Chapter Six: A Mark on her Name

The city moved fast, but whispers moved faster.

Two days after the boardroom explosion, The Chief's Assistant became a national talking point. Her face was on talk shows. Her name was used in hashtags, both empowering and vile. She was a heroine to many, a disruptor to others.

But for Amaka Ifeoma, the aftermath was a quieter, more terrifying thing.

Because while Lagos clapped and clicked… someone was watching.

She first noticed it when she went to restock her handmade candle jars at the market in Surulere. A man stood too close. Pretended to browse but never picked anything. He was gone before she could confront him.

Then it happened again at her mother's compound in Okota — a white van parked across the street for hours. No logo. Tinted glass.

And then, late that night, her phone buzzed with an unknown message.

"You're brave. Let's see how long that lasts. 😊"

She showed Obinna the message immediately.

They were sitting on his apartment terrace, city lights twinkling far below. His usually unreadable face darkened with every word she read.

"I should've shut this down sooner," he muttered, pacing.

"You did shut it down," Amaka said quietly. "You brought Danjuma to his knees."

"No. That was you." He looked at her. "And that's why they're targeting you now. Because they know how powerful you've become."

Amaka tried to laugh it off. "Powerful? I'm one scandal away from being blacklisted in HR circles."

He didn't smile.

He reached for her hand instead. Held it tightly.

"Amaka, listen to me. I have enemies who don't play by the rules. They see you not just as my heart—but as my weakness."

She didn't respond at first. She just stared at his hand over hers. Strong. Steady. Fierce.

Then she asked, "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to protect you."

"How?"

"By getting you out of Lagos."

She froze. "What?"

He stepped back. "Just for a while. Until the next board meeting passes. Until I can lock down whoever is funding the next phase of this."

She folded her arms. "So I run?"

"No," he said, voice low. "You live. Away from cameras. Away from shadows. With freedom."

She stared at him. "And if I leave, what happens to my business? My name? My story?"

"I'll make sure it grows. I'll double your storefront investment. Triple it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're trying to buy me peace?"

"I'm trying to give you safety."

Amaka rose. Her breath sharp.

"I didn't fall in love with you because you're rich, Obinna. I fell because, for once, someone saw me. The real me. But if the first real storm we face has you packing me off like a fragile thing…"

His eyes widened slightly. "You love me?"

Silence.

Wind swept the terrace.

Amaka exhaled. "I didn't mean to say that."

He stepped closer. "Say it again."

"No."

"Say it."

She looked away. "I'm scared."

He brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Me too."

And then — like a pact — their foreheads touched, and they just breathed.

Together.

But the stillness was short-lived.

Obinna's phone buzzed, and when he checked it, his face turned hard.

"What is it?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

He just handed her the phone.

A security alert: Multiple break-in attempts detected at your storefront in Lekki. Alarm disabled. Authorities notified.

Amaka's stomach dropped.

"They're not watching me anymore," she whispered. "They're hunting."

That same night, a man in a dark room watched her video clips on loop.

He was lean, sharp-jawed, and wore a faded university ring.

His name was Kenan Okoye — a name no longer on social records. A man erased.

He zoomed in on Amaka's photos from her Instagram business page. Then he clicked to another screen, bringing up a digital dossier:

Target: Amaka Ifeoma.

Known locations: Surulere, Okota, Lekki

Contacts: Chief Obinna Nwosu, Mother (Widowed), Friend: Ada (Cousin)

History: Financial instability, side business, volunteer work

Weakness: Loyalty. Pride. Romantic involvement.

He smiled.

Then clicked Send.

The message went out to four masked recipients with one line:

"Initiate Phase Three. The girl breaks next."

Meanwhile, Obinna and Amaka arrived at the ransacked storefront.

Glass shattered. Shelves overturned. Candles smashed.

But no valuables taken. No money touched.

Just destruction. Chaos.

A message.

Obinna stared at the mess. Rage bubbled inside him like lava under control.

"I'm calling Kunle. You're not going home tonight."

"I can't keep hiding," she said, voice shaking.

"You won't," he said. "We're going to fight back."

She turned to him. "How?"

He lifted his chin. "We bait the trap. We find the leak. And we give them a story they can't spin."

Amaka looked at her ruined shop.

Then at him.

And with new fire in her chest, she nodded.

"I'm in."

But as they left the site, neither noticed the silent drone above.

Recording.

Tracking.

And waiting for the perfect moment to strike.