His To Break

The Eyes That Saw Me Lagos was alive. Its heartbeat echoed in the blaring horns, street hawkers shouting over one another, the swish of keke tires on wet concrete, and the endless sea of people navigating their own versions of survival. But for Elena Nwoko, it wasn’t life—it was a battlefield. Every hour was a fresh war for survival, and every smile she wore was another disguise. The afternoon sun was merciless, roasting the city’s cracked pavements. Elena walked briskly along the crowded walkway beside her two friends, Amaka and Bibi, her hand clutching her handbag like it was the last possession she owned—because, truly, it might as well be. “Elena, are you even hearing anything I’m saying?” Amaka asked, her brows furrowed in frustration. “You’ve been zoning out all day.” “I’m listening,” Elena replied quickly, but her voice lacked conviction. “You’re not,” Bibi interjected, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “You skipped lunch again, didn’t you? You didn’t even buy akara like you always do after work.” Elena swallowed hard, her throat dry. “I wasn’t hungry.” “You’re lying,” Bibi shot back, her tone softening. “Your stomach growled like a generator earlier. Just tell us what’s wrong.” A beat of silence passed. The air between them grew heavy. “My landlord came this morning,” Elena finally confessed, her eyes fixed ahead. “He gave me till Friday. If I don’t pay something—anything—I’ll be out.” The words cut through the noise of the city. “Elena…” Amaka’s voice was barely a whisper now. “I had to choose between lunch and keeping a roof over my head.” She shrugged. “I chose the roof.” Bibi reached out and squeezed her arm gently. “You should have told us.” “What would you do?” Elena asked, a bitter smile creeping onto her lips. “We’re all barely surviving.” Amaka sighed. “Come on, let’s go and unwind a little. There’s a roadside lounge just up ahead. At least allow yourself to breathe.” Elena didn’t want to go. She wanted to crawl into her thin mattress and forget the world. But she had learned to accept these moments of distraction—even if temporary. She nodded. They walked into the open bar—a familiar local joint with mismatched plastic chairs, dim bulbs strung overhead, and the smell of pepper soup dancing in the air. It wasn’t classy, but it was affordable, loud, and offered a brief illusion of escape. Within minutes, Amaka and Bibi were laughing, teasing their male colleagues, and snapping selfies. Elena sat quietly, sipping a sachet of water while pretending to enjoy the music playing from a battered speaker. She hated pretending. But what else was there? Then came Tega—her coworker and perpetual pest. “Elena,” he said smoothly, sliding into the seat beside her like a shadow. “Why you always dey form hard babe? Allow me to show you soft life.” “I’m not interested, Tega,” she said, barely sparing him a glance. “You dey do like say you no need man. No worry, I go spoil you small.” He laughed. “Leave me alone,” she snapped, her patience thinning. “Na wah oh. Ordinary smile sef you no fit give?” he grumbled, walking away with a bruised ego. Elena exhaled, hoping for silence. And then it happened. A feeling. Cold and sudden. Like someone had poured iced water down her spine. She turned instinctively—and saw it. Across the road, a black Rolls Royce Phantom. Sleek, polished, and out of place in their part of town. The tinted window was slightly lowered. And though she couldn’t see much, she felt it—a pair of eyes, locked on her. The gaze was unrelenting. Intense. Almost… possessive. She looked away, unsettled. But she couldn’t ignore the feeling. Like she had just been seen for the first time in her life—and not in the way that made her feel beautiful, but vulnerable. Exposed. Inside the car, Dominic Moretti—a man who moved empires without a sound—leaned forward, watching her closely. “She doesn’t belong here,” he said. The driver nodded without understanding. Dominic adjusted his cuffs. “Find out who she is. I want her. But not like this. Bring her to me.” Moments later, a tall man in a black suit crossed the road and approached their table. “Elena Nwoko?” he asked, eyes steady. She frowned. “Yes?” “My employer would like to speak with you.” She blinked. “Your what?” He gestured toward the car across the road. “He’s waiting.” “Who is he?” Amaka asked, standing protectively. The man didn’t answer. His focus remained solely on Elena. “He’s not a man you want to keep waiting.” Elena stood halfway, hesitating. Every part of her screamed danger—but another voice, softer and buried, whispered curiosity. “Don’t go,” Bibi whispered quickly. “Elena, this isn’t normal.” The man took a step closer. “Please.” She sat back down, breathing hard. “No.” His brows twitched. “He doesn’t take ‘no’ lightly.” “Well, he’ll have to,” Elena replied coldly. “I’m not interested in mystery men who watch women from tinted windows.” A brief pause. Then the man turned and walked away without another word. But Elena’s gut didn’t unclench. ⸻ By the time they left the lounge, the sun had disappeared. Lagos looked different at night—meaner, louder, and cloaked in secrets. “Let’s take the long route home,” Amaka suggested. “Just in case.” They boarded two separate buses, taking twisted routes and changing at random junctions. By the third danfo, Elena had almost convinced herself it was paranoia. Until she saw it again. The black car. Parked by a narrow alley. Waiting. “Amaka,” she whispered urgently. “What?” “Look—” The car pulled forward slowly, then faded into the night. They rushed to Elena’s compound, locking the rusted gate behind them. Her legs felt like jelly. “You’re sleeping at my place tonight,” Bibi said firmly. “No,” Elena replied. “I’ll be fine.” But she wasn’t. That night, she sat in her room, her back pressed to the wall, her small rechargeable lamp flickering. She didn’t know who he was. Or what he wanted. But she knew one thing for certain. Those eyes had seen her. And they weren’t going to forget. Her threadbare hoodie wrapped tightly around her small frame as if it could protect her from memories she’d spent years trying to bury. The fear she felt tonight had awoken something deeper—not just about Dominic or the message or the man outside her window—but the ache of a life that had been fighting her since the day she was born. She stared at the ceiling as the wind whispered through the cracks in the wall. Her eyes fluttered shut. But she didn’t sleep. She remembered. The smell of burning candles. The sound of her mother’s soft voice humming old lullabies in a one-room apartment lit only by kerosene lamps. Elena had been twelve when death first knocked. Her mother had collapsed at her sewing machine. A sharp pain in her chest. No ambulance came. No doctor arrived. Just silence. Then screaming. Then stillness. By morning, the neighbors whispered “heart failure.” But Elena knew it wasn’t the heart that failed. It was the country. The system. The poverty that choked people until their bodies gave up. Her father hadn’t survived the grief. Three months later, he was gone too. Killed in a road accident while riding a borrowed motorcycle, trying to deliver paint buckets for a job he was never paid for. She’d been alone since. No siblings. No family willing to take her in. Just pity looks and expired promises. She moved from house to house—squatting with old friends, sharing spaces with strangers who barely tolerated her presence. She dropped out of school twice—once because she couldn’t afford fees, and once because the principal suggested she could pay with her body instead of her wallet. She refused. She always refused. Even when the cost was survival. There were times she didn’t eat for days. Times she wore the same clothes to work until her manager complained. Times she walked four hours to a cleaning job because she couldn’t afford the ₦200 transport fare. And then there were the jobs. The first boutique fired her for always coming late—because she had to wait tables at night and sleep barely two hours. The second job let her go after a customer complained she looked “too sad” and was bad for their image. The third one… she quit herself, after the male supervisor locked the store behind them and said he could help with her rent—if she just smiled more and stopped being so difficult. She’d slapped him. And walked out. Now she worked two part-time jobs that barely paid enough to keep her indoors. Rent had doubled in her current place, and the landlord was already circling like a vulture, hinting that there were “other ways” she could stay. She curled tighter into herself. She hadn’t even turned twenty-four yet. But she felt ancient. Worn. As if life had peeled back every soft part of her and left only armor and exhaustion. Sometimes, in the deepest part of night, she wondered if she was cursed. If survival was the only story life had written for her. If love, peace, or even a full night’s rest was too much to ask. But even in her worst moments—she hadn’t broken. Her pride had cost her comfort. Her choices had cost her opportunities. But at least they were hers. She blinked slowly, eyes growing heavy. Maybe tonight, her mind would stop running. Maybe sleep would finally— Bzzz! Bzzz! Her phone buzzed beside her like a slap. She jerked upright. A call. No name. Just “Unknown Number.” She stared at it, chest rising and falling. The phone kept ringing, echoing through the silence of the room like a challenge. She didn’t answer. But the voice that lived in her fear whispered: “He’s still watching.”