Chapter Eleven: Echoes Through The Glass

The ballroom at the Zenith Convention Center pulsed with light, camera flashes, and the scent of wealth.

It was Obinna's grandest press event yet — the launch of The Echelon Women Forward Fund, a multi-billion-naira tech and innovation grant designed to empower Nigerian women in the digital space.

And Amaka Ifeoma stood at the center of it all, radiant in a gold gown with a neckline carved like strategy — elegant, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

The media called it a bold move.

But behind the luxury and speeches, a silent operation was in motion.

Tonight was bait.

And somewhere in the crowd… Kenan was watching.

From a remote operations van stationed across the street, Simi clicked through live thermal feeds and drone intercepts. Her voice buzzed through Obinna's earpiece as he worked the room.

"Still no visual on Kenan, but I've locked onto a digital pulse from a hidden signal booster. He's using piggyback routers embedded in the LED screens."

Obinna sipped champagne but didn't swallow.

"He's inside the event," he said.

"Not physically," Simi replied. "But his code is. And it's about to hijack the public transmission."

Obinna's heart jumped.

"Amaka," he said quietly, spotting her on the far end of the ballroom stage, smiling at a reporter.

"On it," Kunle's voice cut in. "We've got four plainclothes operatives on her and three more by the exits."

But Amaka had already sensed something.

She turned toward the LED wall behind the podium—where minutes earlier, the company's mission statement had been glowing in soft gold.

Now, it flickered.

Then glitched.

Then changed.

A new video began playing.

Footage of Amaka — secretly recorded — standing on the ruins of her vandalized shop.

Then clips of her entering Obinna's penthouse, kissing him on the terrace, clutching him in the dark.

The crowd gasped.

Reporters froze mid-question.

A voice came through the audio system, digitally masked but laced with venom:

"What does empowerment mean when the chosen queen sleeps with the king for the crown?"

A ripple of shock echoed through the room.

The crowd turned toward her.

The cameras swung.

But Amaka didn't flinch.

Instead, she stepped forward.

Calm. Unshaken.

She took the microphone, now back under house control thanks to Simi's frantic override.

"You've seen the video," Amaka said, voice clear. "Now let me tell you the truth."

Gasps swept the room. Reporters whispered.

"I was Obinna Nwosu's assistant. I became his strategist. And yes—I am now his partner. In love. In business. In this vision. I won't apologize for falling for a man who sees my value beyond a title."

The room was stunned.

"Power is never given freely. It's taken. It's earned. And every woman in this room knows that sometimes, rising means being judged more than any man ever will."

She stepped down.

Walked straight to Obinna, who met her halfway.

He took her hand and kissed it in full view of every guest, every lens, every doubter.

And for a moment, the trap almost felt like a triumph.

Until—

Screams erupted from the rear exit.

A body fell. Security swarmed.

Gunfire cracked like thunder.

One of the guards was hit.

Obinna pulled Amaka down instantly, shielding her with his body as chaos erupted.

"It's Kenan's play," Kunle barked through comms. "Diversion. He's not here for show. He's here for blood."

Meanwhile, in a hidden utility hallway, a masked figure planted a small device behind the server stack of the building's broadcast system.

Red lights blinked.

A countdown began: 00:04:59.

Simi's voice snapped into Obinna's earpiece. "They've planted a digital bomb. Not literal explosives — but enough to wipe every trace of your company's records. Financials. Legal docs. HR files."

"How long?" Obinna asked.

"Five minutes or less."

Amaka looked at him, breath ragged. "We need to save it. Everything we've built—"

"No," Obinna said firmly. "You need to go. Now."

"I'm not running—"

"I'm not asking."

Their eyes locked.

Then—

Obinna turned to Kunle. "Get her out through the skybridge. Now."

"But what about—"

"Go!"

Amaka resisted, but Kunle grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd as sirens blared.

Obinna sprinted toward the server room, dodging security chaos and panicked guests.

He found the stack just as the timer hit 00:01:43.

The red light blinked. Faster.

He yanked the panel open, recognizing Kenan's signature: a tangle of encrypted code wrapped around a self-destructing kernel.

But as he reached for the disconnect…

A hand clapped over his mouth.

Another wrapped around his throat.

Kenan's voice purred in his ear.

"You really think you could beat me with your heart tangled in the girl?"

Obinna slammed his elbow back, breaking free.

They fought in the shadows — fists, knees, rage.

Kenan bled first. Obinna bruised next.

Then—

Obinna reached the wires.

Yanked.

The server lights blinked.

The countdown halted.

00:00:02.

Silence.

Kenan vanished into the darkness.

But the data was saved.

Outside, Amaka stood on the rooftop helipad, wind in her hair, sirens flashing below. Helicopters circled.

Then she saw him — Obinna — emerging through the smoke, one arm bloodied, suit torn, but alive.

They ran to each other.

No cameras.

No microphones.

Just truth.

Just survival.

Just love born from fire.