Chapter 2 The Stranger in the Rain

Rain drummed relentlessly against the windshield of the taxi as it maneuvered through the slick, glimmering roads of Lagos. Mara sat in the backseat, her mind spinning like the city around her. Her father had just traded her future for another merger, another powerful handshake wrapped in silk lies. Betrayal, she now understood, wasn't always loud. Sometimes it came in the form of silence over dinner, or a contract signed without a glance in her direction.

Sacrifice is the foundation of legacy, Mara. One day, you'll understand, her mother's voice echoed in her mind. But how was a woman supposed to understand being handed off to a stranger like an heirloom?

The taxi slowed.

"Here, madam?" the driver asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. "It's a rough place at night."

"Yes," she said, her voice like glass. "Here."

She stepped out into the downpour, her heels splashing in puddles. Her crimson dress clung to her skin like second thoughts, and her hair, once elegant, now stuck to her face in rebellious curls. But she didn't care. The rain washed nothing away, but at least it masked the tears she refused to shed.

Ahead, a neon sign blinked against the night: Velvet Pulse. A place known for attracting Lagos' most powerful and most broken. Mara walked toward it like a woman with nothing to lose.

The bouncer let her in without a word. Inside, golden light painted shadows across leather seats and polished wood. Low jazz curled in the air, mingling with perfume, laughter, and whispered secrets. No one belonged here-and yet, everyone did.

She found an empty bar stool and claimed it like a throne. A few eyes trailed her, whispering recognition, but none dared approach. She was Mara Danjuma-daughter of the kingmaker. Untouchable. Or so they thought.

"Looking like that, you don't belong here," said a voice beside her.

She turned. The man was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit that clung like sin. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones severe, and his eyes-stormy gray-studied her like she was a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

"And you do?" she asked, raising a brow.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "I live here."

She sipped her drink. "I'm not looking for company."

"Yet company found you."

There was an edge to his voice, something wild barely restrained. He didn't flirt. He hunted.

"What's your name?" she asked, curiosity winning the war within her.

He leaned closer, the scent of bergamot and danger curling around her.

"Dante," he said.

The name felt too practiced. Too perfect. But she didn't press.

"You're running," he said.

She stiffened. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I know the look. I wear it too."

Their eyes locked. Something sparked between them-unspoken, undeniable.

The bartender returned with her drink. Dante raised his glass.

"To the ones who run."

Mara clinked hers gently. "And the ones who chase."

And there it was-the beginning of something dark and wild. Mara didn't know yet, but this stranger wasn't just a man with a smooth name. He was chaos in human form, the one who would unravel everything she thought she knew.

By the time the rain ended, Mara's life would never be the same.