Chapter 3 The Mask of Charm

I've spent years learning how to make men feel powerful.

It wasn't about seduction, it was survival. Strategy.

A certain kind of laugh, the right tilt of my head. Holding eye contact just long enough to make them believe they mattered. I made men feel like kings.

Ken wasn't one of them.

He didn't crave applause. He didn't need to be seen.

He craved silence the kind that made you listen back.

That kind of silence? That made him dangerous.

The brunch was held at Ebano Manor white walls, private guards, flowers that cost more than my rent. The type of place rich Lagosians pretended to care about climate change while sipping imported champagne like it tasted better than power.

I walked through the garden in a pale green dress that clung in all the right places. Chin up, shoulders relaxed. Every step rehearsed.

Ken was already there. Tall. In black. A glass of water in his hand. Surrounded by people but untouched by the noise. Our eyes met once. Just a nod. Cool. Like none of last night ever happened.

It wasn't planned, but our eyes met more than once. Kept locking, like some kind of pull I couldn't fight. And every damn time, it sent this cold shiver down my spine. I didn't mean to notice him like that. Wasn't supposed to. This was meant to be revenge, not whatever this is. But the more it happened, the more something in me twisted. I kept feeling it kept wanting to feel it and I hated that.

Then came the voice behind me. "Is that the new designer?"

I turned. Chika Ibe. Everything Ken wasn't loud, dressed to be noticed, eyes sharp like a blade wrapped in diamonds.

"You must be Adanna," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You're even prettier than the mockups."

I smiled right back. "And you're a lot bolder than your reputation."

We both laughed. Shiny. Hollow.

Then she leaned in and said it, low and poisonous.

"Be careful with Ken. He has a way of... unmaking people."

I tilted my head. "Does he now?"

"Ask his last business partner. Or his last girlfriend."

And just like that, she was gone, trailing perfume and implications.

Later, over dessert, Ken handed me a slim envelope. "Your contract. I want you leading the Abijo Smart Estate design."

I raised a brow. "You barely know me."

"I know talent. And risk."

I opened it. Eight figures. Full creative control. Backend access.

It was everything I wanted. And everything I should have run from.

"This isn't just a job," I said.

"No," he replied. "It's not."

That night, back in my apartment, I opened the file on my laptop.

The access he gave me? Not full, but close. Close enough to trace systems, parse file trees, and poke around beneath the polished surface.

That's when I saw them folders with strange timestamps, encrypted ledgers buried deep behind generic names.

My heartbeat spiked.

I hovered the mouse over one. Just one click.

Not yet.

Instead, I whispered to the screen, "Soon."

An hour later, a message came through.

Ken: Come up. No words tonight.

I stared at it for ten seconds. Maybe twelve.

Then I grabbed my bag and left.

The elevator ride to his penthouse felt like walking straight into a decision I couldn't take back.

When the doors slid open, Ken was waiting. No words. He just stared at me. Didn't move. Didn't blink.

And all I could see in his eyes was need raw, unspoken, blistering need. Want, too. Thick and heavy in the space between us, filling the room like smoke.

I walked in.

My heart was pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. I don't even know why I came here maybe I told myself it was to talk, maybe to confront him, maybe to remind myself why I was doing this. But the second the door shut behind me and it was just us, just this, I knew.

I told myself it wouldn't happen again.

I didn't mean for it to get this far.

It started with a look just one of those glances that linger half a second too long. Then another. And then I couldn't stop. Couldn't not look at him. Like something inside me was begging for trouble, daring me to fall into the fire I swore I'd never touch again.

I was supposed to be in control. This was about payback. About watching him burn, not... this. Not this slow ache that bloomed every time he was near. Not the way my chest tightened when his voice dropped, soft and low, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I stood there, arms crossed like some weak shield between us, trying to act like I had a grip on everything. Like I wasn't already coming undone just from the way he was watching me.

But he wasn't saying anything. Just standing there. Breathing slow. Letting the silence stretch until I could feel it in my bones.

"I shouldn't be here," I said, voice low, almost a whisper.

He tilted his head a little. "But you are."

The way he said it no smugness, no sweetness just truth. It hit harder than anything else could've.

I hated how honest it was.

He came closer, slower this time. Not like the others. Not like before. He touched my wrist barely and I swear it was like lightning. I should've pulled away. I didn't.

Instead, I just stood there like an idiot while my heartbeat stuttered in my ears. He didn't say a word. Just looked at me, like he saw every goddamn thing I was trying to bury.

"You're shaking," he said, voice rough, like gravel. Not smug. Not soft. Just... real.

"I'm not," I lied, and we both knew it.

"You've been wet for me since Ebano Manor, haven't you?" he growled.

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. He already knew.

His fingers found me slow, sure, dragging a moan from my lips I couldn't swallow.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't careful. It was need. Pure and raw and greedy. Teeth, tongue, breath. Like he'd been starving and I was the only thing that could fill him. I pushed him back against the wall, fingers tugging at his shirt, mouth moving against his like I wanted to devour him. Maybe I did.

Maybe I wanted to destroy us both.

His hands were all over me rough palms dragging down my back, pulling me close, pressing into the curves of my hips like he didn't want to forget how I felt. Like he needed to claim me, mark me, memorize me.

"You drive me fucking insane," he muttered against my mouth.

"Good," I gasped, biting his bottom lip just enough to make him growl. "Maybe now we're even."

He spun me around so fast I barely had time to react before my back hit the wall, his mouth on my throat, sucking, licking, biting gently until I was breathing too hard to think.

"Still hate me?" he asked, breath hot against my skin.

"God, yes," I moaned, grinding against him. "But I still want you more."

Clothes came off in clumsy, frantic motions. Buttons popped. Fabric tore. We didn't care. I couldn't. His mouth found my breast, tongue teasing, hand between my thighs like he already knew every inch of me. And when he touched me there, slow at first, then firmer deliberate I nearly lost it.

I whimpered, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, urging. "Don't stop."

"I wasn't planning to," he said, eyes dark, voice gravel and heat.

He knelt, and I felt his breath before I felt his tongue. My knees damn near gave out when he parted me with his mouth, licking slow and deep and unrelenting. No teasing. No games. Just raw need. I didn't even recognize the sounds coming out of me needy, guttural, desperate.

"Fuck..fuck," I gasped, grinding against his face, completely gone, completely his. "I can't"

"You can," he said, lips slick, eyes locked on mine. "You will."

And I did.

I came hard, shaking, thighs clamped around his head, nails digging into the wall behind me.

But he wasn't done.

He stood, kissed me like I was the only thing in the world, and then lifted me just lifted me like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist and felt him press against me, thick and hot and ready.

"This is a mistake," I whispered, forehead pressed against his.

"Yeah," he breathed. "But we're already in it."

And he slid into me, slow at first, so damn slow I thought I'd lose my mind. I cried out, back arching, every nerve lit up like fire. He held still for a moment, his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

"God, you feel... fuck," he whispered. "So perfect."

He started to move, hips rolling deep and steady, and I clung to him like a lifeline, moaning into his neck, biting his shoulder just to stay grounded. It was too much and not enough all at once.

The way he fucked me wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was real needy, rough, a little wild. Like he needed to lose himself inside me. Like maybe I needed the same.

And I gave in.

Every thrust made me forget why I was supposed to hate him. Every kiss made me question what I came here to do. Every moan from his mouth wrecked me a little more.

I came again with his name on my lips, breaking apart in his arms.

He followed soon after, growling against my skin, holding me like I was something worth keeping.

For a long time, we just breathed. Shaking. Pressed together like a secret we didn't want to name.

And I knew, I knew I'd just crossed a line I could never uncross.

And then, into the quiet, I whispered,

"You have no idea what you've started