll need this. -V`

Victoria picked up the hoodie. It smelled like him. Expensive cologne and rain. She dropped it on the chair like it burned and opened the MacBook.

Desktop wallpaper: black.

Files: `BLACKTECH_GLOBAL_REBRAND_V7`. 500GB.

And one text file: `BRIEF.txt`

`Objective: Make investors afraid to say no.

Tone: Power. Legacy. Inevitable.

Deadline: 7 days.

Don’t fail me. -V`

That was it. No mood board. No examples. Just pressure.

Victoria plugged in her laptop and got to work.

---

#### *HOUR 3: 11:47PM*

Her eyes burned. Her back hurt. She had 6 logo drafts and they all looked like student projects.

A soft knock.

“Come in,” she said without looking up.

The door opened. Victor. Black sweatpants. Black t-shirt. Hair still damp. Holding two mugs.

He didn’t ask. He just came in and set one mug on her desk.

“Coffee. Black. No sugar,” he said. “You were frowning at monitor 1.”

Victoria stared. “How did you—”

“Cameras in the living room,” he said. “Not in here.”

He walked to her screens. Scrolled through her work in silence. Ten seconds.

“The black is wrong,” he said. “Too flat. It needs depth. Like money. Like oil.”

He leaned over her. His arm brushed hers. He typed a new hex code himself. `#0A0A0A` to `#121212`.

“There.” He straightened. “Better.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. At the thrifted dress she’d been wearing for 24 hours. At her cracked lips. At her hands shaking from too much caffeine and no food.

“You should eat,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re lying.” He left. Door closed.

Eight minutes later, another knock. A tray. Jollof rice, chicken, plantain, and water.

Post-it note: `Eat. You don’t design well when you’re hungry. -V`

Victoria ate on the floor because sitting at the desk felt too formal. And she cried quietly because the last time someone fed her without wanting something back was her mom, before she got sick.

---

#### *DAY 1: 6:02AM*

Victoria hit send on the first 8 concepts at 5:59am.

At 6:00am sharp, her door opened. Victor. In a full suit. Tie perfect. Like he’d been awake all night too.

“Conference room. Now.”

They walked in silence to the 11th floor. The room was all glass and steel. He plugged her laptop into the big screen.

He didn’t introduce her. Didn’t say her name. Just clicked.

Slide 1: `BLACKTECH`

Slide 2: `THE FUTURE ISN’T COMING`

Slide 3: `IT’S HERE`

For 20 minutes he went through everything. No emotion. No comments.

When it ended, he closed the laptop.

“Good,” he said. “Now do it again. But better.”

That was the whole feedback.

---

#### *DAY 3: THE FIGHT*

By day 3 they had a rhythm. Work 16 hours. 2 meals appeared. 3 arguments before dinner.

Tonight it blew up.

“It’s too cold,” Victoria said in his office at 10pm. She pointed at the logo on the wall screen. Sharp angles. Black. Aggressive. “People don’t trust this. They fear it.”

“Good,” Victor said without looking up from his emails. “Fear makes people invest.”

“People invest in hope,” Victoria shot back. “In connection. That’s why you started BlackTech.”

Victor stopped typing. “You don’t know why I started BlackTech.”

“Then tell me!”

He stood. Slowly. “My mother died in St. Mary’s five years ago,” he said. Voice dead. “Kidney failure. I had the money for a new machine by the time she needed it. The hospital didn’t have one. Bureaucracy. So I built BlackTech to buy hospitals. But the board said ‘not profitable’. So now I build apps instead.”

Victoria’s throat closed. “Victor, I—”

“Don’t.” He cut her off. “Just finish the work.”

He walked out. Door slammed.

Victoria sat on the floor and cried.

At 1am there was a knock. She opened it.

Victor. Holding a sketchbook.

He didn’t speak. He handed it to her.

Inside were 40 logo sketches. All of them softer. Rounder. With a small heart hidden in the negative space of the B.

“Like this?” he asked. Voice rough.

Victoria nodded, tears on the paper. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Fine. We’ll use it.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “And thank you. For saying it.”

---

#### *DAY 5: 2:14AM*

They were both delirious.

Victoria was on the couch in the living room, wrapped in the black hoodie, laptop on her knees. Victor was on the rug, tie off, surrounded by printouts.

“Why is this house so empty?” she asked suddenly. “No photos. No art. Nothing.”

“Clutter is distraction,” Victor said.

“Lies. You’re scared to remember.”

He looked at her. “And you’re scared to stop working because if you stop, you’ll think about the hospital bill.”

They stared.

“Fair,” Victoria whispered.

He almost smiled. Almost.

Her laptop died. Charger was in her room.

She stood up too fast and got dizzy. Victor caught her arm.

“Easy,” he said. His hand was warm on her elbow. He let go slowly.

“Go sleep. Four hours. That’s an order.”

“I still have—”

“Order, Victoria.”

She nodded. “Goodnight, Victor.”

He froze when she said his name. “Goodnight.”

---

#### *DAY 7: THE LAST NIGHT*

8pm. Everything was done. Website. App. Campaign. Video.

Daniel came with a black envelope. Inside: a cheque. 10,000,000 Naira.

“Car at 8am to the airport,” Daniel said. “Mr. Black’s instructions.”

Victoria packed the guest room. It looked untouched.

11:55pm. Knock.

Victor.

He looked wrecked. Suit off. White shirt untucked. Eyes red.

“It’s done,” Victoria said, holding up the hard drive. “All files.”

Victor nodded. He looked at the floor. The ceiling. Anywhere but her.

“The house will be quiet tomorrow,” he said.

“You can hire another designer.”

“I don’t want another designer.”

Silence. Rain.

“Victor,” Victoria said. “Why did you ask me to stay?”

He looked up. “Because for seven days this place wasn’t a tomb. Because you yelled at me. Because you left me jollof. Because when you said my name it didn’t sound like you wanted money.”

Victoria’s heart hammered. “So what happens now?”

Victor took one step back. “Now you take the money. Save your mom. And forget me.”

He turned.

“Or?” Victoria whispered.

Victor stopped. Back to her.

“Or you stay,” he said. “Not for 10 million. And I try to be someone worth staying for.”

He waited three seconds. Then walked to his room and closed the door.

Victoria stood in the hallway, holding 10 million naira, with her whole life in her hands.

Outside, Lagos kept raining.

And hidden love had just begun.

---

*END OF CHAPTER 2*