CHAPTER 11
I wasn’t sure what I wanted until I walked into the room and every head turned.
It wasn’t the dress—it was too tight, too short, too obvious.
It wasn’t the heels—they clicked too hard against marble floors that weren’t mine.
It was me.
Something about the way I carried the weight of that night with Duke like perfume. Not washed off. Worn. Deliberately. And I let them all smell it.
Lagos knew how to look. It just didn’t know how to look away.
I’d come to this party half out of spite, half out of boredom, and a little because Belema had dared me to. Some private villa in Banana Island. Politicians. Celebrities. Drug princes in silk. Their girls in diamonds and daddy issues.
I was both.
The first guy who approached tried to touch my back like he had a claim on it. I turned
