Fated by Qadr(Destiny)

The Unraveling

Chapter 4

Kamal’s POV

I woke up before the first adhan echoed across the estate. The air was still and cold. I could hear the soft pitter-patter of the gardener’s broom outside brushing the tiled walkway. I stretched out my arms and blinked at the time, 5:30 am.

A faint light slipped through the blackout curtains, casting long shadows across my bedroom wall. I sat up slowly, pushing the duvet aside, I rubbed my palms over my face, and I reached for the robe hanging by the bedside. My body moved out of habit, but my mind was already working, reviewing and calculating.

I walked into the bathroom and performed ablution. Solah wasn’t something I compromised on. Not even on days I questioned everything else in my life.

After prayer, I poured myself a glass of fruit juice in the kitchen and stood by the island, sipping slowly. Mariam, one of the housekeepers, nodded silently at me as she entered to begin breakfast prep. She never spoke unless spoken to. Efficient, that’s why I kept her.

Halima, the other one, handled the rest of the house. I rarely saw them at the same time. The house was always quiet in the mornings, the kind of quiet that demanded your thoughts to sit with you.

Just as I opened my laptop to go over some flagged transactions and unreviewed files, a call buzzed in. Aairah.

Her face filled the screen, bright-eyed, messy bun, and in a robe that probably cost more than most people's rent.

“Kamal! Please tell me you’re in a good mood,” she beamed, “because I found a pink Birkin that whispered my name.”

I smirked, shook my head.

“Did the bag whisper your name to you in your dream?” or have you reached the point where bags talk to you?”

“I’m serious!” she waved her phone. “Look at this, ‘bubblegum cotton candy.’ It’s not a bag; it’s a declaration.”

“You’ve got five already.”

“And that’s exactly why I need more. I’m building a legacy.” She pouted for effect.

I chuckled. Aairah was dramatic, unapologetically extravagant, but she had a good heart. She doesn’t meddle in my affairs, doesn’t probe too much. She just wanted to be loved and spoiled, something I could afford.

After breakfast, I took a quick shower and dressed in my usual tailored slacks and linen shirt. I picked my car keys and slipped into the driver’s seat of the black Maybach. The driveway stretched wide, bordered by trimmed hedges and luxury cars that hadn’t been driven in weeks.

The drive to the company was smooth. As usual, my arrival turned a few heads. Royal Autos was one of the biggest car dealerships in Nigeria, our family’s pride. Sleek cars lined the showroom, and the scent of polished leather and air conditioning filled the space. Staff moved with precision. Everything operated like a well-oiled machine.

My assistant, Lanre, handed me the day’s agenda. I skimmed through the list of meetings, my first meeting was with a supplier from Dubai, the next with a luxury buyer from Lekki, i flipped past the routine until my eyes landed on a name that had grown familiar.

Tamam.!

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the name. It was starting to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. The call from Kalila’s father yesterday had ended with her taking the phone and erupting in fury. Her voice still rang in my ears, sharp, cracked with emotion.

I sighed and opened Twitter on my phone, typing in #RoyTrust.

The results were endless. Tweets flying like daggers, people angry, some suicidal, some recounting how their parents’ retirement funds vanished overnight. One video showed a woman screaming in a bank. Another was a voice recording of someone blaming an influencer who’d promoted the scheme.

This is chaotic, I thought to myself.

I pushed the thought aside. I had work to do. But something about the Tamam case wasn’t adding up. I poured myself another glass of juice, eyes scanning the city skyline through the glass windows of my office.

A notification buzzed.

Assistant: “Sir, update from the station. One of the officers said they’ve got something. Should I schedule a visit?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I’ll go myself,” I replied.

Later that afternoon, I drove to the station. The station reeked of rust and sweat. The ceiling fan clanked above, useless in the humid air. A TV buzzed quietly in the background with a muted Nollywood film. Down the hall, someone in a holding cell was shouting about injustice.

“Didn’t expect you yourself, Oga,” one of the officers said, eyebrows raised.

“Neither did I,” I muttered, reaching for the thick folder he extended.

It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and damp paper. I flipped it open, leaning against the counter.

Digital receipts. Chat screenshots. Transcribed calls. Names.

And then—Azeez Bello.

Azeez had been the real orchestrator. Tamam wasn’t smart enough to design the whole scheme. From the chats, Tamam only had access to a fraction of the money. Azeez, on the other hand, had been rerouting the bulk into offshore wallets, cash pickups, and personal investments.

He ran off just before the crash.

I shook my head slowly. A coward’s move. Cold and calculated.

Tamam was either naïve or complicit. Maybe both.

A name. That’s what we needed.

And now… we had one.

“That girl, Tamam’s sister. What’s her name again?” the officer asked, peering up from his desk.

“Kalila,” I said, too quickly.

“Fiery one. She was here yesterday. Caused a bit of a scene.”

I didn’t respond. Just pocketed the file and walked out. But her name stayed on my tongue longer than it should have.

Driving home, the sun was beginning to set. I loosened the top button of my shirt and sank deeper into the seat. The skyline blurred by, but my mind was stuck on one detail that refused to fade: Kalila, there was something about her, something I couldn’t pin down.

Maybe it was how she cared, there was something beautiful about people who felt deeply, even if it made them reckless. It wasn’t practical. But it was… human.

I sighed, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

That voice, the way she threw her words like stones when she was angry. Her pain was palpable even through the phone.

Too emotional? Maybe. Dramatic? Definitely.

Back at the house, I parked the car and stayed there a few minutes longer, engine humming softly beneath me.

I’d seen criminals before, scammers, liars, cheats. But this case felt personal. And not even to me.

To her.

I wasn’t supposed to care.

But somehow, I did.