Chapter 2: Power Struggles and Hidden Scars
1239 Words
Adebola Lawson had survived her first boardroom showdown, but the victory felt hollow.
The office was quiet now, except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant chatter of assistants rushing through hallways. Yet inside her, a storm raged. Her fingers drummed against the sleek wooden desk as she stared at the spreadsheets Chinedu had left behind. Each number told the same story: the company was bleeding, slowly but dangerously. And somehow, she was expected to stop it.
She hated feeling small.
She had been born into luxury, yes, but the truth was undeniable — she was not ready to run Lawson Holdings. Not really. Her father’s sudden illness had thrown her into a world she barely understood, filled with ruthless executives who seemed to delight in testing her every decision. And Chinedu Okafor… God, Chinedu.
He was everywhere. In meetings, in the numbers, in the way the staff looked to him for approval. He was calm, calculated, unshakable. And yet, every glance from him felt like an unspoken challenge: “Can you survive this?”
She rubbed her temples.
I can do this. I have to.
Adebola stood and walked to the window, overlooking the city. Lagos stretched endlessly before her — chaotic, vibrant, merciless. She had spent her entire life moving through the world in control of herself, of her choices, of her future. But today? She was a passenger in her own story.
Her phone buzzed.
It was an email from Chinedu. She hesitated before opening it. Maybe it’s another critique. Another reminder of what she wasn’t doing right.
The message was brief:
“I’ve adjusted the department budgets as discussed. Review them before tomorrow’s executive meeting. We need results, Adebola. No excuses.”
Adebola scowled at the screen. He didn’t even call it polite. Just… results. No room for mistakes, no room for empathy.
She typed back quickly:
“Noted. I’ll review them.”
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard a moment longer than necessary. She wanted to write: Why do you always make me feel like I’m failing? But she didn’t. That was weakness, and she couldn’t afford weakness.
The next morning came faster than she was ready for. Adebola arrived at the office, heels clicking against the marble floor, nerves masked by forced confidence. The executive meeting began immediately. Charts, projections, quarterly reports. Every executive, every investor, seemed determined to test her knowledge, her leadership, her very right to be there.
And Chinedu… he sat at the end of the table, calm, composed, watching. Waiting.
“You rejected the merger proposal from Royal Crest Group,” one of the board members said, eyes narrowed. “It would have stabilized cash flow.”
Adebola met their gaze evenly. “It would have cost us independence,” she replied.
Chinedu leaned back slightly in his chair, observing quietly. “You fight emotionally,” he said, his voice smooth but not unkind.
Adebola blinked. “And you don’t fight emotionally enough,” she shot back, unable to stop the words. The room went quiet. She felt their eyes on her, judging, waiting to see if she would crumble.
Silence hung heavy, broken only by the sound of a ticking wall clock.
Chinedu’s gaze softened just a fraction. “My father built a transportation company in Onitsha. We lost it when I was nineteen,” he said quietly. “I learned early that business doesn’t forgive mistakes, and emotions… rarely help.”
Adebola’s eyebrows rose. She had expected arrogance, not vulnerability. “My father built this company from a small fabric shop in Balogun Market. This company isn’t just money. It’s family.”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, they weren’t MD and consultant. They were two people carrying the weight of their parents’ dreams, their failures, their sacrifices.
“Why do you push yourself so hard?” Chinedu asked, his tone almost personal now.
“Because everyone is waiting for me to fail,” she admitted, voice low.
“I’m not,” he said simply.
Her chest tightened.
The meeting continued, but Adebola’s mind was elsewhere. She kept sneaking glances at Chinedu, wondering why his calm irritated her so much, why it also made her heart skip unexpectedly.
After hours of endless discussion, they were dismissed. Adebola retreated to her office, needing a moment to breathe. She sank into her chair and closed her eyes.
This is insane. I can’t do this alone.
Her phone buzzed again — a message from one of her father’s old friends, a prominent investor:
“Be careful, Adebola. Not everyone is loyal. Some people only want your father’s empire for themselves.”
Her stomach dropped.
She thought of Chinedu. Could he be one of them? Or was he… her ally? Her mind refused to decide.
Later that evening, Adebola stayed late in the office, reviewing department budgets and proposals. The city outside glittered with lights, oblivious to the war raging inside Lawson Holdings.
A soft knock at the door startled her.
“Come in,” she said, not looking up.
Chinedu entered, carrying a laptop. “I thought you might need help reviewing the cash flow for the third quarter,” he said.
Adebola froze. She wanted to refuse — wanted to assert her independence. But part of her wanted to accept. She glanced at him, studying his face. Calm. Focused. Almost… gentle, in a way she hadn’t expected.
“I can manage,” she said finally, though her voice sounded uncertain even to her.
He didn’t argue. Instead, he placed the laptop on her desk and opened it. “I’ll sit here quietly,” he said. “You tell me what you need.”
They worked in silence for a long while. Hours passed. Rain began to fall outside, drumming against the glass window in rhythmic patterns. The office was warm, quiet, and suffocating all at once.
Adebola found herself sharing details she hadn’t meant to. About her father, about the pressure, about the fear of failing everyone. And Chinedu listened. Not judging. Not criticizing. Just… listening.
For the first time, she felt a strange sense of relief.
But as she glanced at him, she realized something alarming: her thoughts were no longer about the company. They were about him. The way he leaned back in the chair, calm and untouchable. The way he seemed to see straight through her.
Her heart thumped in a way that made her cheeks warm.
Adebola shook herself. Focus. He’s just a consultant. Nothing more.
Yet even as she repeated the words in her head, she couldn’t ignore the tension building between them — the small, unspoken moments that made every glance feel electric, every conversation a test.
The rain outside turned into a downpour, and the city seemed to press against the glass, reminding her how small and fragile her world had become.
Chinedu finally stood. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be another long day.”
Adebola nodded, forcing a smile. “Thank you.”
As he left, she watched him disappear into the hallway, a knot forming in her stomach.
She sat back in her chair, exhausted, frustrated, and strangely alive.
I’m not sure if he’s my ally or my enemy, she thought. But one thing is certain: Lawson Holdings isn’t the only thing I have to survive.
And in that moment, she realized — surviving Chinedu Okafor might be far harder than surviving Lagos itself.
- Writer
