Chapter 3: Lines That Shouldn’t Be Crossed
1259 Words
The rain hadn’t stopped since the night before.
Adebola Lawson stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of her office, arms folded tightly across her chest as she watched Lagos struggle beneath heavy clouds. Traffic crawled like a wounded animal. Horns blared endlessly. The sky felt like it was pressing down on the city — and somehow, pressing down on her too.
She barely slept.
Her mind kept replaying the previous night. The quiet office. The steady rhythm of rain. The way Chinedu had listened to her without interruption, without judgment. And most dangerously… the way she had allowed herself to feel safe around him.
That terrified her more than the company’s financial crisis.
Adebola shook her head slightly, trying to push the thoughts away. She had bigger problems.
A sharp knock came on her door.
“Come in,” she said, her voice firm.
Nora, her secretary, stepped in cautiously.
“Ma’am… the production department just called. The shipment from Aba has been delayed again.”
Adebola stiffened.
“Delayed?” she repeated slowly.
“Yes ma’am. They said the supplier is demanding payment upfront now. They refused to release the materials.”
Her stomach dropped.
That supplier handled nearly thirty percent of Lawson Holdings’ luxury textile imports. If production slowed down, their biggest fashion clients would pull out within weeks.
“Get me their manager,” Adebola said quickly, already moving toward her desk.
“Yes ma’am.”
As Nora rushed out, Adebola dropped into her chair, her pulse racing. She scanned through payment schedules and supplier agreements, her mind calculating options, consequences, and possible disasters.
Her phone buzzed.
Chinedu.
She hesitated for a second before answering.
“Yes?” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“I heard about Aba,” he said immediately.
Of course he had.
“Then you know I’m handling it.”
“I know you’re trying to,” he corrected calmly. “But this supplier has a history of blackmailing companies when they sense instability.”
Adebola clenched her jaw.
“I don’t need a lecture, Chinedu.”
“And I’m not giving one,” he replied smoothly. “I’m coming up to your office.”
Before she could protest, the call ended.
She stared at her phone in frustration… and something else she refused to name.
Minutes later, he walked in without knocking, suit immaculate as always, confidence radiating effortlessly. The faint scent of his cologne drifted into the room, distracting her more than she liked to admit.
“I already reviewed their contract,” he said, placing a file on her desk.
Adebola leaned back in her chair.
“Do you ever wait to be invited into someone’s office?” she asked dryly.
“Only when time allows it,” he replied, unfazed.
She rolled her eyes but opened the file.
“Clause seven,” he continued, leaning slightly over her desk. “They’re violating their own agreement by refusing delivery without prior written renegotiation.”
Adebola scanned the clause quickly, surprise flickering across her face.
“You’re right,” she admitted quietly.
“I’m usually right,” he said calmly.
She glared at him.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re stubborn,” he replied just as easily.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Heavy. Charged. Dangerous.
Adebola quickly looked back down at the file.
“So what’s your suggestion?” she asked.
“We call their bluff,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“They’re depending on you panicking,” he continued. “Instead, we threaten legal action and activate our backup supplier in Kano.”
“We have a backup supplier?” she asked, surprised.
Chinedu nodded slightly.
“Your father did. You just never needed them before.”
Adebola felt a strange mix of relief and guilt tighten her chest.
She hated how often she was reminded that she was still learning the empire she had inherited.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Let’s do it.”
He studied her carefully, like he was measuring her strength.
“You trust me?” he asked quietly.
The question caught her off guard.
She looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were intense, searching, almost vulnerable beneath his usual composure.
“I trust results,” she said firmly.
Something flickered in his expression — amusement… and maybe disappointment.
“Fair enough,” he said softly.
Two hours later, Adebola sat in the conference room during a tense video call with the Aba supplier. Lawyers, managers, and executives filled the room.
The supplier tried intimidation first.
Then manipulation.
Then outright threats.
But Adebola stood her ground.
“We are activating our legal team and secondary supply chain immediately,” she said confidently. “You have twenty-four hours to honor your contract.”
She ended the call before they could respond.
The room erupted in murmurs of approval.
Across the table, Chinedu watched her silently. And for the first time, she saw genuine admiration in his eyes.
“You handled that well,” he said later as they walked back toward her office.
“I had a good advisor,” she replied before she could stop herself.
He smirked slightly.
“I’ll remember you said that.”
She felt heat creep into her cheeks and quickly changed the subject.
“Do you ever take a break?” she asked suddenly.
He frowned slightly.
“From work?”
“From being… you,” she clarified.
That made him pause.
“I don’t know how,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty in his voice surprised her.
They reached her office door, but neither of them moved to open it.
“You know,” Adebola said slowly, “You don’t always have to carry everything alone.”
He looked at her, really looked at her, and something shifted in the air between them.
“You sound like someone who carries too much herself,” he said.
Her breath caught.
For a moment, they stood too close. Close enough for her to notice the faint scar near his jawline. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.
And then—
Her phone rang loudly, breaking the moment.
She stepped back quickly, answering the call.
“Yes?”
Her expression changed instantly.
“What do you mean the investors are reconsidering?” she demanded.
Chinedu’s posture stiffened.
She listened silently, her face growing pale.
“When did this happen?” she asked quietly.
Another pause.
“I understand,” she said finally before hanging up.
The office felt suddenly smaller.
“What happened?” Chinedu asked.
“One of our biggest investors is pulling out,” she said slowly.
His jaw tightened.
“Why?”
Adebola swallowed hard.
“They said they received information suggesting Lawson Holdings is hiding major financial losses.”
Silence fell like a bomb between them.
“That’s impossible,” Chinedu said sharply.
“That’s what I thought too,” she whispered.
Her heart pounded violently.
Someone was sabotaging the company.
And the worst part?
Only a handful of senior executives had access to those financial records.
She looked up at Chinedu slowly, fear creeping into her chest.
“If this leak came from inside the company…” she said carefully, “…it means someone close to us wants Lawson Holdings to collapse.”
Chinedu’s expression darkened.
“Then we find them,” he said quietly.
But as Adebola stared at him, a terrifying thought crept into her mind.
What if she couldn’t trust anyone?
Not the board.
Not the executives.
And maybe…
Not even him.
- Writer
