Chapter 5 The Cracks Beneath

I woke up to the smell of rain on concrete. The kind that lingers after a storm, when everything's too quiet. Too still.

For a second I didn't know where I was.

Then I felt it the soft give of his couch under me, the oversized hoodie I'd pulled over my dress last night, the faint hum of his AC kicking back to life now that the power was steady again.

Ken's house.

Right.

I'd driven him home. Cleaned him up. Stayed.

I sat up slowly, neck aching from sleeping in one position too long. The blanket had slipped off during the night, and the air in the room was cool enough to make my skin tighten.

I didn't hear him.

For a second I thought maybe he was still asleep.

But when I walked toward the bedroom and pushed the door open just a little, I saw him. Sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, blanket around his waist. Awake.

And watching me.

He looked better. Not good, but not burning up either.

"You stayed," he said quietly.

It wasn't a question. Just an observation. Like he was still figuring out what that meant.

I leaned against the doorframe. "The roads were bad. Didn't feel like getting stranded in floodwater."

"Right."

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

I should've left it there. Should've turned around, made coffee, grabbed my keys, gone. But instead, I stepped inside and sat on the edge of the bed.

He watched every movement like it hurt.

"Do you remember much from last night?" I asked.

"Most of it," he said. "Not all. Just... flashes."

I nodded. "You were burning up. Looked like hell."

"Still do, probably."

A small smile tugged at my lips, despite myself. "A little less hell. More like purgatory now."

He chuckled under his breath, but it died quickly. That quiet crept back in the one that said everything we didn't.

"I'm not used to this," he said suddenly. "Being taken care of."

"Yeah, well. Don't."

He turned to look at me, really look. "Why did you stay, Adanna?"

I stared at the bedsheet, at the way my hands had started wringing the edge of it without me noticing.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Habit. Guilt. Stupidity."

He was quiet for a long time.

Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "Was any of it real?"

I froze.

The kiss. The looks. The nights we got too close. The moments I let myself forget what I was doing.

"I don't know what real even means anymore," I whispered. "With you, with me, with any of this."

He leaned forward, voice low and tired but sure. "I meant it. The way I touched you. The way I looked at you. I wasn't pretending."

That made something in my chest pull tight.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because I wanted to believe him. And I didn't know if I could afford to.

Instead, I reached over and brushed a strand of damp hair from his forehead. My fingers lingered. His eyes closed, just for a second.

"I should go," I murmured.

But I didn't move.

He didn't stop me.

We just sat there, caught in that space between what we feel and what we're afraid to say. Neither of us ready to let go, but both knowing this won't end the way we want it to.

Ken's eyes were still on me when the sound broke through the silence.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

His phone. On the nightstand.

I looked over before he did.

Private number.

He reached for it slowly, hesitation in every movement, like a man who already knew whatever was waiting on the other end wasn't good.

He answered.

"Ken speaking."

I watched his face. The way his brow furrowed. The way his jaw tightened. A slow, creeping tension that worked its way down his body like poison.

Then he said nothing. Just listened. For too long.

"Who?" he said, barely audible.

The silence that followed was worse.

Then: "No. Lock it down. I'm on my way."

He hung up. Didn't move.

"What happened?" I asked.

His voice came low. Cold.

"There was a breach. At the Lekki site. Someone got access to restricted accounts moved money, scrubbed records, then triggered an internal alert before vanishing."

I blinked. "Vanishing how?"

"No trace. No IP trail. No camera footage. It's like they knew exactly how to bypass everything."

Something dropped in my chest.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable now.

"That system was designed by you, wasn't it?"

I didn't flinch. "Part of it, yeah. Back when I was still with the company."

"And the only other person who could've gotten in without tripping the firewall is either a damn genius"

"Or someone with the blueprint," I finished for him.

We stared at each other.

The space between us wasn't soft anymore. It was loaded. Suspicious. Dangerous.

Ken stood, slow and stiff, like the sickness had taken a backseat to something worse.

"I have to go," he said.

I nodded.

"I'm coming with you."

He didn't argue. He didn't thank me, either.

We both knew this wasn't about kindness anymore. This was about who still held the matches and who was finally willing to let the whole thing burn.

By the time we got to the Lekki site, the sun had already begun its slow, punishing rise over the city. Humid air pressed down on everything. Construction dust mixed with sweat and urgency.

Security was tighter than I'd ever seen. Black SUVs lined the entrance like someone had called in a private army. Ken flashed his ID, and the guards stepped back, no questions asked.

But they looked nervous.

Too nervous.

Inside, the office was chaos. Screens flickered. Phones buzzed nonstop. A man in a wrinkled shirt paced in the hallway, muttering curses under his breath. No one made eye contact. Not even with Ken.

"Talk," he snapped, the second we stepped inside.

A young IT officer jumped, nearly dropping his tablet.

"Someone bypassed the security wall at 3:42 a.m. They accessed files linked to dormant offshore accounts, laundered ₦80 million through a dummy vendor, then shut the server down clean. No trace of the access point. No MAC, no IP, nothing."

Ken's jaw clenched. "That's impossible. We triple-layered that wall."

The guy just nodded, lips pressed tight. "Exactly."

I stood there, arms crossed, eyes scanning the screens, the files, the mess.

But I could feel his gaze on me.

Not the kind that lingered with want, this one held weight. Caution. A hint of something colder beneath the surface.

"What files did they go through first?" Ken asked.

The officer tapped his screen. "Old projects. Mostly ones connected to Ibe Global's pre-2015 acquisitions. One in particular Obinna Umeh's contract."

Silence.

I didn't move. Didn't blink.

Ken's eyes flicked toward me then, fast, searching.

I kept my expression still.

"How the hell would anyone even know to look there?" he muttered. "That case was buried."

No one answered.

The officer cleared his throat. "We're still tracing external access, but whoever it was... they knew our systems. Inside-out."

That was when Ken really turned to look at me. Fully. Steady.

The others faded away.

"You built this network," he said quietly.

I met his gaze, calm. "Five years ago."

"You knew how to hide files like this?"

"Yes."

"And how to access them again... without leaving a trace?"

I stared at him. "Is that a question or an accusation?"

He didn't answer right away.

Which said enough.

My chest tightened. The air between us thickened. For a second, the noise in the room disappeared. It was just him. And me. And everything unsaid.

"I didn't do this," I said finally. "But I know who could have."

He stepped closer. "Then say it. Give me a name."

I hesitated. Just for a beat.

And that was enough.

"Jesus," he said under his breath, stepping back like the distance would give him clarity. "Why does it always come back to you?"

Because I never left, I wanted to say.

Because maybe I'm the only one who still gives a damn.

But I said nothing.

Just let the silence do the damage.