Chapter 4 Something About Her

(Ethan's POV)

Some faces stay with you longer than you expect.

Even after weeks, Amara's had stayed with me - the curve of her eyes when she smiled shyly, the quiet fire behind her words. I told myself it was curiosity, maybe guilt, that made me think about her at odd hours. But standing there by the waterfront, with Lagos glowing behind her and the breeze stirring her hair, I knew it wasn't that simple.

There was something about her that didn't fit neatly into reason.

When she walked away that night, my driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, waiting for instructions.

"Home," I said. But my mind wasn't going home with me.

The car glided through the streets of Victoria Island, headlights reflecting off wet asphalt. My phone buzzed - board messages, investor updates, unread emails. I ignored them all.

Amara's voice kept replaying in my head: 'Please don't.'

She didn't want help, didn't want my money or pity. That alone set her apart from almost everyone I'd met in years.

I admired it.

But I also hated how powerless it made me feel.

---

My life was a symphony of control.

Every day at ColeTech began the same: dawn meetings, metrics reviews, decisions worth millions. The world saw a billionaire - confident, sharp, almost untouchable. But behind that, I was just a man trying to keep order in chaos.

ColeTech had started from a small, rented room in Yaba ten years ago. I was fresh out of university, sleeping on a mattress beside my first laptop, living on noodles and hope. Back then, humility wasn't a virtue - it was survival. Even after success found me, I refused to forget that version of myself.

It was why I avoided the tabloids, the spotlight, the shallow circles of the rich. Money didn't define me. Work did.

And yet here I was, losing focus because of a girl I'd met once - a night that was supposed to mean nothing.

Two days after the tech fair, I was in my office on the 18th floor, reviewing a proposal for a renewable energy pilot. My assistant, Sade, walked in with her usual efficiency.

"Sir, the PR agency handling the community outreach for the project - they've requested a meeting," she said. "Their rep's name is Amara Obi."

I froze.

Sade noticed. "Should I confirm?"

I hesitated only a second. "Yes. Tomorrow morning."

She nodded and left, unaware of the storm she'd just set off in my chest.

When Amara walked into my office the next day, she looked more composed than I remembered - confident even. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and her eyes were steady.

"Good morning, Mr. Cole," she said.

"Ethan," I corrected softly.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Good morning, Ethan."

Something in me relaxed at the sound of my name from her lips.

We went through the meeting like professionals - or at least, she tried to. I could see the flickers of nervousness she tried to hide. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her files, and once, when our fingers brushed as she passed a document, she pulled back too quickly.

"Your proposal is strong," I said after skimming her report. "You've got a good grasp of what we need."

"Thank you," she said.

Her tone was polite, guarded.

After the formalities, silence filled the room. I should have dismissed her. But I didn't.

"How's your mother?" I asked finally.

She looked startled. "She's... stable."

"That's good."

She nodded, biting her lip - the same way she had when she was trying not to cry by the waterfront.

"Amara," I said, leaning forward slightly. "If you ever need help - genuine help, no strings attached - I meant what I said before."

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. "Why?"

"Because I can," I said simply. "And because sometimes people need a break."

For a moment, she seemed to soften. But then she shook her head. "I'll be fine."

There it was again - that stubborn independence that both impressed and frustrated me.

She gathered her things, thanked me for my time, and walked out before I could stop her.

When the door closed behind her, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly.

Why did I care so much?

That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat by the window of my Ikoyi apartment, looking out at the city lights. Lagos had a rhythm - one that never truly stopped, no matter how late it got.

I thought of Amara's face, the quiet strength in her voice. She was fighting something - I could feel it. And not just financial struggle. There was fear there too, a kind of uncertainty that went deeper.

I wanted to help, but not in the way I used to - not with money. I wanted to know her story. I wanted to understand her.

It was irrational. And yet, I couldn't let it go.

A week later, during a board meeting, I caught myself distracted again. Mr. Bello was discussing projections, but my mind was miles away.

I excused myself halfway through the session and walked into the hallway, loosening my tie. Sade found me minutes later, tablet in hand.

"Sir, the PR agency sent in revised documents. They requested your personal review again."

Of course they did.

I opened the folder on her tablet and saw Amara's name at the top.

Before I could say anything, Sade added, "Sir, the rep seemed unwell when she dropped this off. She looked pale."

My chest tightened. "Unwell?"

"Yes. I asked if she wanted me to call someone, but she said she was fine."

I nodded, trying to stay composed. "Thank you, Sade."

When she left, I sat down on the nearest bench and stared at the screen without seeing it.

Unwell.

Something about that word stirred a quiet panic in me.

That evening, I drove myself - no driver, no guards - to the address listed in the PR firm's file. It was a modest apartment block in Surulere. The kind of place where every wall carried the scent of a dozen cooking pots and every light flickered before it turned on.

I almost turned back. What was I doing here?

But before I could start the car, the door of one unit opened and Amara stepped out, a small plastic bag in her hand. She looked pale indeed, her movements slow, her face drawn.

When she saw me, she stopped dead. "Ethan?"

I got out of the car slowly. "You don't look well."

Her expression wavered between surprise and irritation. "You shouldn't be here."

"I was worried."

"I told you, I'm fine."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

I took a careful step closer. "Amara, please. Let me take you to a hospital."

She shook her head. "No."

"You can't even stand properly."

"Ethan, I said no!" she snapped, and then winced, pressing a hand to her stomach.

Instinct overrode reason. I caught her just before she lost her balance.

She didn't faint completely, but her weight sagged against me. "You're burning up," I murmured.

She tried to push away, but I held her steady. "Don't... please, don't," she whispered weakly.

I looked down at her, realizing in that moment that whatever wall she was trying to build between us was about to crumble.

Because there was something more - something she hadn't told me.

And I was determined to find out what it was.