Fated by Qadr(Destiny)

Chapter One Kalila I was exhausted. No, scratch that. I was bone tired, like a woman who’d just crossed the Sahara on foot. And the worst part? I still had at least fifteen deliveries sitting on the shelf behind the front desk, waiting for a dispatch rider who dared to text me he had been stuck in traffic since noon. Lagos traffic wasn’t new. Neither was the endless stress of running Kalila Skincare, but today? Today was showing me pepper. “Madam Glow,” Remi calls from behind the stack of boxes, struggling to balance them like she’s auditioning for Nigerian Jenga Champions, “If you don’t come and help me, I swear I’ll drop everything and resign.” I roll my eyes but shove my phone in my bag and cross the small office to take half the load from her arms. “You’re not resigning,” I tell her. “Where else will you find a boss who lets you raid the free samples and go home with glowing skin?” She snorts. “True.” We managed to get the packages to the dispatch rider outside, who looked like he’d rather be elsewhere. Same, buddy. Remi wipes her hands on her jeans and gives me that look. “You’re still here? I thought you said you’d leave early today.” I sigh, dragging my tote bag over my shoulder. “That was before Operation: Everybody Wants to Glow Before Christmas.” We finally shut down the shop late into the evening, after one last customer swore her life depended on our snail mucin essence. I left Remi to handle the closing checks and grabbed my bag, slipping my scarf loosely over my hair as I stepped outside into the warm December air. The plaza is still buzzing despite the time; Lagos doesn’t sleep, and neither do its hustlers. I got into my car, cranked up the AC, and let out a breath. Just as I was about to pull out of the lot, my phone buzzed. Dad! I hesitate. If he’s calling now, it’s either urgent or urgent. With Dad, there’s no in-between. I answer. “Daddy?”, press my Bluetooth button. “Kalila,” his voice was serious. “Are you on your way home?” “I just left the office,” I replied. “What’s wrong?” There was a pause. “It’s Tamam,” he said. I blinked, stomach tightening. “What about him?” Dad sighed. “There’s… a situation. He’s gotten himself into serious trouble.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “What kind of trouble?” “EFCC kind of trouble.” But my friend’s son—Kamal—works there. He’s coming over tonight. We’ll talk through it. “We’re hoping he can help,” Dad added. I inhaled sharply, keeping my eyes on the road. Tamam was more than my cousin. We were raised like siblings. He was the fun one, the one who always had my back. This couldn’t be happening. Kamal? I’ve heard his name before. Dad’s friend’s son. Government official. EFCC officer. Some said he was ruthless, others said he was brilliant. Either way, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting the man responsible for digging into Tamam’s life. “Do I have to be there?” I ask, knowing the answer. “Yes.” Dad doesn’t hesitate. “We need to handle this as a family.” I close my eyes for a second. “I’ll be there.” “We’re expecting him in an hour,” he says. Great. Just enough time for me to get stuck in Lagos traffic and stew in my irritation. The drive home is exactly what I expected—frustrating. I spend twenty minutes staring at the back of a danfo that looks like it’s held together with prayer and hope. Lagos traffic in December? Pure chaos. By the time I pull into our street, my headache has upgraded from mild to premium. My eyes flickered to the SUV parked in front, its shiny black body gleaming under the outdoor lights. Kamal’s car. He was here already. The Black SUV is quite big, shiny, with bulletproof windows, probably. Because of course. I park behind it, cut the engine, and just sit there for a second. “Tonight will be interesting, and by interesting, I mean a complete disaster. Chapter One - Kamal’s POV Kamal The road to Magodo was mercifully clear. For Lagos, at least. Kamal kept his eyes on the street ahead, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other tapping absently against his thigh. His playlist was on shuffle, but he wasn’t listening to the music. It was just background noise, a distraction. He hated these kinds of meetings, personal favors, and family obligations. They were messy, complicated, and Emotional. He preferred his world clean-cut. Facts, evidence, outcomes. Not people crying in their parlors, begging for miracles. But his father had called him. Personally. And Kamal respected his father too much to say no. Tamam Usman! The name was familiar now, he’d been briefed on the case earlier that day. No priors, no red flags, at least not until this. On paper, Tamam looked like every other reckless young man who thought he could outsmart the system. Whether it was greed or stupidity that drove him, Kamal didn’t particularly care. The facts would tell the real story soon enough, and from where he stood, it wasn’t looking good. Kamal exhaled slowly as he turned off the expressway. It wasn’t his job to save anybody. Not this time. He was just here to listen, lay out the facts, and make it painfully clear how bad things were. And after that, That was their problem. He pulled into the estate, slowing as the security guard gave him the once-over before waving him in. He’d been to Magodo a handful of times. Quiet, middle-class. Comfortable. He found the house easily. A clean, modest duplex, light spilling from the front porch. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment. Taking in the calm before the storm. He rubbed a hand over his beard, then reached for his phone. He wasn’t here as an officer tonight. Just as a friend of the family. At least, that was the story. Kamal didn’t believe in stories. But he respected Alhaji Usman enough to show up, for now. He stepped out of the car and adjusted his sleeves as he walked up to the door. His steps were measured and controlled. He could already imagine the conversation inside. Hope, desperation. They always started politely, but it always ended the same. The door opened before he could knock. Alhaji Usman himself stood there, tall and sharp-eyed, dressed in a simple kaftan. His expression was serious, but there was a tightness at the edges. Worry, maybe. Kamal gave him a respectful nod. “Alhaji.” “Kamal. Thank you for coming.” “I’m here,” Kamal said simply. “Let’s talk.”