The new apartment in Maitama smelled like fresh paint, expensive diffuser oil, and s*x that never quite finished airing out.
Lara had moved in six weeks ago—two bedrooms, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the Abuja morning light like it was trying to apologize for every dark, cramped night she’d spent in Yaba. The rent was paid six months in advance from what remained after she’d cleared every debt, sent money home, and quietly set up a small scholarship fund at her old department in someone else’s name. She didn’t talk about the source. People assumed inheritance or crypto luck. She let them.
She was twenty-six now, three months deep into “forever,” and already visibly changed.
Her breasts were heavier, n*****s perpetually sensitive and a shade darker. Her hips felt r
