Chapter 3 THE CALM BEFORE THE COLLAPSE

The car smelled like money - leather, cinnamon, and something darker I couldn't name. Something that should have been a warning.

The scent wrapped around me like a spell.

He drove in silence for a moment, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the AC vents with practiced ease. Everything about him felt intentional - even the quiet. Especially the quiet.

"So," he said eventually, voice cutting through the rain drumming on the roof, "what's your name?"

"Amarachi," I replied. "But most people call me Amah. Or Amara."

He smiled, eyes briefly flicking to mine in a way that made my stomach flutter. "Beautiful name. I'm Kola."

Of course he was. Strong. Simple. The name wrapped around him perfectly - smooth voice, expensive car, eyes that studied me like I was a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

"What brings you to Abuja?" I asked, trying to sound casual. "You don't sound like you live here."

"Lagos," he said. "Just in town for the weekend. It's my mum's birthday. I came to pick up a bracelet she's been eyeing for months."

My heart did something stupid. A man who buys his mother jewelry. "No way. It's my dad's birthday too, I'm on my way to his place, we're having a party for him."

"Seriously?" He glanced at me, genuinely amused. "Looks like we're both playing good children today."

I laughed, the sound easier than it should have been. "I'm mostly going to see my sister. She lives in Lagos now but she's here for his birthday, so this weekend is more for her than him."

His smile faded slightly, shadows crossing his features. "I lost my dad a few years ago. Birthdays still feel strange."

The mood shifted like a curtain falling. He said it so casually, but I saw it - the way his jaw clenched, the blink that lasted a second too long.

Grief leaves fingerprints, even when we try to wipe them off.

"I'm sorry," I said, meaning it.

He nodded. "Thanks. Some days, I still reach for my phone to call him. Then I remember."

I stared out the window as the rain painted streaks across the glass, each drop like a tear sliding down. "I miss my sister all the time, and she's still here. So I can imagine."

He didn't respond right away. Just... drove. His silence didn't feel awkward. It felt familiar. Safe, even.

That should have been my first red flag.

Then, as if sensing I needed the air to shift, he smiled again. "So. How excited are you to see her - scale of one to ten?"

"Eleven," I said without hesitation. "She already sent me a weekend itinerary. I think she misses me more than she says."

"You two sound close."

"She's my person. Even when she's annoying, she gets me completely."

He nodded like he understood that too. Like he understood everything about me. "That's rare. Hold on to it."

I turned slightly, studying his profile - the strong line of his nose, the way his fingers curled around the steering wheel like he owned the world.

Everything about him felt right. Warm voice. Thoughtful words. Gentle grief that made him human. He made it easy to open up - too easy.

Way too easy.

Now, in hindsight, I replay that drive like a crime scene. I inspect every smile, every calculated pause, every perfectly chosen word. And I ask myself the question that haunts my sleep:

Was any of it real?

Or was he just reading me like a book, picking the perfect lines to make me fall?

The answer terrifies me more than the bruises ever did.