Beneath His Wings

Chapter 10 The First Glimpse

The late afternoon sun hung low over Eden’s City, its rays spilling a golden tint over rooftops, market stalls, and the restless streets. The Obi Group headquarters had long been emptied of workers, but Ethan remained behind in his office, his tall figure silhouetted against the glass window that overlooked the bustling city below.

Stacks of files rested untouched on his desk, yet his mind wasn’t on paperwork. The reports in front of him carried something deeper than just numbers: they hinted at the growing disparity between the privileged world he lived in and the struggling communities that sprawled at the city’s edges. His father would never have wasted time thinking of the slums, but Ethan wasn’t like him. Cold he was, yes, but not blind.

A knock sounded at his door.

“Come in,” Ethan said, his voice low but firm.

The door opened, and Aiden—his loyal assistant—stepped inside, holding a slim tablet and a folder. “Sir, the team is ready. If we leave now, we’ll still meet the locals before nightfall.”

Ethan turned from the window, his expression unreadable. “Good. Let’s go.”

Minutes later, the sleek black car rolled out of the company’s gates, cutting through Eden’s City’s wide boulevards before veering toward narrower, rougher streets. As the scenery shifted from glass towers to tin-roofed shacks, Aiden shot a glance at his boss.

“Are you sure you want to come along, sir? The area is… not the safest.”

Ethan’s cold gaze shifted toward him, silencing the concern. “I don’t make decisions behind a desk. I’ll see it myself.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional shout of street vendors. Children in torn uniforms chased each other across dusty alleys, and women balanced trays of groundnuts, oranges, and roasted corn on their heads as they hurried to catch customers before dusk.

Finally, the car came to a stop in front of a small, roadside restaurant, its faded signboard barely clinging to one hinge. The smell of beans porridge and fried plantain wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of dust and smoke.

“This is one of the busiest food joints around,” Aiden explained as he stepped out, followed by two junior staff carrying clipboards. “Locals eat here daily. It will give us a feel of the community.”

Ethan slid out of the car with his usual composed grace, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit. He stood taller than most men in the crowd, his aura instantly commanding attention even though he hadn’t spoken a word. The locals gave him curious stares, whispering among themselves.

It was then that he saw her.

She was at the far end of the open shed, moving with an energy that seemed to flow naturally, like a river never running dry. Her skin glowed under the sunlight—deep, rich, and flawless. The neat cornrows that crowned her head shone with fresh oil, each line perfectly carved by a loving hand. Her figure was striking—curved in all the right places, not exaggerated, but balanced like art.

She wore a simple faded gown, patched at the edges, yet it did little to hide her natural elegance. Her voice carried across the room as she laughed softly with a customer, politely resolving a minor argument over change.

“Sir, please, sit down and eat your food. Fighting will not solve it,” she said, kneeling briefly beside the man to calm him. “I will talk to the owner, and your money will be balanced. Don’t worry.”

Her humility disarmed the tension immediately. The two men who had almost come to blows sat back, grumbling but subdued.

Aiden and the others approached, and instantly, Beauty turned toward them. Unlike other waitresses who might have rolled their eyes at seeing men in suits, she dropped gracefully to her knees on the dusty floor, her voice respectful but steady.

“Good evening, sirs. You are welcome.”

The restaurant murmured in acknowledgment; no one was surprised. Beauty always knelt to greet—whether rich or poor, it was her habit.

Ethan said nothing, but his eyes lingered on her longer than he intended. There was something unusual here. Not just her beauty—though it was undeniable—but the quiet dignity she carried in the midst of chaos.

“Thank you,” Aiden replied, covering for his boss’s silence. “We’ll just ask a few questions.”

“Please, feel free,” Beauty said, rising smoothly and stepping aside with a faint smile. Her gaze did not linger on Ethan; she was too accustomed to men looking down on her to waste time studying their faces.

Aiden and his team began speaking with some of the locals, scribbling notes, asking about prices, wages, and living conditions. Ethan followed quietly, observing everything—the cracked chairs, the peeling walls, the desperate eagerness in the customers’ eyes as they answered.

But his attention kept straying back to the girl.

He noticed the way she carried plates without spilling a drop, even when a drunk man staggered against her. He noticed how she called out, “Please, stop!” when two boys tried to snatch meat from a pot—and how they actually obeyed, sheepishly dropping the food and retreating under her sharp but motherly look.

There was authority in her, hidden beneath that humility.

At one point, a little child bumped into her, spilling beans all over her dress. The child’s mother rushed over, apologizing frantically. Beauty only smiled.

“It’s nothing, mama. Clothes can wash. Don’t beat him, please,” she said gently, patting the boy’s head.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. That softness… it was foreign to him.

Aiden returned, handing Ethan a quick summary. “Sir, they’ve told us about their challenges—poor sanitation, unstable power, no water supply. It’s worse than I thought.”

Ethan gave a single nod. “We’ll discuss later.”

But his gaze slid back to Beauty once more. She caught him staring this time, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. Hers were dark, steady, unafraid. She quickly looked away, kneeling again as a new customer entered.

The team finished their inquiries, and Aiden gestured toward the car. “Shall we, sir?”

Ethan finally turned, his voice clipped. “Yes.”

They walked back to the car. Ethan did not look back, not once, though every step away from that restaurant felt heavier than the last.

Inside the car, Aiden spoke cheerfully. “That was productive. The girl running the place is impressive. She seems to manage half the customers by herself.”

Ethan’s expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed out the window as the slums receded behind them. “She’s just a waitress,” he said coldly.

Yet the image of her kneeling in greeting, her voice calming angry men, her cornrows catching the sunlight, refused to leave his mind.

For the first time in a long time, Ethan Obi felt something shift within him—something he was unwilling to admit.