Chapter 7: She Runs
797 Words
Ada didn’t breathe. She didn’t think.
Daniel’s words hit her like a truck at full speed: `“You’re carrying my child.”`
The office went silent. The AC hummed. Her heartbeat was the only thing she could hear. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her legs moved before her brain could catch up. The chair scraped back against marble with a sound that made her secretary heart wince. Heels clicked once, twice. Then she was running.
“Miss Okafor!” Daniel’s voice was sharp, commanding, the same voice that made CEOs stutter in board meetings.
She didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.
`Pregnant. Twins. His child.`
None of it made sense. The man from Eko Hotel was supposed to be a stranger. A faceless, nameless escape to save her mother’s life. She had paid him, taken the money, and deleted his number. That was the deal. One night. No names. No consequences.
Not her new boss. Not the most ruthless billionaire in Lagos. Not the man who fired people for being 2 minutes late.
She pushed the heavy glass door open and burst into the hallway. Secretaries looked up from their desks, eyes wide. Ada didn’t see them. She saw the elevator. Closed. She saw the stairs. Open.
She chose the stairs.
Two floors down. Three floors down. Her chest burned. Her lungs burned. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. Not here. Not where Daniel could see her break.
`Twins.` The word echoed in her head with every step. Two babies. Growing inside her right now. While she filed his papers and made his coffee and called him “Sir”.
How did life become this cruel joke?
She burst through the ground floor exit into Victoria Island heat. Lagos hit her like a wall. Car horns blared. Okada riders shouted “Madam where you dey go?” Hustle and noise and life moving fast, but Ada felt like the world had frozen.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. Flat. Still flat. But in there, 2 tiny lives were depending on her. 2 lives Daniel Okafor thought belonged to him.
“Miss?”
Ada stopped dead. Her whole body froze.
David Okafor stood by a black Mercedes G-Wagon, holding two takeaway coffees. His tie was loose like he’d been tugging at it. His sleeves rolled up. His eyes were soft, worried, scanning her face like she was something fragile that might break.
The exact same eyes she remembered from that hotel room 5 weeks ago.
Kind eyes. Patient eyes. The eyes that whispered “Are you sure?” before touching her. The eyes that stayed with her till morning, even though she paid him to leave.
The same eyes staring at her now, confused.
“Ada? Why are you running? You look pale—are you sick? Here, I got you coffee.”
He took one step toward her. The coffee smelled like hazelnut. The same coffee she drank that morning after the hotel night.
She couldn’t speak. Her throat was closed. She couldn’t explain. Because David didn’t know. Nobody knew.
And 3 floors above them, Daniel had just called the baby `my child`. In front of her.
Ada’s knees felt weak. The ground tilted. She took one step back. Then another. Away from David. Away from the truth trying to claw its way out of her chest.
David frowned, the worry deepening. He reached out, coffee extended. “Hey, what’s wrong? Let me help you. You’re shaking. Did Daniel shout at you again? He can be—”
Ada turned and ran again.
Into the crowd. Into the heat. Into Lagos traffic. Into a secret she could no longer hide but wasn’t ready to face.
Behind her, the office window on the 20th floor reflected sunlight. Daniel stood there, watching. His jaw was tight. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes never left her running figure.
`She runs. But she can’t run from me. Or from the truth. Or from what’s mine.`
He didn’t know yet that the baby wasn’t his. Not fully. But his possessive instinct didn’t care about DNA. Something in him had claimed her the moment she walked into his office, desperate for a job.
On the street below, David stared at the two coffees in his hand. One for him. One for the woman who just vanished into a danfo bus and disappearing traffic.
Something about her… something about the way she bit her lip when nervous… something about the small scar on her wrist… felt familiar. Too familiar. Like a dream he couldn’t quite remember.
And he had no idea his older brother, the man he’d been competing with since childhood, just claimed her baby as his own.
The coffee grew cold in his hand.
- Writer
