CHAPTER TWO — The Invitation
1173 Words
The city was still awake when Adanna finally finished her work for the night. Lagos had its way of staying alive even in the deepest hours lights flashing, horns blaring, and the unmistakable hum of urgency that seemed to hang in the air.
She closed her laptop with a soft sigh, rubbing her temples. It had been a long day, and the weight of the pending decisions was starting to wear on her. But she couldn’t stop now. Not when she had come so close to everything she wanted.
She stood to stretch, trying to shake off the remnants of the heavy mood that had been lingering around her since that first encounter with Ken. He had been unpredictable intense and distant all at once.
As she walked to her window, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
The name on the screen froze her. Ken Ibe.
For a split second, she hesitated. It wasn’t unusual for him to reach out with questions or requests related to their business dealings, but tonight felt different. Something in the way his name glared back at her made her pulse quicken.
She answered.
“Adanna,” Ken’s voice came through, smooth but with an edge. “I need you to come over. To my place.”
The invitation was direct. Too direct.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” she replied coolly, masking the sudden flutter in her chest. “We’ve been handling everything through work channels, haven’t we?”
“I didn’t ask you to come as my assistant.” His voice softened, a trace of amusement in it. “I asked you as a… guest. A different kind of arrangement, if you’d like. I think it’s time we talk face to face, without the walls of the office between us.”
Adanna took a breath, her eyes scanning the skyline of Lagos. The air in her apartment felt thick with unanswered questions, and suddenly, she wasn’t sure if she was running from something or toward it.
His words hung in the air, wrapped in subtle meaning she couldn’t quite decipher. She wasn’t certain if she was intrigued or uneasy.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she finally said, her voice steady, though there was a tremor beneath the surface.
“Let’s just say, you won’t have to leave your dignity at the door. If anything, this conversation might be worth your time.” There was a quiet command in his voice now. Not asking, but telling.
The silence stretched between them.
“You know where I live,” Ken added after a beat. “Penthouse. 8 p.m. Be there.”
The line went dead before she could respond.
Adanna stood there for a long moment, staring at the phone in her hand. She hadn’t agreed. Not officially. But in a way, she knew it was already decided. He had set the stage, and whether she liked it or not, she was walking into it.
Her reflection in the window felt distant, like someone she barely recognized.
She wasn’t afraid of him. No, she was afraid of what she might do once she entered his world. What he might make her feel.
When the evening came, Adanna found herself at the entrance of Ken’s building. The glass doors slid open as she walked inside, the reception area sleek and modern. She had been here a few times for work, but never to this part of his world.
The elevator ride felt like a countdown. Every floor passed, and the weight of her decision grew heavier. When the doors opened, the penthouse was just as imposing as she imagined. It wasn’t just the luxury, though that was undeniable. It was the sense of control in the space, the unspoken rules that seemed to echo through every polished surface.
Ken stood near the entrance, his posture relaxed but predatory. The way his eyes tracked her as she walked in made her feel both out of place and like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
He offered no pleasantries, only a quiet nod toward the door to the left. “Come in.”
Adanna stepped into the grand living room. The space was designed for someone who didn’t just live in the city but owned it. Dark wood, glass, and steel. The view of Lagos, stretching out before her, was breathtaking.
“Do you live here,” she asked softly, “or just exist here?”
Ken glanced up from where he was uncorking a bottle of red. “Same thing, some days.”
She stepped in slowly, her black dress whispering against her thighs. “You invited me for dinner. I expected something… warmer.”
“I don’t cook for people I don’t trust.”
He poured two glasses. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not.”
He handed her a glass. “Why?”
“Because you’re the kind of man who’s been disappointed too many times to believe in generosity without motive.”
Ken gave the smallest smile. “And what’s your motive, Adanna?”
She sipped her wine, holding his gaze over the rim. “I like beautiful things.”
“And I’m one of them?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Dinner was quiet. Steak, grilled vegetables, herbed rice all delivered, of course, but plated like it wasn’t. They ate with slow elegance like two spies exchanging codes.
At one point, she asked, “Did you love your father?”
He froze for half a second. Enough for her to see the fracture.
“I respected him,” he said eventually.
“That’s not what I asked.”
He looked at her for a long time, then pushed his plate back.
“No,” he said. “Not after I learned what he was.”
She leaned forward, voice low. “And what was he?”
“Hungry,” Ken said. “Always hungry. For land. For power. For admiration. It was never enough. It killed him.”
Adanna nodded slowly. Inside, her pulse was loud.
She should hate him this son of the man who destroyed her father’s life. But something about Ken’s honesty wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t pride. It was guilt.
And guilt was malleable.
“You’re not like him,” she said.
Ken looked at her, unreadable. “How do you know?”
“Because you asked me up here instead of your bed.”
A pause. Then:
“What if I regret that?”
“Then you’re human.”
He stood. Walked over to the window. She followed, quietly.
Below them, Lagos glowed beautiful, chaotic, indifferent.
She turned to him. He was only inches away now, the glass behind him reflecting a faint double of them both.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered.
“Maybe not. But I know what I want.”
She tilted her chin. “And what’s that?”
Ken touched her face just once, lightly, like confirming she was real.
“You.”
- Writer
