Chapter Ten: A Dangerous Alliance.

The rain hadn't stopped by morning.

Amaka sat quietly in the back seat of Obinna's black SUV as it cut through the slick streets of Victoria Island. The world outside was a blur—palm trees bowing under the wind, Lagos traffic in its usual chaos—but inside the vehicle, everything was still.

Except her thoughts.

The photo. The message. The unspoken name behind the initial: "K."

She hadn't slept. Ada had insisted she stay the night, and every creak of the floorboards had made her heart race. Even now, she kept glancing out the window, half expecting a black car to follow.

She didn't need to wonder long. When they reached Echelon Tower, Kunle met them at the underground garage, eyes grim.

"You were tailed," he said.

Obinna's jaw tensed. "How close?"

"Close enough to snap photos of you entering Ada's compound. And you're not going to like this—someone accessed the footage from the building's private CCTV system using a cloned admin pass."

"That's Kenan," Obinna growled. "It has his digital fingerprints all over it."

Amaka's voice was low. "He's not just watching. He's circling."

They entered the private elevator in silence.

"I can't live like this," she said softly. "Jumping at shadows. Worrying if my next move gets someone else hurt."

"You won't live like this," Obinna said, his voice firmer. "We strike first."

Amaka turned to him, eyes burning. "Then let me help."

He stared at her.

"You've done enough," he said. "You've already been targeted, traumatized—"

"I'm not a victim, Obinna." Her voice didn't rise, but it cut deep. "If we don't fight this together, we lose everything. Not just our safety. Our truth. Our story."

The elevator stopped.

She stepped out first, her heels echoing on the polished marble floor.

Obinna followed.

Behind them, Kunle exchanged a look with his assistant and sent a discreet signal. Silent security protocols engaged. Windows began scanning for unauthorized surveillance frequencies.

Thirty minutes later, the war room was alive.

Screens lit up across a wall-sized monitor, displaying footage, financial trails, and intercepted communication lines connected to Kenan's movement.

Amaka stood near a data screen, reading through logs of recent security breaches.

"Kenan's targeting public trust," she said. "He's not just trying to destroy Obinna. He wants to prove that no system is safe—not love, not family, not power."

Obinna nodded. "And that's why we need someone who thinks like him. Moves like him."

Kunle raised a brow. "There's only one person I know who used to beat Kenan in cyber warfare tournaments."

Amaka turned. "Who?"

Kunle hesitated. Then tapped a contact on his device.

"Her name is Simi. She used to go by ByteMama. She's in hiding."

Obinna frowned. "I thought she left Nigeria after the UN hack."

"She did," Kunle said. "But she came back… for family. Lives off-grid now. If anyone can reverse-engineer Kenan's blind spots, it's her."

Hours later, they met her in a hidden café buried deep in the outskirts of Ikeja.

Simi was a slim, striking woman with teal braids and ink-stained fingers. She wore oversized glasses and a hoodie that read: God is a coder.

She barely looked up when they approached her table.

"Don't talk for the first two minutes," she said, typing fast on a portable drive. "Let me finish tracing the dummy signal that's been pinging off your penthouse Wi-Fi for four days."

Obinna looked stunned. "Four days?"

Simi grinned. "Men with egos and billion-dollar buildings always think their tech is safe. It's not."

Amaka smirked. "I like her already."

Simi paused her typing, finally looking at Amaka. "And you… are the reason Kenan is rushing. He thought he'd rattle you. Instead, you're forcing him to move early."

She tapped a final key.

"I've found his next signal burst location. He's testing a live relay here." She pointed to a map. "Lekki Free Zone. He's planning a digital blackout."

Kunle leaned in. "Why target infrastructure?"

Simi's lips curved. "Because it creates noise. While you're running around fixing the chaos, he can slip through the cracks."

Obinna looked between them. "So how do we trap him?"

Simi's expression hardened. "We bait him. You host a press event. Something big. Something bold. Announce a tech grant, a community fund. Something to lure his attention."

"And what do we hide inside the event?" Amaka asked.

Simi smiled.

"A traceable signal. One only he would be arrogant enough to touch."

Obinna hesitated.

"This puts Amaka right back in the spotlight."

"She wants to be in the spotlight," Amaka said. "And this time, we control the narrative."

He stared at her.

"You're not afraid anymore."

"I am," she said. "But I'm more afraid of living in silence."

Their eyes held for a beat too long.

Simi cleared her throat. "Alright, lovebirds. Let's bring down the villain before he writes your ending."

That night, back at the penthouse, Obinna poured a glass of wine but didn't drink it.

He stared out the window as the city continued to glow beneath the blanket of storm clouds.

Amaka stepped beside him, barefoot, robe cinched around her waist.

"We're not who we were when this started," she said.

He nodded. "No. We're stronger now. But this war… it could still break us."

Amaka took his hand.

"Then let's break together. Because I'd rather fall fighting beside you than live safe in someone else's version of me."

His grip tightened.

And in that moment, despite the danger, the betrayal, and the mounting storm… there was love.

Not fragile.

Not naive.

But forged in fire.

Still — across the city, in a darkened room lit only by monitors, Kenan watched a feed from a hacked drone.

He zoomed in.

On her.

On Amaka.

He smiled.

"Let the trap begin," he whispered. "And let's see who burns first."