LAGOS LOVE, VILLAGE LIES.

Lagos no dey warn anybody. The city hit me the moment I arrived — noise, traffic, hustle everywhere. Horns blaring, conductors shouting, people rushing like tomorrow was waiting for nobody. I stood by the roadside with my small box, heart pounding. I’m Amara, a South-East village girl who came to Lagos chasing dreams. Mama’s voice echoed in my head: “Lagos fit make you or break you.” I moved into a small apartment in Yaba and started my new office job on the Island days later. The building was tall, shiny, and intimidating. As I walked into my department, that was when I saw him. Tall. Calm. Confident. He stood by the window like he belonged there. When he turned and smiled at me, something inside me shifted. “Good morning,” he said. “You must be the new staff. I’m Daniel.” From that day, Daniel became my guide in the office. He helped me, checked on me, and made Lagos feel less scary. Too comfortable. Too easy. One rainy evening, he offered to drop me home. We sat in silence inside his car, tension thick. “Amara,” he said softly, “there’s something I need to tell you—” His phone rang. A name flashed on the screen. LOLA. His face changed. And my heart sank.